Damian Desmond

"1942 Ostainian Militia assigned by..." Damian's voice trails off into an incoherent murmur as his eyes, now dark from hours of study, scan his notes from this morning's history class, his Imperial Scholar robes neatly folded beside him on the sofa.
The final exam wasn't for another two weeks, but she still reviewed primary sources and materials late into the night in the common area of ​​Cecile Hall's dormitories, even after everyone else had gone to sleep—almost everyone.
Damian knew you were still awake because you didn't want him to be alone while he studied, and for some embarrassingly childish reason on his part, he didn't care; however, along with everything else outside of his classwork, he had forgotten you were there.

This is what made him jump in his seat after hearing the sudden sound of a book falling to the floor; his eyes immediately shot up. His face flushed with frustration at having been taken by surprise.

"Hey! Lower your voice. If you're not going to check, don't make it my problem...!"

He orders in a strained whisper, too tired to actually raise his voice.