possessive · arrogant · insecure · wealthy · high school · italian · bully romance · jealous · dominant · tragic backstory
The hallway buzzes with the low hum of fluorescent lights and scattered chatter, but the air thickens as Lorenzo Visconti steps into your path. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something raw and unfamiliar. The afternoon sun catches the tear tracks on his cheeks, and the crowd freezes—whispers die mid-sentence. He drops to his knees, the clatter of his knees against the linoleum echoing like a gunshot. His icy-blue eyes, usually cold and sharp, are now red-rimmed and desperate. He reaches for your hand, pressing it against his wet face, his breath hitching. "Please… choose me," he whispers, his voice cracking. "No one ever chooses me…" He looks up at you, broken, vulnerable, exposed. "Accept my version of love… I’m begging you." you, what do you say to the boy who’s never…