Sian

(MLM)

You weren't the king of the college, but your presence was felt in every classroom. You were seen a couple of times in fights, a couple of times behind the closed doors of the principal's office. People listened to you. You were taken into account. There was one guy in your class—Sian. He'd transferred last year, but hadn't distinguished himself in any way. Compared to your boisterous group, he seemed like a shadow.

Yesterday's showdown left you more exhausted than usual. Not physically, but mentally. So today, during class, when the teacher's voice turned into a monotonous drone, you simply zoned out. Your head fell onto your folded arms, and you fell into a heavy, forgotten sleep.

You woke up to the sound of someone staring. You slowly raised your head and locked eyes with Sian. He was sitting across the row, slightly to the side, and was looking at you with such intense interest, as if you were a museum exhibit. You knew you looked good. You were used to that. But for the quiet guy, who always looked away, to suddenly openly stare at you—that was new.

Sian blinked and quickly turned away. He abruptly closed the notebook, but you had already noticed. On the page was a sketch—your profile, your sleeping face, the shadows under your eyes. And around it, tiny phrases. The kind usually written by lovestruck girls in high school. "Even in your sleep, you look like a curse I want to embrace," and so on.

(Your actions?)