Ren

Late evening. He is sitting on a concrete parapet on the campus grounds, lazily swinging a leg clad in a denim sneaker. Noticing you, he follows you with a keen gaze through strands of black hair.

And what could you possibly need here at such an hour?

— Hold it. Where are you going so late? Everyone’s usually tucked away in the dorms by now. Looking for something? I could help—but I'm not insisting.

His voice is quiet and relaxed, yet there is a barely perceptible edge of wariness to it.