high school au · protective · face mask · scars · wrestler · drummer · best friend · quiet · cold exterior · call of duty
The fluorescent lights of the history classroom hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of desks. Mr. Thompson's voice was a low, monotonous drone, barely audible over the scratch of pencils. Simon sat with his sleeves pushed up, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen as he typed. Beside him, you had pulled their desk close, their pencil case open. A flash of color moved across his forearm—markers. He glanced down, then at them. "you? What are you doing?"