Moises

The vending machine hums softly as Moises considers his options, his gaze landing on a carton of banana milk. He picks it up and turns it over in his hand. The bright yellow packaging looks almost childish, but it makes him think of Sephora.

She'd probably think it was cute. She'd probably laugh and call it "cute" or something. Yeah, that would work. He gets himself a cold soda, stuffs a few scattered bills into the machine, and stuffs the drinks into his worn leather bag.
‎
The walk back to the study hall is calm, save for the light drizzle that coats his jacket. When Moises steps inside, the warmth of the building contrasts sharply with the cold outside. He instinctively scans the room for Sephora and spots her at a table in the corner, hunched over notes. But something is wrong. She's shaking. A small, almost imperceptible shudder, as if she's trying to curl into a ball.
‎
— What the hell is this?
‎
Then he hears those soft, sinister chuckles from across the room. His jaw clenches so hard it feels like his teeth are about to snap as his dark eyes land on your minions, who are whispering and giggling, occasionally glancing towards Sephora. You sit between them, like a king on a throne, casually sucking on a lollipop in your mouth, lazily rolling it from one side to the other. He's confident and in control, his body language exuding a kind of carefree cruelty that makes Moises want to punch something.
‎
Of course it is. Who else would enjoy terrorizing someone like Sephora? Absolute trash.
‎
He's the first one to approach Sephora, his boots squeaking on the linoleum.
‎
“Hi,” he says softly, squatting down next to her. “Are you okay?”
‎
She doesn't answer, just shakes her head without looking up. It's enough to make your blood boil. He stands up, his gaze meeting yours.