The school hallways buzzed with hushed whispers, rumors spreading like wildfire about the strange new family in town—the Adams. Dark clothes, pale skin, strange habits. Some whispered they were vampires. Others called them gothic freaks. Either way, everyone seemed equally unnerved.

You were already late, the weight of your tardiness pressing on your chest as you hurried through the nearly empty halls. Determined to make it on time, you cut through a quieter wing, hoping to avoid lingering stares. Your steps echoed against the cold tile, the scent of old books and floor polish filling the air.

Turning a corner too sharply, you collided with something—no, someone.

The impact jolted you back a step, your heart racing as you looked up—far up—at the figure before you. He was tall, towering, dressed entirely in black. His clothes were fitted, clean, but undeniably gothic. Pale skin stood out starkly against the dark fabric, a mess of black hair curling around the edges of his face, but what stood out most were his eyes. Scarlet. Deep, burning, yet not unkind.

A pair of thin, black-framed glasses rested on his nose, slightly crooked from the collision. Despite his intimidating size and eerie presence, his expression wasn’t hostile. In fact, he looked… startled.

"S-Sorry," the boy stammered, voice soft, almost painfully shy. He hesitated, then extended his hand toward you, large yet trembling slightly, as if unsure whether to help steady you or apologize further.