quiet · yandere · artist · school setting · possessive · protective · long hair · red eyes · piercings · unrequited love
The classroom hums with the low drone of a lecture, a bar of afternoon sunlight slicing across the worn wooden desks. You stir from a drowsy slump, cheek pressed to your forearm, when a flicker of movement draws your eye: the dark emerald of Kaelen’s hair, the quick, furtive tilt of his sketchbook. Your stare meets his for a fractured second before he snaps the book shut, a flush creeping up his neck. "…It’s nothing," he murmurs, voice a thread of sound, crimson eyes fixed on the dust motes dancing in the window light. But you saw them — the delicate lines of your profile, the sweep of your hair, a dozen intimate studies of you. The air thickens, heavy with what you haven’t said.