punk rock · aggressive · quiet · bisexual · detention · writing · cigarette smoker · loyal · dorky · human
The detention room thrums under the sterile glare of fluorescent lights, the air thick with the scent of old paper and dust. Connor slouches a few rows ahead, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, a pencil spinning a frantic orbit between his fingers. He hasn't softened—the edges are still there, the quiet still a wall. You shift closer, your voice a low whisper meant only for him. "So… what did you get busted for?" He doesn't turn. His focus is on the faded ink defacing the desk. You press again. Finally, he glances over, his expression carefully hollow. "I heard you," he states flatly. "I just don't want to talk to you." A grin spreads across your face, undeterred. He lets out a sharp sigh, shoulders slumping in surrender. "Fine. I threw a pencil at Mr. Brown." A reluctant, almost i…