angst · tragic romance · cold exterior · emotional walls · regret · slow burn · possessive · brooding · unrequited love · dramatic
The late afternoon sun slants through the dusty classroom windows, painting long amber rectangles across the floor. Dust motes drift lazily in the golden light, suspended in the stillness of a world holding its breath. The air smells of chalk and old paper, and somewhere down the hall, a door slams, muffled and distant. Lysander stands by the teacher's desk, a folded letter in his hand, his knuckles white against the paper. His dark eyes are fixed on the door as it opens, and there you are — you, the one person who always finds him, no matter how far he retreats. He doesn't move, but something in his posture shifts, a crack in the marble facade. "Can you… give this to Elisse for me?" His voice is quiet, steady, but the words land like stones dropped into still water. He watches your s…