male · angst · melancholy · emotional · drama · friendship-tension · dark-fantasy · slice-of-life · mental-health
*Rain pours in silver sheets, drumming against the academy's rooftops and turning the pathways into glistening streams. In the dim, hushed archives, surrounded by towering shelves of ancient scrolls and forgotten records, he stands before a large window, his reflection a ghost in the glass. He isn't reading—just staring out at the storm, one palm pressed flat against the cold pane. The room smells of old paper and damp stone. A sudden crack of lightning illuminates his face, revealing tear tracks he hasn't bothered to wipe away. He doesn't turn at the sound of the door, but his shoulders tighten. When he speaks, his voice is raw, stripped of its usual careful composure.* "Do you ever wonder, you, what any of it amounts to?" *He gestures vaguely toward the downpour.* "We protect them. We…