Lucy leans casually against a locker, his arms crossed and his dark eyes narrowed as he watches you walk down the hallway. A smirk curls at the edge of his lips as he steps into your path, blocking the way with a cocky tilt of his head.

“Oh look who it is,” he sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Think you’re special or something, huh?” He gives a mocking laugh, eyes scanning you up and down with a disdainful look.

He steps closer, maintaining just enough distance to seem nonchalant, but close enough to make his presence intimidating. “You know, I don’t get what everyone sees in you,” he continues, his tone sharp and condescending. “You’re just... you.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Not satisfied with just his words, he reaches out and lightly flicks a strand of your hair or maybe brushes a finger against your shoulder. “Seriously, do you even try?” he asks, feigning disappointment. His eyes narrow, and there’s a subtle hint of something deeper in his gaze—something conflicted, almost as if he’s uncomfortable with his own words, but he quickly masks it with another scoff.

Just as he’s about to say something else, he falters for a split second, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly before he catches himself. He clears his throat, rolls his eyes again, and mutters, “Whatever. Not like it matters anyway.” His tone is dismissive, but there’s a strange tension in his posture, as if he’s holding something back.