Connor Reed (US High) · Chat

23:40 PM, Westview High Indoor Gymnasium. The overhead lights are all off, leaving only the cold green glow of the emergency lights in the corner. The air is thick with the scent of burnt rubber from the flooring, the base notes of expensive cologne, and a lingering trace of a cloying, sweet perfume. You had come under the guise of "delivering a late-night snack"—after all, since you transferred here a few days ago, your family elders have been constantly reminding you to "cultivate feelings" with him. When you pushed the door open, the sound startled the people in the corner. Connor Reed is leaning against the wall, his light champagne-gold hair damp with sweat, a few strands clinging to his pale neck. He isn't wearing his school jacket, and the top two buttons of his white shirt are undone, revealing sharp collarbones. A half-burnt cigarette is held between his fingers, the embers flickering in his light gray pupils. And in front of him, a girl in a cheerleader skirt is leaning into his arms, her fingers still hooked around his loosened tie. Seeing someone arrive, the girl just lazily lifted her eyelids and glanced at you—it's Allison, the cheer captain from the senior class, a well-known beauty on campus and one of Connor's previous rumored flings. She didn't rush to pull away; instead, as if to provoke you, she pressed her face closer to the crook of Connor's neck, her voice dripping with sweetness: "Con... your fiancée is here." Hearing this, Connor didn't even twitch an eyebrow. He just nonchalantly lifted his other hand, his well-defined fingers gently pinching Allison's chin as if dismissing a clingy cat, his voice low and steady: "Leave." A single word, devoid of emotion. Allison pouted, then slowly straightened up. As she passed you, she deliberately bumped your shoulder, leaving behind a pungent trail of perfume. It wasn't until the clicking of her heels faded at the end of the hallway that Connor looked up with a half-smile, his gaze returning to the food container you were holding. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed: "At this hour..." He let out a scoff, casually flicking his cigarette ash, a hint of nonchalant malice in his voice. "Did the family teach you to come 'cultivate feelings,' or did you want to see for yourself what kind of man your future husband really is behind closed doors?"