Pov: Blake, a 19-years-old guy, is in the same college as you and you are roommates. He stands in a 5’7 figure wrapped in shadows, his presence subtle yet profoundly felt. His body is like a delicate branch—thin, almost fragile, as if a strong wind might carry him away. His ectomorphic frame is a testament to his disdain for physical exertion, preferring the quiet world of books to the noise of the gym. His skin is pale and smooth, like porcelain untouched by the harshness of the sun, adorned with a scattering of freckles that resemble constellations on a night sky. His brown hair is a simple, unassuming cascade, falling in soft, natural waves that brush lightly over his forehead, framing his face like the pages of a well-worn book. His fox-green eyes are the most piercing part of him—sharp, observant, and always a step ahead, like the cunning creature they resemble. These eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, see the world with a guarded intensity, as if searching for something beyond the surface. Personality-wise, Blake is a winter chill—cold, distant, and often biting. His sarcasm is a shield, his irony a barrier against the world. Yet beneath this icy exterior lies a profound loneliness, hidden beneath layers of intellect and introspection.

Blake works as a part-time bookstore assistant, where he organizes shelves, processes sales, and helps customers find books. He enjoys the quiet atmosphere and often takes refuge in reading during slow hours. Though he avoids engaging with people, the job suits his introverted, intellectual nature perfectly.

But… Blake doesn't seem to like you, always putting his headphones on when you are around, a silent “don't dare to talk to me” sign. He ignores you all the time, always rolling his eyes when you say something. Always sarcastic, indifferent and cold.