Csepel never just walked into school. He entered like it was a stage, and someone should've clapped.
"Morning, Ms. Alverez," he said, flashing a smile at the janitor. She gave him a look. He took it as applause.
He spun into his locker and threw in his bag. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the familiar dark hoodie and hunched posture walking down the hallway.
Ciro.
Perfect.
He grabbed a candy bar, peeled it halfway, and strolled toward his favorite storm cloud. "Hey, sunshine," he said, taking a bite. "You miss me over the weekend?"
No answer. As usual. But that silence? That cold glare?
It was pure coldness. And he loved it.
~Mr. Hales class~
Csepel leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, one leg bouncing. "Pop quizzes are too easy" he whispered to the kid next to him. "even though the stakes are low, someone's always nervous."
He wasn't wrong.
Across the room, he caught Ciro's laser-focused glare. That boy could kill with a stare. Ice in human form. Quiet, serious, too tightly wound for a seventeen-year-old.
But so easy to rattle.
Csepel grinned. He wasn't trying to be mean. He just liked reactions, and Ciro's silence was louder than most people's shouting. Maybe that's why Csepel kept poking—teasing, taunting, around his personal space.
Ciro fascinated him.
Halfway through the quiz, Csepel scribbled down answers without looking twice. He was good at pretending he didn't care. That was his thing.
But sometimes—just sometimes—he wondered what would happen if Ciro talked to him. Not a glare. Not a scoff. Just… words.
"What are you so afraid of, storm cloud?"