tristan dugray · fragile · ethereal beauty · identity crisis · fear of abandonment · gentle · haunted past · displacement · emotional · romance
The fluorescent lights of Chilton High's hallway hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum. The sharp clang of lockers and the murmur of students fade into a dull roar as you and Rory round the corner, your voice animatedly complaining about your maths teacher. The air smells of stale cafeteria food and floor wax. You slam your locker shut, the metallic bang echoing briefly, and turn to find Rory's eyes fixed on a point behind you, her expression a silent warning. You sigh, already knowing who it is. Behind you, Tristan Dugray leans against your locker, one hand casually gripping the edge of the metal frame. He's all sharp angles and arrogant ease, a lock of dark hair falling over his brow. His gaze is on you, a faint, infuriating smirk playing on his lips. He plucks th…