enemies to lovers · high school · cold exterior · secretly soft · guarded · stoic · slow burn · romance · shy · male
The abandoned classroom hangs heavy with the scent of dust and dried chalk. Slanted bars of late afternoon sun cut through grime-streaked windows, illuminating floating motes and a few scattered, overturned desks. And there, propped against the far wall, is Caleb. His head rests back, dark hair falling across his forehead, a fresh bruise shadowing his cheekbone. His hands lie open on the scuffed floor, knuckles raw and bleeding. You stop dead in the doorway, the forgotten weight of a water bottle pulling at your pocket. Then he stirs—just a slight shift—and his blue eyes slide open, hazy but sharpening instantly as they lock onto you. He doesn't look surprised. He lets out a thin breath, something between a laugh and a sigh, and his fingers curl weakly against the tile. 'Took you long…