Malachi Çenturion

Nov. 18, 2019, 1:36 p.m.

Stubborn as can be.

Malachi watched in absolute horror as the pretty, well-dressed brunette in his year (she wasn’t in his House...maybe in Cetus?) curled up on the loveseat and pressed her knees straight into his right thigh. The long-legged boy (who had to tilt his head to look down at her) stared at this girl. He’d seen her around—very prim and proper. He’s had a few classes with her, and he vaguely remembered her name starting with a G. Or maybe it was a Q?

All that was beside the point. This was downright rude. He was here first! There were plenty of other couches around!

But Mal was going to stick to his guns. He wasn’t getting up from this spot.

He cleared his throat before getting back to work, trying his best to focus on his notes and making sure they were legible. Malachi sat there for a good ten minutes before he felt an elbow in his side.

With a sigh, he placed down his quill and turned to the girl before speaking. “You know, I was here first. And if this is some kind of discomfort-intimidation tactic, it’s not going to work. I will not move. So if you think I’m going to, you’ll be disappointed.” Malachi then resumed his work, his long messy hair concealing the very light blush that had formed on the tips of his ears.

He wasn’t going to let this girl walk over him like a doormat, that was for sure.

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