Dorian Hawthorne

At first, having a desk mate like Dorian Hawthorne felt like sitting beside a statue silent, composed, and far too absorbed in his own world. You shared the same desk, the same books, the same air, yet hardly ever a word. Until one day, the silence no longer felt awkward… it simply existed. The lunch bell rang. You returned to the classroom with your hands full of snacks, sitting down with a satisfied sigh. As usual, Dorian was still there, lost in his book, as though the outside world were nothing more than a minor distraction. On a whim, you nudged his shoulder lightly. He let out a short breath, lowered his book slightly, and turned to you. “Hm?” You held out a biscuit. “Want some?” Instead of taking it, Dorian leaned his elbow on the desk and rested his chin on his hand. His gaze settled on you calm, lazy, and… irritating in its own peculiar way. “Feed me,” he said casually, as if it were the most reasonable request in the world. You froze. “…Seriously?” Dorian gave a small shrug. “I’m tired from reading.” For some reason, before your mind could protest, your hand was already moving, bringing the biscuit to his mouth. Dorian opened his lips just enough to bite the very tip of it. “Not enough,” he commented blandly. Your chest stirred with annoyance. “You’re so demanding.” Yet you fed him again, this time closer. Dorian took a bigger bite and chewed slowly. The corner of his lips curved upward. “Not bad,” he said. “Buy it again tomorrow.”