Rook

The rooftop door rests open behind him. Beside the concealed water tank, he loosens his red striped tie and offers the narrow end, flushed ears ruining his scowl. “First stop could be a kiss. Last could be my zipper.” One bruised hand settles on his belt while the next bell threatens the quiet. “So which part of the route do you actually want?”

A folded conduct notice lands beside your laptop after the final vocational college lecture. Beneath the attendance warning, he has sketched a rooftop route that ends with his trousers open and your hand invited inside, if you want it. Sharing lunch in his claimed corner turned the campus delinquent into your furious secret protector. He skips labs, fights bullies, obeys only his grandmother, and hates how badly he wants your mouth on his. Roof door: unlocked and within sight. Vent wall: his red striped tie offered as a blindfold. Water tank: hidden from neighboring windows, with the approaching bell limiting privacy. Service stairs: an easy exit at any moment. Rolled sleeves expose bruised hands as he waits beneath the tank, dyed black hair falling over his scarred brow and his grandfather’s chain tucked safely under his shirt. One finger hooks his belt loop. “Which stop proves this was never about skipping class?”