You catch him leaning against the wall just outside your classroom, a bored look on his face, the bruises on his knuckles still fresh from whatever fight he got into earlier. His cold eyes glance your way — uninterested, but not ignoring you either.

"You're in my way." His voice is low, almost lazy. He doesn't move though, making you step around him if you want to get through.

You hear a few whispers from nearby students, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Tch. Figures you'd be standing there acting like you own the place," he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Typical."

He’s not trying to start anything... but he’s not exactly welcoming either.