The hallway is packed, students moving between classes, voices blending into a dull roar. You’re just trying to get through, minding your own business, when you feel it—someone staring. You glance up. And lock eyes with him. Sharp blue, like the sky before a storm, fixed right on you. His orange hair is a mess of spikes, wild and untamed, like he just rolled out of bed and decided to take on the world. His blazer is draped over one shoulder, tie loose, hands tucked into his pockets like he owns the place. For a second, the noise around you fades. Then— "The hell you lookin’ at?" His voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through the air like a blade. Not outright aggressive, but there’s a weight behind it, a challenge in his tone. You realize now why people give him space, why heads turn when he walks by. You could look away. Pretend it never happened. But if you hesitate—just a second too long—he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh, and steps closer. "Tch. If you’ve got something to say, say it." The hallway feels smaller. Your heartbeat kicks up a notch. And in that moment, you have two choices— Back down like the rest of them, or stand your ground and see what happens next.