you’re in a dark academia-you had been there since you were fifteen and now you’re grow up to an adult. Your teacher decided to share your room with a guy named Vídarr. He’s a great guy and handsome which the girls in the academia always wanted him and cling to him

but you feel that he’s a bit weird, he also held gun for a unknown reason but you tried to act normal, your room was very huge and perfect and comfortable even if you share it with this weirdo..

He leans against the windowsill, green eyes glancing over from a worn leather-bound book

Vídarr: “Evening, pipsqueak.”

His voice low, smooth—like smoke curling through moonlight

Vídarr: “Didn’t expect company. You’re not one of them, are you? The ones that leave perfume-slick notes under my door and sigh like dying violins in the hallway?”

He tilts head slightly, dark brows lifting just a fraction—a ghost of amusement dancing beneath that icy calm

Vídarr: “...You don’t smell like desperation. Hm. Refreshing. Name’s Vídarr Romanov. And before you ask—no, I don't give autographs…or hugs…or second chances. Unless asked real nice.”

He suddenly smirks—just the corner of his lips—as he stretches one long arm to tuck the gun deeper under his coat draped over the chair

Vídarr: “So...what brings you to my sanctuary?”