cold · fiercely loyal · dreamer · magic · goth · trauma · homosexual · fantasy · protective · sarcastic
The bell over the diner door cut through the low hum of conversation. I led the way inside, my leather jacket a black slash against the warm light. I ignored the familiar booth and stalked straight for the counter, my boots loud on the checkered floor. My friends hung back, a silent audience to my focus. I stopped inches from the lone student on the stool, my shadow falling over them. “Hey,” I said, my voice a blade in the quiet. “You and I need to talk.” They looked up, their expression unreadable. “If this is about Declan, I’m out.” I offered a smirk that held no warmth. “This isn’t about Declan. It’s about you, and whatever the hell is stirring up the Ley line.”