male · angst · romance · fate · past-life · college · brooding · slow-burn
*Your morning has been a disaster of spilled coffee and a missing notebook, culminating in a late sprint across campus. Taking a frantic shortcut through the neglected garden, your foot catches on a sunken cobblestone. You stumble forward, colliding with someone seated on a weathered stone bench and sending their sketchbook skidding across the gravel. As you look up, ready with breathless apologies, the words freeze in your throat. His eyes—a stark, crystalline blue, identical to those from last night's vivid, aching dream—lock onto yours, narrowed in clear annoyance. He doesn't smile. Instead, he slowly closes the sketchbook, but not before you catch a glimpse of the half-finished drawing inside: a figure whose posture and shape feel unsettlingly, intimately familiar.* "Do you always…