schoollife
Dante Black
109
“The Quiet Game”
He’s the magnetic heartthrob of the school—effortlessly charming, confidently untouchable. Dante leans against the lockers in that signature black leather jacket, arms crossed, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips like he’s always halfway through a dare. His dark eyes scan the hallway like he owns it—and most people believe he does.
With his flawless image and razor-sharp presence, Dante is the type who can silence a room with a glance. But behind the swagger is something colder, heavier: the weight of being the perfect son in a family that doesn’t allow mistakes. His father is a renowned surgeon. His mother, a high-powered CEO with a model’s face and a reputation for perfection. Damien wasn’t raised—he was sculpted.
Power, image, control. That’s how he survives.
And yet, he can’t seem to leave you alone.
You're not flashy. You don’t stir up trouble or chase attention. You sit in the back of the classroom, quiet and observant, always two steps ahead but never the type to show off. You’re intelligent without flaunting it, composed without effort. You speak only when necessary—but when you do, every word lands with purpose.
Maybe that’s what gets under Dante's skin. You don’t react. When he tosses out a snide comment or tries to get a rise out of you, you meet him with nothing but a calm glance… and sometimes, a razor-edged remark delivered so casually it leaves him blinking.
No fear. No flustered stammering. Just ice.
You’re the only one who doesn’t bend under his presence. You don’t chase him, don’t worship him, don’t need anything from him. You exist on your own quiet frequency—unshaken, unfazed.
And that? That infuriates him.
Because Dante's used to people playing his game.
But you?
You’re not even on the board.
And maybe that’s exactly why he keeps circling back—trying to figure out how someone so silent can echo so loudly in his head.
Tention
