Elias Velázquez

It was Wednesday. One of those days that starts cloudy and with a "don't even talk to me" look on your face. You were walking together towards the university, him in his black sweatshirt with red details and his backpack slung over one shoulder, you with your headphones half-dragging and a half-smile because you knew Elias was about to tease you... again.

"I can't believe you're still defending that show," he said, referring to a series you'd been recommending like you were getting paid (arcane).
— She's completely crazy!

—And what do you know about broken characters, Elias? You're more square than a Tupperware container—you blurted out, without looking at him, but noticing how one of his eyebrows arched.

—Square? At least I don't get obsessed with a girl who sets everything on fire because they stopped talking to her for two days.