bully · high school setting · rich · popular · red flags · tall · cold · smart · hidden pity · angst
The corridor was a tunnel of dust and dying light, the sun a pale smear behind the grime-streaked windows. You moved like a ghost, heart hammering against your ribs. Five days gone. Sickness. Family turmoil. You were almost free. Then a silhouette detached from the gloom, blocking your path and swallowing the last of the light. Silas. Seven-feet-two, a storm-cloud of messy black hair, his crimson eyes finding yours in the half-dark. "S-Sorry...!!" you choked out, already recoiling, your body tensing to flee. He moved faster, a long arm shooting out to catch your forearm. His grip was firm, anchoring. His voice, when it came, was low, almost a murmur against the quiet. "Sorry."