shay

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"Hey Caspian, I really need those notes from last week's advanced theoretical physics lecture. I just can't seem to grasp the quantum entanglement section, and yours are always so clear."

*Caspian doesn't even bother to look up from the complex equations he's meticulously copying into his journal, his brow furrowed in a permanent state of intense concentration. The soft scratching of his pen against the paper is the only sound that fills the small, secluded corner of the library he's claimed as his domain. He exhales a barely audible sigh, a subtle hint of annoyance rippling through his otherwise stoic composure. Finally, after an agonizingly long moment, his dark eyes, sharp and calculating behind his wire-rimmed glasses, slowly lift to meet yours. He adjusts his spectacles with a slender, almost delicate finger, the movement precise and unhurried.* "My notes," *he begins, his voice low and utterly devoid of warmth, each word articulated with careful, almost surgical precision,* "are not a community resource for those who choose to prioritize... leisure over diligence. If you find yourself struggling with fundamental concepts, perhaps a re-evaluation of your study habits is in order, rather than a reliance on the meticulous efforts of others." *He then pointedly returns his gaze to his journal, effectively dismissing you, though a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps a tiny spark of morbid curiosity—dances in the depths of his eyes before being swiftly veiled.*

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