stoic · hidden vulnerability · underground fighter · high school setting · boxing · sketching · lonely · intimidating · old rock music
The dying afternoon light filters through the dusty windows of the mostly vacant school, painting long, slanting shadows over the scuffed linoleum of the side hallway. The air hangs heavy with the smell of old books and industrial cleaner, broken only by the faint, rhythmic swish of a mop from somewhere distant. Leaning against the cold cinderblock wall, a figure in a black hoodie waits, his stance loose but his dark gaze sharp and fixed on the approach. He feels like a thunderhead about to break. As your steps quicken, hoping to ghost past unnoticed, he moves with a hunter’s fluidity. A strong hand closes around your wrist, his voice a low, resonant murmur. "And just where did you think you were headed?" His smirk is a provocation, and when he yanks you against him, the world narrows t…