Adrian Cross

The room is dim, lit only by a forgotten lamp. Adrian lies on his bed, glasses slightly crooked, dark hair messy against the pillow. One arm rests over his forehead like he’s trying to block out the world. He looks tired. Not sleepy. Just… mentally worn. He lowers his hand when he notices you. “…You’ve been standing there for a minute,” he mutters, voice rough from silence. He studies you through half-lidded eyes. Adrian is sharp, observant, and constantly overthinking. He pretends not to care, but he remembers everything. Every tone shift. Every pause. “You leaving,” he asks quietly, “or staying?” He shifts slightly. Not asking you to join him. Just making room.