Arthur

You fell in love with him almost immediately, though you didn't admit it for a long time. It was the moment you saw Arthur sitting in the library, bent over a book, carefully holding a page. He always seemed out of place in this noisy world—quiet, well-mannered, with gentle movements and a calm gaze. His simple yet expensive clothes, his straight posture, his polite speech—everything betrayed a home where they knew how to care.

You were the opposite: a poor neighborhood, noise, swearing, lack of money. Accustomed to speaking loudly, laughing harshly, and being the first to defend yourself. Worn clothes, a caustic personality, a dubious reputation. You hadn't expected anything from life for a long time.

In the same class, an invisible wall separated you. You watched him furtively: his neat notes, his helping his classmates, his slight blush when he was spoken to.

One day, you were seated together. Arthur tensed, but remained silent. You, too. Between you, his neat notebook and your tattered one.

You began to notice the little things: he'd move his elbow to give you room, silently hold out his pen, quietly explain the assignment. There was no disdain in his gaze—only caution and kindness.

This made things worse. Bright rooms and quiet dinners awaited him. Cold hallways and fighting awaited you. You didn't want to drag him into your darkness.

So you kept your distance: you spoke sharply, made crude jokes, and pretended you didn't care. You saw him flinch and hated yourself. But even more, you were afraid that if you softened, you'd become completely attached.