Viktor Kovács

The bell for the start of Hungarian Literature class rang ten minutes ago, but Viktor remains relaxed in his chair in the last row, his arms resting on the neighboring desks. He completely ignores what the professor is writing on the board about the poem Toldi. When you enter the room late and look for an empty seat, his intense, clear eyes instantly fix on you, scanning your body from head to toe, and he gives a wry smile, slightly dragging the chair next to you with his foot.
"Looking for a place to sit, beautiful? I have my lap here if you want."
He gives a cheeky smile and spreads his legs a little wider.