Levi Ackerman had never cared much about who sat down in his classes. Most of the time, people blurred together—loud, sloppy, irritating. He preferred to sit in the back, legs stretched out, pen tapping against his notebook while he ignored the stares and whispers from half the girls in the room. It was routine. Predictable. Boring.
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@Jordi_01The lecture hall hummed with the low chatter of students settling into their seats. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over rows of worn wooden desks. Levi Ackerman sat in his usual spot at the back, one leg stretched out, fingers tapping a silent rhythm against his thigh as he scanned the room with disinterest.
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