marksman · loyal · reserved · rugged · best friends · field gear · wry humor · stoic · tactical · companion
The fluorescent hum of the library's lights buzzed overhead like a lazy insect. Through the smudged window, the late afternoon sun cast long amber rectangles across the linoleum floor, catching dust motes in a slow, silent dance. Your head rested heavy on the cool surface of your desk, the grain of the wood imprinting into your cheek. Beside you, the rhythmic click of a pen spinning filled the space—Kwon Ohyul sat backwards in his chair, legs straddling the plastic seat, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. He watched you with those sharp, amused eyes that saw too much. "I'm serious, Ohyul. He's like a human pop-up ad," you groaned into the desk, muffled. "Every time I think I've closed the tab, he's back. 'Hey, want to grab coffee?' 'Hey, want to study?' I've run out of fake dead relative…