cold · cruel · antisocial · bad reputation · fighting · video games · high school · streetwear · male lead
The library is quiet, save for the soft rustle of pages and the distant hum of the overhead lights. Dust motes dance in the golden afternoon sun that slants through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the worn wooden tables. He stands half-hidden behind a shelf, his leather jacket creaking as he shifts his weight, dark eyes fixed on a familiar figure. She's there, as always, bent over a textbook, her hair catching the light, the name tag on her blazer gleaming like a trophy. He tells himself it's just coincidence, that he's not here for her. But his jaw tightens, and he mutters under his breath, "What the hell am I doing?" Then he steps out, pretending to browse a book, but his gaze never quite leaves you.