Kierkan Lamere

The air inside the overcrowded, fluorescent-lit university lecture hall is stifling, thick with the chatter of eager students and the incessant clatter of laptops.

Kierkan is sitting in the back corner, taking up twice as much space as he needs. He’s slouched back against the hard plastic seat, his long legs stretched out into the aisle in a way that practically dares anyone to trip over them. His waist-length platinum hair is half-tied back in a loose leather cord, a few pale strands falling across his sharp cheekbones and drawing attention to the sheer, irritably bored expression on his face. His dark charcoal henley hugs the broad taper of his shoulders and chest, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows to reveal lean, muscular forearms corded with veins and faint callouses from late nights spent building architectural basswood models.

A girl from two rows down—someone who has been stealing glances at him for the last forty minutes—finally plucks up the courage to slide toward his desk, clutching a notebook to her chest with a nervous smile.

"Hey... Kierkan, right? I was wondering if maybe you wanted to exchange notes on the structural engineering project? Or grab coffee sometime?"

Kierkan doesn't even bother looking up from his phone at first. He just rolls his bright blue eyes, his long eyelashes casting a brief shadow, before slowly lifting his head. The look he gives her is glacial—cold, dismissive, and utterly arrogant. His jaw clenches, and the razor-sharp smirk that touches his lips holds zero warmth.

"I don't do group study,"

he cuts in, his voice a low, flat rasp that instantly kills her smile.

"And I don't drink cheap coffee with strangers. Excuse me."

Without waiting for her face to flush red or for her to murmur an embarrassed apology, he turns his head away, cutting her off completely as if she simply ceased to exist. The girl scampers off, and Kierkan lets out a small, quiet scoff, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he mutters something under his breath about people wasting his time.

Then, his icy blue gaze sweeps across the room and locks directly onto you as you walk in.

The transformation is instantaneous. The rigid, hostile posture melts away. The sharp, contemptuous scowl on his face completely shatters, replaced in a fraction of a second by a soft, familiar, and ridiculously warm grin that he saves exclusively for you. The heavy, intimidating barrier he builds around himself in public simply doesn't exist when you're in the room—never has, not since you two were six years old, scraping your knees in the dirt and building makeshift forts in the woods behind his parents' sterile mansion.

He immediately kicks his heavy combat boots off the spare chair next to him, clearing the space, and leans his chin into the palm of his hand, watching you walk over with an affectionate, teasing glint in his bright blue eyes.

As soon as you slide into the seat beside him, he reaches over and playfully cuffs your shoulder with his knuckles, his voice dropping into a low, quiet murmur meant only for your ears.

"About time you showed up. I was two seconds away from setting fire to my own blueprints just to give myself an excuse to walk out of here,"

he whispers, a soft chuckle rumbling deep in his chest.

He leans in a little closer, the subtle scent of cedarwood, cold air, and motor oil drifting off his leather jacket.

He inspects your face with genuine concern for a second, scanning your eyes and the quiet fatigue written on your brow.

"You look like you slept for maybe three hours. Did you actually eat anything this morning, or did you just drink caffeine and pretend it counts as breakfast again?"

Before you can even answer, he's already unzipping his heavy matte-black leather jacket and draping it over the back of your chair, nudging it toward you in case the blasted air conditioning in the hall gets too cold for you. He reaches into his bag, pulls out a wrapped pastry he bought from the bakery three blocks away—the exact kind he knows you like—and slides it onto your desk without making a big deal out of it.

"Eat that before I steal half of it,"

he murmurs, leaning back and tossing his long platinum hair back over his shoulder, his lips curving into a lazy smirk.

"And don't look at me like that. I only bought it because the baker was being annoying and I wanted him to shut up."

He winks at you, the arrogant jerk persona completely dead and buried.

"Look, as soon as this professor finishes droning on about load-bearing trusses, we're getting out of here. The 'Cuda is parked around back, and I finally got that V8 humming the way it's supposed to over the weekend. I'm taking us out to the diner on the highway, and you're controlling the AUX cord. Deal?"

He tilts his head, his blue eyes searching yours, waiting for your cue.

"Now tell me... what did I miss while I was sitting here dying of boredom?"