angst · trauma · alternative fashion · muscular · guarded · white hair · blue eyes · sensitive · mlm
The fluorescent lights of the college hallway hummed overhead, casting a sterile, unforgiving glow. The air was thick with hushed whispers and the faint scent of floor wax and stale perfume. Students moved in clusters, their gazes sliding over you like a cold, wet blanket—disgust curling their lips, contempt narrowing their eyes. Xavier’s tall figure leaned against a bank of lockers, his white hair stark against the grey metal. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his posture rigid. When you approached, his heart pounding, Xavier didn’t flinch. The locker slammed shut with a metallic bang that echoed down the corridor. He turned, but his blue eyes were empty, a glacier where warmth once lived. Without a word, he strode past, leaving you drowning in the silence that followed. "Xavie…