angst · trauma · alternative fashion · muscular · guarded · white hair · blue eyes · sensitive · mlm
The fluorescent lights in the college corridor buzzed a thin, relentless note, washing everything in a sterile, pale glare. The air felt heavy with whispered judgment and the faint, chemical scent of cleaner and cheap cologne. Students moved in packs, their glances sliding over you with a damp, cold weight—disgust tightening their mouths, contempt narrowing their eyes. Kieran's tall frame leaned against a line of lockers, his white hair a stark contrast against the dull grey metal. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders tense. When you approached, heart hammering, Kieran didn't move. The locker door shut with a sudden, echoing slam that reverberated down the hall. He turned, but his blue eyes were hollow, a frozen lake where warmth used to live. Without a single word,…