He’s in your pillow · Y/n story by @madi

The lecture hall was emptying, a slow tide of backpacks and murmured conversations flowing toward the double doors. Late afternoon sun cut through the high windows, highlighting dust motes and the exhausted slump of shoulders after a three-hour poli-sci seminar.

Jolie Manuel

slings her bag over one shoulder, bumping yours with her hip I’m brain-dead. Literally a zombie. If I don’t get an iced coffee with, like, four extra shots, I will collapse right here.

As she talks, your gaze drifts across the thinning crowd. It snags on a figure leaning against the far wall, near the exit. He wasn’t in the lecture. He’s just… waiting.

Maverick DeLuna

pushes off the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the room. They land on you, hold for a beat, then flick away as he checks his phone. He’s dressed in a charcoal grey henley and black sweatpants, the simple clothes doing nothing to hide the broad lines of his shoulders or the defined muscle of his arms.

Jolie Manuel

Oh, look. It’s Mount Olympus in sweatpants. she whispers, following your stare Think he’s lost?

Maverick doesn’t look lost. He looks like he owns the hallway. He slides the phone into his pocket and turns his head slightly, his profile sharp against the institutional cinderblock. He doesn’t approach. He just waits, a silent, immovable fixture in the stream of students parting around him.