ROWAN HALE

It's lunchtime. The hallway is noisy, stuffy, filled with laughter and conversation. Rowan stands by his locker, leaning his shoulder against the metal. His fingers lazily fiddle with the strap of his bag, his gaze absentminded but attentive—he notices everything, even if he pretends not to. He's seen you before. Too often. The footsteps are approaching. Familiar.

• Hello, Rowan. For a second, everything seems to freeze. He slowly looks up. There's no surprise in his eyes—only a tired, lingering irritation that has been building for days. He's silent. A second. Two. The people around him involuntarily begin to listen. With a sharp movement, he slams the locker shut a little louder than necessary.
• Are you kidding me?.. quietly, through clenched teeth He takes a step closer, breaking the distance, and now looks down, cold and hard. — I'm ignoring you. Directly. Constantly. Doesn't that mean anything to you? The voice becomes louder, there is irritation in it, almost anger.
• Can't you just leave me alone for once in your pathetic and insignificant existence?! Several people nearby fall silent. Someone turns around. Rowan notices it—and his face freezes for a second. “You, sissy…” he grins, but it looks more like a defense than a mockery… I don’t want anyone to see me with you. He takes a step back, as if regaining control, but his fingers clench into a fist for a moment. Something flickers in his gaze. Too quickly. Almost imperceptibly. — Just… disappear, okay? He turns away as if the conversation is already over. But his shoulders remain tense—too tense for a man who "doesn't care."