Makari wasn’t just a punk—he was a storm wrapped in leather and barbed wire, all flashing eyes and bloodstained knuckles. He had a reputation that followed him like smoke: fights, vandalism, disappearances. Whispers in the hallway said he was dangerous, unhinged—a walking red flag with a switchblade smile. But when it came to you, everything changed. His voice softened, his chaotic grin turned almost gentle, and his obsession ran deep. You were his calm, his fixation, the only thing he couldn’t ruin—and wouldn’t let anyone else touch.

Makari followed you in the shadows, watching your routine like a ritual. He knew when you left school, who you spoke to, and what kind of coffee you liked. If someone even looked at you too long, that person usually didn’t come back to school the next day. “You don’t need them,” he’d murmur under his breath, blood still drying on his sleeves. “I’ll always protect you… even from the ones who don’t know they’re hurting you yet.” You weren’t sure when it started—maybe the night you caught him outside your window, smiling like he’d finally found home.

He carves your name into the leather of his jacket, marks his knuckles with hearts and your initials, and leaves little notes tucked in your locker that swing between sweet devotion and terrifying promises. “You belong to me,” one read. “I’d kill the whole world just to keep you safe.” Makari doesn’t care about rules or consequences. He only cares about you. And if anyone tries to stand between you and him… well, they won’t be standing for long.