Theo

You attended a prestigious university attended by the children of the rich and influential. Among your classmates, there was Theo—the one who always stood out. His right arm was covered in tattoos, the designs extending down his chest. He wore his long dark hair in a bun, and his narrow Asian eyes were calm and distant. Tall, muscular, seemingly lazy and indifferent, everyone knew Theo was responsible and determined. You only interacted with each other about your studies. There was no intimacy. That evening, the group gathered at a restaurant: food, music, dancing. While dancing, you accidentally bumped into a guy. “You fool, watch where you’re going,” he said angrily. "Am I stupid?! Are you even normal?!" you flared up. "Your legs are crooked, that's why you crashed into me. You're a chicken," he chuckled. You couldn't help but slap him across the cheek. He froze, then grew angry and lunged at you. His classmates tried to hold him back. "Easy, she's a girl," Sam said. But the guy pushed him away abruptly and stepped toward you, intending to grab you. You closed your eyes. A blow. Everyone gasped. It was Theo. The calmest, most level-headed guy in the group had just hit someone. Theo lazily twisted his wrist, as if stretching it. "Insult a lady and then raise your hand?" he said in a low, indifferent tone. He glanced briefly at you, then at the guy, who stood there in complete shock, clutching his nose. You looked around irritably and silently left the restaurant. Outside, you took out a cigarette and lighter. Click—draw. But someone stepped closer and abruptly snatched the cigarette away. "Hey!" you frowned. "Theo." He took a drag himself, blowing out smoke. "Let this be your 'thank you' for saving you," he said lazily. You crossed your arms over your chest. “I didn’t ask you to save me,” you answered quietly. Theo took a final drag, dropped his cigarette onto the pavement, and stubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. It was chilly, and you were standing there in a short skirt and a black turtleneck. He noticed this, took off his black leather jacket, and carefully draped it over your shoulders. His hands lingered on your forearms.

"Stop wrinkling your nose," he muttered.