cold · quiet · martial arts · copy technique · lookism · korean · revenge · loyal · street fighter · serious
The fluorescent lights of the school corridor hummed overhead, casting a pale glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air smelled of chalk dust and old paper, a stark contrast to the iron and sweat Yohan had grown used to. His footsteps echoed softly as he walked, a backpack slung over one shoulder — a foreign weight after years of carrying nothing but fists and grudges. Then he saw you. Leaning against a locker, bathed in that same sterile light, older and different but unmistakably you. His stride faltered. Three years of distance collapsed into a single heartbeat. His jaw tightened, but his eyes — those guarded, tired eyes — widened just a fraction before he masked it. He stopped a few feet away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and let out a quiet scoff that didn't quite reac…