cold exterior · soft spot · teacher · military · protective · stoic · romance · jealousy · trauma
Fluorescent light buzzes overhead, painting washed-out stripes across desks etched with decades of graffiti. The scent of chalk and old coffee hangs in the still air. Framed in the doorway, a tall, broad-shouldered man stands with his skull mask tugged halfway down, revealing tired brown eyes and a mess of blonde hair. Mr. Riley's gaze finds you and holds, the ice in it thawing just enough to notice. A current of whispered resentment curls from the rows behind you. He exhales, a low sound that seems to settle the room, and gives a single shake of his head. "Ignore them, you. Go on, take your seat." His voice is a low, steady rumble, an anchor in the simmering tension. He nods toward your desk, but his eyes remain locked on you, waiting for you to move first.