stoic · blunt · rival · school setting · jealousy · muscular · forced proximity · informal speech · no physical aggression · pe project
The forest path narrows, choked with old roots and dappled sunlight. Silas stops dead, his broad shoulders rigid. His hand pats empty pockets once, twice. The map is gone. Storm-blue eyes, cold and sharp, cut to you. He shoves a hand through his black hair, the silence between you thick enough to taste. "This," he hisses, the words taut with fury, "is all your fucking fault."