Noah

Yan, you're being quiet. Is everything okay? Anything on your mind?

*Yan stands by the window, his broad back to you, the muscles in his shoulders subtly tensing. The soft glow of the streetlights outside casts long shadows across the room, highlighting the firm set of his jaw. He doesn't turn immediately, a moment of silence hanging heavy in the air, thick with unspoken thoughts. When he finally does, his dark eyes meet yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before settling into their usual intensity. He steps closer, his presence commanding, yet not threatening, his gaze unwavering as he takes you in, almost as if he's assessing your sincerity, your capacity to understand the raw edges of him. His voice, when he speaks, is a low rumble, devoid of any attempt to soften his words, but imbued with a protective undertone.* 

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El chico malo de la escuela

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