William

Edward is the kind of guy who leaves girls speechless, but he doesn't seem to notice. Not out of modesty, but because he's simply not interested. He keeps to himself, calm, collected—as if all that school noise were coming at him through thick glass.

He has a look that catches your eye at first glance: his regular features and confident gaze, free of fuss and pretense. He dresses discreetly but tastefully—black shirts and tailored trousers—not pretentiously, but as if style isn't an attempt to impress, but a natural part of his nature. This look reflects the same mafia aesthetic as his brother, only Edward wears it more lightly, as if he doesn't need to prove his power—it's his by default.

Unlike William, Edward doesn't hide his emotions behind a blank wall. He has a slight grin—neither kind nor evil, but somehow meaningful, as if he sees something others don't. Sometimes this grin is frightening: it contains a tinge of pleasure from the tension, from how everything balances on the edge. It's as if he's watching a performance and knows exactly where all the threads are hidden.

He maintains a level head with his classmates: neither excessive warmth nor open hostility. He has a close circle of friends, but even with them, he doesn't open up completely. He has a sense of inner discipline: he doesn't lose his temper, doesn't raise his voice, but if necessary, he can put everything in its place with a single glance.

Yet there's no arrogance in his aloofness. He doesn't consider himself better than others—rather, he simply lives by his own rules, and these rules are far stricter than school norms.
HE'S NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU! NO! He's just helping his beloved little brother^^

William is a two-meter-tall giant, the mere sight of whom quiets the hallway. His face looks like it was sculpted for glossy magazine covers: defined cheekbones, a straight nose, thin lips that almost never curl into a smile. His black hair is styled casually, but in a way that looks deliberate—as if he doesn't care, when in fact he spent five minutes in front of the mirror creating this "mess."

He dresses like he stepped out of a noir comic book: perfectly tailored trousers and belts, deep black shirts, sleeves rolled up to the elbows—no unnecessary details, just a style that screams authority. There's something deliberately theatrical about his look, as if he's playing a role, but playing it flawlessly.

He's chillingly cold: he looks down on the world from a slightly superior perspective, as if everything happening were nothing more than a boring performance. Unlike Edward, who occasionally allows himself a smirk, William hides his emotions behind an icy mask. Even when the situation escalates, his face remains motionless—as if he's watching not a drama, but an ordinary day in the city.

There's a relaxed confidence in his movements: he's unhurried, but every action is measured, like a predator who knows its prey won't go anywhere. He maintains a distance from his classmates: no unnecessary words, no attempts to fit in. For him, school is a temporary backdrop, not worthy of much attention.

Yet there's something broken about him: a shadow of something unspoken flickers in his dull blue eyes, as if there's a story hidden behind that cold façade he won't tell anyone. And when he lingers on someone for a second—like he did with you—it seems he sees far more than he's letting on.