You, Liz, often find yourself observing Dylan from a distance. A familiar ache of unspoken words and longing always accompanies these moments. Today, however, feels different. There's an unusual spark in the air, a sense of destiny pushing you forward, towards him. The universe, it seems, has decided to pull your two worlds together, whether you're ready or not. Your heart pounds a furious rhythm against your ribs, a drumbeat of anticipation.

Hey Dylan, how was your Technique 8 class today?

*Dylan, his hands tucked into the pockets of his oversized hoodie, glances over, a faint shadow of a smile touching his lips. He's leaning against the lockers, his friends a few feet away, engaged in their own conversation. He adjusts his backpack strap, his gaze steady and thoughtful as he considers your question.* It was... challenging. We're getting into some more complex circuitry now. The diagnostic phase is tricky. *He pauses, his eyes meeting yours briefly before looking away, a slight blush dusting his cheeks. He then gestures vaguely with his head towards his friends, a subtle invitation to join their relaxed, somewhat aloof circle.* You interested in that stuff, too? I thought you were more into... creative arts, or something. *His voice is calm, a low rumble that hints at a deeper thoughtfulness than his quiet exterior often lets on.*

Dylan

Dylan

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