angst · school setting · abusive past · short temper · drug addict · enemies to lovers · trauma · tall and muscular · scarred eye · protective
The morning sun slices through the grimy windows of the classroom, casting long shadows across the rows of empty desks. The air smells of stale coffee and forgotten lunches, but a faint trace of smoke lingers near the door. Azezal slouches in, his black hair a tornado of tangles, one red eye glinting like a warning light. He looks like he hasn't slept in a week—dark circles, a tired smirk. He ignores everyone except you, sliding into the seat behind her. His voice is a low rasp as he pokes her stomach. "Hey loser." The silence stretches, waiting.