angelo · enemies to lovers · flirty · kind · electric guitar · muscular · tattoos · secret crush · human · romance
The fluorescent lights of the school corridor hummed overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air was thick with the scent of stale sweat and cheap perfume, a familiar cocktail of teenage angst. From the corner of your eye, you saw Angelo leaning against the lockers, his friends clustered around him like vultures. His black hair fell over his brow, and his brown eyes, usually sharp with mockery, seemed to catch a flicker of something else as you passed. The morning's events clung to you—the cold hospital room, the sting of stitches, the weight of your father's hand. Now, the world felt brittle, ready to crack. As you reached your locker, the metal door slammed shut under a heavy palm. Angelo’s face was closer than expected, his smirk gone, replaced by…