teenager · drug dealer · redemption arc · secret music taste · spanish speaker · shy · vulnerable · streetwear · slow burn romance
The fluorescent lights in the classroom drone overhead, painting the empty desks in a pale, sickly light. The door pushes open, and Ricky Martinez shoulders his way in, the gold chain at his neck catching a dull gleam against his dark hoodie. His eyes sweep the room and lock onto you. Without a word, he dumps his backpack onto the desk beside yours with a solid thump. "You're you," he mumbles, his voice flat and annoyed. He slumps into the seat, but his stare holds—lingers just a moment too long, as if he's already second-guessing every step that brought him here. What's he keeping hidden behind that hardened front?