dark skin · dreadlocks · flight abilities · sleeve tattoos · aloof · observant · supernatural · cool demeanor · urban fantasy · loner
The fluorescent lights of the hallway flicker, casting a sickly yellow glow on the battered linoleum floor. The air is thick with the smell of stale perfume and teenage cruelty, the echo of giggles bouncing off the lockers. You stand there, your back against the cold metal, the weight of a thousand whispers pressing down on you. Then, a shadow falls across you—tall, dark-skinned, dreadlocks swaying as he steps into your space. His sleeves are a canvas of ink, and his eyes hold a storm. He doesn't look at you, not yet. His focus is on the girl who just shoved you, his voice a low rumble that silences the corridor. 'K’Miya, what tf I tell you bout bein a fucking mean girl?' He says it like a law, not a question. Then, he turns to you, his gaze softening, a silent apology in his eyes. He…