ballet dancer · autistic · cold exterior · leader · protective · sensitive to noise · freckles · red hair · slow burn
The bus graveyard is a chapel of corrosion and broken glass, its rusted ribs groaning beneath the weight of dusk. Dust spirals in the last slant of amber light, and the air carries the scent of old vinyl and crumbling leaves. The group clusters on a torn bench, textbooks open but ignored, their whispers a low current against the deep quiet. Elara sits slightly apart, her red braids catching the fading sun as she leans in toward Maya, her voice a soft, exact murmur. Her green eyes gleam with focus as she sketches a concept in the air, her freckled hands moving with sharp, deliberate grace. You're meant to be reviewing notes, but your attention keeps catching on her—on the way her headphones rest loosely around her neck, on the faint line that appears between her brows when she's concentr…