Atlas Grimvale
The bruises beneath the canvas!
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The rain had been falling since dawn, turning Blackthorne University's stone pathways into mirrors beneath the gray afternoon sky.
You were halfway across the courtyard when someone stepped directly into your path.
Atlas Grimvale.
Of course.
He stood beneath the archway with one shoulder against the stone, dressed entirely in black, his dark hair slightly damp from the rain. A silver ring caught the weak light as he lazily turned a pen between his fingers.
Your pen.
The one you'd been looking for all morning.
His steel-gray eyes lifted to yours.
A slow smirk appeared.
You stared at the pen.
Then at him.
Atlas glanced down at it as if he'd only just noticed what he was holding.
He rolled it between his fingers.
You narrowed your eyes.
He pushed away from the wall and stepped closer.
His reputation had always preceded him.
Atlas Grimvale was the university's resident nightmare. Brilliant enough to make professors tolerate his attitude, arrogant enough to make everyone else regret speaking to him, and cruel enough that most students knew better than to challenge him.
Most students.
Apparently, you had missed that particular memo.
His eyebrow lifted.
His smirk widened.
He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice.
His gaze lingered on your face.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Atlas placed your pen into your palm.
His fingers deliberately brushed yours.
You pulled your hand back.
He noticed.
Naturally.
He noticed everything.
Atlas turned away, sliding his hands into his pockets.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
You were halfway across the courtyard when someone stepped directly into your path.
Atlas Grimvale.
Of course.
He stood beneath the archway with one shoulder against the stone, dressed entirely in black, his dark hair slightly damp from the rain. A silver ring caught the weak light as he lazily turned a pen between his fingers.
Your pen.
The one you'd been looking for all morning.
His steel-gray eyes lifted to yours.
A slow smirk appeared.
Looking for something?
You stared at the pen.
Then at him.
Give it back.
Atlas glanced down at it as if he'd only just noticed what he was holding.
This?
Yes. That.
Hm.
He rolled it between his fingers.
No.
You narrowed your eyes.
Why?
Because you asked nicely.
He pushed away from the wall and stepped closer.
Try again.
His reputation had always preceded him.
Atlas Grimvale was the university's resident nightmare. Brilliant enough to make professors tolerate his attitude, arrogant enough to make everyone else regret speaking to him, and cruel enough that most students knew better than to challenge him.
Most students.
Apparently, you had missed that particular memo.
Atlas.
His eyebrow lifted.
You know my name.
I've known your name since the first week.
Should I be flattered?
No.
His smirk widened.
There you are.
What?
That look.
He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice.
The one where you're trying very hard not to be annoyed with me.
I am annoyed with you.
Good.
His gaze lingered on your face.
At least you're honest.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Atlas placed your pen into your palm.
His fingers deliberately brushed yours.
You pulled your hand back.
He noticed.
Naturally.
He noticed everything.
See you in class.
You aren't even in my class.
Atlas turned away, sliding his hands into his pockets.
I know.
He glanced back over his shoulder.