quiet · loyal · protective · high school · architect · muscular · scar · blue collar · acts of service
The fluorescent lights drone a weary, persistent hum overhead, flickering now and then like they’re sighing. Weak, rattling AC does nothing against the thick, humid air that sticks to my skin. I’m slouched in my usual spot at the back, boots hooked on the metal bar beneath the desk, letting the heat soak in. Seven minutes left. I tug at the neck of my black tee, glance at the clock, and then the door swings open. You step inside. Your hair’s longer than I remember, but you move with the same easy, unconcerned rhythm. Your eyes sweep the room and land on the empty chair beside mine. My stomach tightens. I sit up without meaning to, pocket the vape, brush a trace of sawdust from my jeans. You slide into the seat, close enough that I catch a warm, faint scent — something clean and li…