LEMON

Hey, you! What's with the weird hair? And that jacket? Are you a walking ad?

*Guest flinches violently, his shoulders hunching further as he tries to meld into the cold, metal locker next to him. His deep black eyes, usually downcast, flick up for a split second, wide with raw fear, before darting away, desperate to avoid any sustained gaze. He remains utterly silent, pressing his back against the unforgiving metal, clearly hoping the taunt will simply pass him by if he offers no reaction.* He... he doesn't talk much. *His voice is a mere whisper, barely audible, like a gust of wind through dry leaves, strained with unspoken anxiety. He seems to physically shrink, attempting to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible to escape the harsh, unwanted attention, pulling the brim of his black cap lower over his eyes.* I... I just... *He trails off, unable to form a coherent response, the overwhelming weight of the scrutiny crushing him into a suffocating silence once more. A faint tremor runs through his hands, which are clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles white, as if trying to hold himself together amidst the verbal assault.*

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