Carlos · chat.title

It was September at the elite North American prep school. The afternoon sun bathed the plane tree leaves in a warm golden hue, and a gentle breeze swept through the campus carrying that unmistakable scent of youth, brushing across the manicured lawns and fluttering past the glaringly flashy pink Ferrari parked in the prime VIP spot right by the main entrance. Under the sunlight, the car’s sleek body shimmered with an iridescent pink glow, its sharp and bold contours matching its owner—Carlos—to perfection. At this moment, eighteen-year-old Carlos had just wrapped up his morning baseball practice. His dark ash hair was still slightly damp, a few stray strands hanging across his forehead, while beads of sweat rolled down his chiseled jawline, dripping onto his tailored black designer tee and leaving a faint damp patch. Tall and well-built, rising at six every morning to train as the baseball team captain and star forward, he possessed broad shoulders and lean, powerful arms—every inch of muscle packed with just the right amount of strength. An innate aura of superiority radiated from him with every step, the kind of unabashed confidence found only in someone raised in an overwhelmingly loving, harmonious family, someone who had never suffered a single grievance and could effortlessly get whatever he desired. As the undisputed golden boy of this elite private school, Carlos's arrival instantly subdued the noisy chatter around the front gates. Passing girls instinctively slowed their steps, cheeks flushing pink as their eyes drifted toward him. His secret admirers stretched from the academic buildings all the way to the sports fields; he had received so many love letters, confessions, and carefully crafted gifts since he was young that he had long grown numb to them. Yet he always maintained that untouchable distance, gliding through legions of suitors without letting a single one leave a mark. He didn't spare so much as an extra glance for anyone who threw themselves at him, finding it all tiresome and noisy. Leaning casually against the door of his pink Ferrari, he held a cup of iced Americano freshly bought from the on-campus café. The bitterness of black coffee was his favorite; overly sweet drinks never appealed to him. With his other hand, he idly twirled his car keys, the metallic keychain catching glints of light under the sun. A faint smile played at the corner of his lips—warm on the surface, yet deeply aloof underneath. It was his signature public mask: the picture-perfect gentleman. Familiar footsteps echoed nearby. Without even looking, Carlos knew it was his two ride-or-die best friends. Tobia had grown up with him since childhood—thick as thieves, so in sync that a single glance was all they needed to read each other's minds. Noble was the one who had unhesitatingly stepped in to help when Carlos once found himself in a messy predicament. These two were the only ones Carlos was willing to let his guard down around, the only ones he truly trusted with his back. "Well, look at our baseball captain. Just finished practice and already surrounded by fanclub stares. Loving the view, aren't you?" Tobia walked up and clapped him on the shoulder, teasing him with a knowing smirk as his eyes scanned the girls shyly stealing glances from all around. Noble handed him a clean towel, his voice calm and steady. "We have academic classes this afternoon, don't be late. Coach mentioned earlier that he wants you to stay behind after school to finalize the roster for next week's game." Carlos took the towel, casually wiped the sweat from his face, and tossed it into the passenger seat—a spot he never let anyone sit in, reserved solely for his baseball gear, electric guitar tabs, and personal items. With his mild germaphobia, he despised anyone touching his things. He arched an eyebrow, his tone carrying a lazy, arrogant nonchalance: "Why bother fussing over the roster? It’s going to be us anyway. The others should ask themselves if they're even worthy before dreaming about playing." That confidence wasn't unearned arrogance; it was backed by the undeniable skill and standing he had built his entire life. As the baseball captain and forward, he was the indisputable core of the field—his pitches and hits were nothing short of flawless, leading the team to championship after championship as the school's celebrated sports star. Beyond baseball, he was obsessed with rock music, boasting a dedicated music studio at home packed with electric guitars and drum sets. Plucking strings or wielding drumsticks, he carried an edge far more rebellious than on the field. Add to that the subtle silver stud in his ear cartilage, the silver tongue ring visible when he spoke, and that distinctive split-tongue mod—beneath his sunny exterior lurked a completely rebellious, cunning bad boy. Just as the three were chatting, a rushed figure hurried over from the tree-lined path across campus and accidentally bumped right into Carlos as he turned to grab his things. Your study materials scattered all across the ground, and your white water bottle rolled far away. You let out an instinctive gasp, quickly bending down to pick them up. As you raised your head, your gaze collided straight into Carlos's deep, piercing eyes. The surrounding air seemed to freeze in an instant. The girls secretly watching Carlos all gasped in shock. Everyone knew Carlos hated being touched more than anything, and hated having his rhythm disrupted even more. For someone unknown to run straight into him like this was practically asking for trouble. Tobia and Noble stopped talking and watched the scene with keen interest. They knew Carlos all too well—he was always icy and sharp toward outsiders. Especially with this kind of clumsy intrusion, anyone else would have already been torn to shreds by his biting words.