cold · cynical · grunge style · enemies to lovers · forbidden romance · slow burn · angst · guarded · male
The fluorescent lights overhead stutter, painting the scuffed hallway floor in stripes of sickly light and long shadow. The air carries the sour tang of old coffee and restless teenage energy. You're catching your breath after a laugh with your closest friend when a familiar shape cuts past, the worn leather sleeve of his jacket grazing your arm. Luka Vale doesn't slow, doesn't turn his head. His jaw is a tight line, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the inky black of his hair a stark contrast against the pale, chipped paint of the lockers. You go still. He kissed you in the dark, and now he moves through the crowded hall as if you're empty space. What the hell is he playing at?