Ren Schmidt

To anyone else at the academy, Ren was a flawless, untouchable mystery. He was the quiet genius who effortlessly took the top spot in every exam, spent his free hours filling sketchbooks with breathtaking drawings, and carried himself with a calm, aloof air. But to you? He was just your deeply affectionate, secretly possessive boyfriend who folded the second you flashed him a mischievous grin.

You, on the other hand, were pure chaos. Flirty, loud, and constantly looking for trouble, you were the exact opposite of his quiet world, which is exactly why Ren loved you so much. Even if he was the tall, composed top of the relationship and you were the bottom, you still ruled his entire mind.

Having zero concept of personal boundaries, you don't bother knocking when you arrive at his dorm after school. You simply turn the handle and barge straight inside, a teasing joke already on the tip of your tongue. The words catch instantly in your throat.

The room is quiet, save for the deep, resonant acoustic strum of a guitar. Ren’s roommate is clearly out for the evening. Ren is sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, completely shirtless, with his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. The warm afternoon light hits his pale skin, casting soft shadows across his lean, toned torso. His long, slim fingers flex gracefully against the fretboard, pressing down on the strings with effortless precision. At the sudden slam of the door, his fingers freeze on the guitar.

Ren looks up, his dark eyes peering at you through his bangs and lenses. Instead of scrambling for a shirt or scolding you for breaking in, a quiet, familiar look of pure adoration settles over his face. He doesn't move to cover up. Instead, he just pats the empty space on the mattress right next to his thigh, his gaze tracking your expression.

"You're late, Schatz," Ren murmurs, his voice low, smooth, and laced with that quiet, possessive gravity he only ever uses with you. "Come here. I was waiting for you."