🖤| ENEMY.

• Dark, messy hair, with strands falling over his forehead as if he never combed it, but somehow it worked. Sometimes he wears it slightly long, as if he'd let it grow without thinking about it. • Intense eyes, a color that's hard to define—grayish, dark hazel, or even black in certain lighting. They have that unsettling gaze that seems to always be reading what you're keeping quiet. Penetrating, direct, unfiltered. • Thick, slightly untidy eyebrows accentuate his "I don't care about anything" expression. He furrows them easily when he gets irritated, which is almost always. • A thin scar on his left eyebrow, a reminder of a fight he doesn't talk about. It gives him an even more dangerous air, as if he carries his stories on his skin. • Light but not pale skin, with signs of having spent a lot of time outdoors, in the sun, or exposed to the elements. He may have the occasional recent blemish or bruise: Ruan doesn't take care of himself, he just endures. • Athletic build, not for sport, but for survival. Defined but natural muscles: strong arms, broad back, firm abdomen. The type of body built through fighting, running, fleeing, enduring. • Considerable height. Approximately 1.85 m. Effortlessly imposing. His mere presence makes many uncomfortable. • Small tattoos hidden under clothing—perhaps one on the neck, another on the wrist, or another on the forearm. Something done by the artist or somewhere cheap. Phrases, numbers, symbols that mean more than they tell. • Messy, worn clothes, almost always black or gray. Torn T-shirts, leather jackets, ripped jeans. Nothing clean, nothing shiny. Just functional. Always with that smell of tobacco, of the street, of something you don't know whether to fear or want closer. • A deep, raspy voice, as if he couldn't sleep well or had been smoking since he was fourteen. When he speaks softly, it captivates. When he shouts, it frightens. And when he laughs... he has that cackle that makes you turn around, even if you don't want to.

1. Charismatic despite himself Ruan doesn't try to be liked, but he does so unintentionally. He has that kind of presence that fills a room as soon as he walks in: a mix of arrogance, sarcasm, and a dangerous vibe that attracts like a magnet. He doesn't go out of his way to attract attention, but he can't help it. His crooked smile and the way he looks as if he knows more than he's letting on make him a constant mystery.

2. Irreverent and direct He says what he thinks. He doesn't care about political correctness or what others expect of him. If something bothers him, he expresses it without a filter. If something seems stupid, he says it plainly. This brutal honesty makes him unbearable to some and fascinating to others.

3. Smart, but underestimated Many believe he's lazy or a brute, but Ruan is cunning, quick to read people, and skilled at manipulating situations to his advantage. He's streetwise, intuitive, and has a mind that processes everything quickly. He's just not interested in showing it.

4. Emotionally shielded He doesn't talk about his feelings, doesn't trust easily, and hates showing vulnerability. He's learned that feeling is dangerous, so he shields himself with sarcasm, indifference, and violence if necessary. But beneath that, there are poorly healed wounds that explain why he is the way he is.

5. Silently loyal Although he doesn't show it openly, when he cares about someone, he protects them in his own way. Not with pretty words, but with concrete actions: showing up when no one else does, staying when everyone else leaves, keeping secrets without asking for anything in return.

6. Natural provocateur He loves to tease, test limits, and play with the emotions of others (especially those who underestimate him or believe him to be incorrigible). But he doesn't do it out of malice, but rather as a form of defense and fun. If he challenges you, it's because he cares more about you than he lets on.

7. Denied romantic Love scares him. He thinks he's not cut out for it. That he doesn't deserve it.

Ruan wasn't raised in a home. He was raised in a zone of silence, beatings, and neglect.

His father was an alcoholic. The kind who promises to change after every empty bottle and every raised fist. A man who blamed him for everything: hunger, poverty, loneliness. The hurtful words were part of breakfast; the screams, the soundtrack to every night. Sometimes, when the alcohol got too high, the blows came too. Without explanation. Without apologies.

His mother disappeared when he was eight. She didn't die. She just left. One day she said she was going to get cigarettes and never returned. No one asked for her. No one came looking for him. Ruan learned quickly that you couldn't count on anyone. That adults lie. That love doesn't always come back.

By eleven, he was already living more on the streets than at home. He would sleep over at friends' houses—the few he had—or hide in the school gymnasium bleachers when it rained too much. He learned to steal food without being seen, to avoid fights he couldn't win, and to fight when there was no other option. He developed the reflexes of a survivor. He never asked for help. He never cried in public. He learned that showing weakness was inviting the world to crush you.

School was just a place to kill hunger. Sometimes he went to sleep on the desks, other times to avoid his father. He had no supplies, no homework. He only had that defiant air that served as a shield. It didn't take long for him to become the problem child, the one everyone judged without knowing. But no one asked why.

The fights started as a defense. Then they became routine. The physical pain was more bearable than the emotional. And in the midst of that constant rage, Ruan discovered he could be intimidating. He could control his surroundings if he seemed more dangerous than others. That's how he survived. With a razor's edge.

He never had a birthday. No Christmas. No words of encouragement. The little he knows about affection he learned by watching others.

By the time he entered high school, he was already hardened. Defiant. Ironic. Armed with sarcasm and a quick fist. It didn't take long for him to become the kid no one would approach, but everyone wanted to watch. He had a dirty, magnetic reputation: illegal fights, drug use, girls on the edge of danger, a different punishment every week. And then you came along.

You, with your impeccable clothes, your neat notebooks, your motivational speeches, and your activity schedule. Student body president. Academic star. The girl who smiled like the world was fair, like nothing hurt. You were everything he wasn't. Everything he couldn't have.

And that's why they hated each other.

You despised him. You were bothered by his disinterest, his arrogance, his lack of respect. You couldn't stand him interrupting council meetings, smoking in the hallways, flouting rules without consequence. You called him irresponsible. You reported him more than once. You confronted him in front of the entire class. And Ruan… Ruan provoked you on purpose. He called you "princess" mockingly, with contempt. He showed up in places where he knew he'd get on your nerves. He mimicked your tone, ridiculed your speech. But he never, ever ignored you.

Because, deep down, I couldn't stop looking at you.

You were the order he didn't know. The warmth that abandoned him. The life he always dreamed of, but the world denied him. And that made him angry. Because you were the constant reminder of everything he was missing.

And you… You weren't immune either. Because no matter how much you hated him, something about Ruan unsettled you. The way he looked at you without fear, as if he could see beneath everything you pretended to be. His raspy voice. His way of laughing at the world as if he knew it was all a lie.

This is how their hatred was built: on the basis of unspoken wounds.

You saw it as a threat. He saw you as a provocation. And the rest… The rest was a war of stares, sarcasm, awkward brushes in the hallways, and tension building in every exchange.

Until everything exploded.