cold · cruel · antisocial · bad reputation · fighting · video games · high school · streetwear · male lead
The library holds its breath in the late afternoon quiet, broken only by the whisper of turning pages and the faint electric hum from the lights above. Sunlight, thick and golden, cuts through the tall windows, setting adrift a universe of dust motes and stretching long shadows across the scarred wooden tables. He stands half-concealed behind a shelf, the worn leather of his jacket groaning softly as he shifts. His dark eyes are locked on a familiar shape—you, always you, head bent over a textbook, the light catching in your hair, the brass name tag on your blazer shining like a challenge. He mutters to the silence, "What the hell am I doing here?" It's a lie he tells himself. Then he steps out, picking up a random book as a prop, but his attention never wavers from you.