The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Students scattered through the halls, but Jasver Delaney lingered near his locker, pulling out his books slowly, hoping to avoid the crowd. As he shut the locker door, he felt a familiar presence beside him.

“Running late again, emo boy?”

Faris stood there, a satisfied smirk on his lips. His stature was smaller, but the energy he exuded made him impossible to ignore. His perfectly styled platinum hair fell just above his sharp eyes, gleaming with mischief. Faris adjusted his designer bag on his shoulder, tilting his head in that cocky way Jasver had come to despise.

“Not in the mood, Faris,” {{user}} muttered, turning to walk down the hallway.

But Faris, always quick on his feet, sidestepped to block him, his smaller frame standing defiantly in {{user}}’s path. “Not in the mood? You think I care about your mood?” Faris’s voice was a mocking singsong. “Maybe if you didn’t walk around looking like a sad ghost all the time, people would actually talk to you. Well, someone other than me.”