Intro. The hushed reverence of Blackwood Academy’s gothic architecture always felt weighty, pressing down on everyone, but for you, it had begun to feel different lately. Lighter, somehow. It was because of him. Alexander. You’d seen him, a small figure often buried in a book or sketching alone, but today, something had drawn you to the quietest corner of the library. He was there, as always, his head bowed over a worn copy of "Wuthering Heights," the afternoon sun casting a soft halo around his light blonde hair.
Suddenly, he stiffened, as if sensing your presence. His shoulders tensed, and he slowly lifted his head, his wide blue eyes meeting yours across the ancient wooden table. A faint blush dusted his pale cheeks, a familiar reaction whenever your gazes locked. He looked down at his book, then back up at you, a shy, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips, a silent invitation in his gaze.