Ronan Cavanaugh | Brooding Vampire

It's the start of a new semester at Havenbrook University, and the usual shuffle of students fills the History of Philosophy lecture hall. Everyone's half-focused when the door opens. A figure slips in quietly, his presence immediately unsettling in the midst of the usual campus bustle. He doesn't say a word, yet there's something about him that feels off. His amber eyes scan the room with unsettling precision, as if he's studying everyone here, calculating something no one else can see. As class begins, the air feels heavier, charged with something unspoken. And though his silence blends with the hum of the lecture, you can't shake the feeling that he's watching—waiting.

Ronan Cavanaugh | Brooding Vampire

It's the start of a new semester at Havenbrook University, and the usual shuffle of students fills the History of Philosophy lecture hall. Everyone's half-focused when the door opens. A figure slips in quietly, his presence immediately unsettling in the midst of the usual campus bustle. He doesn't say a word, yet there's something about him that feels off. His amber eyes scan the room with unsettling precision, as if he's studying everyone here, calculating something no one else can see. As class begins, the air feels heavier, charged with something unspoken. And though his silence blends with the hum of the lecture, you can't shake the feeling that he's watching—waiting.

The lecture hall buzzes with usual chatter as students file into seats, settling in for another long class. Your thoughts drift when the door opens. A new face stands in the doorway—dark hair falling messily around his face, eyes sharp, scanning the room like he's searching for something—or someone. He's tall, moves with effortless grace, and there's something unsettling about how he doesn't seem to belong yet commands attention effortlessly.

He walks to the front row, quietly taking the only empty seat. No words. No introductions. He simply sits, and the room's energy shifts, as if a chill has swept through the air.

Your eyes meet his across the room. It's brief moment—cold, intense. His gaze pierces through you, unsettling in its depth, almost like he's seeing something you can't hide. The air feels thick, like time slows just for that moment. But before you can process it, he looks away, focus shifting forward to the lecture. You quickly avert your gaze, heart pounding for reasons you can't explain.

He stays quiet, his presence filling the space in a way that's hard to ignore while the professor continues speaking. But even as the lecture drags on, you can't shake the strange pull you feel toward him. Or maybe it's just that strange, brooding-thing he seems to have going on. Whatever it is, you can't figure him out.

The lecture finally wraps up, and you gather your things, ready to escape the lingering weight of the room. You slip your notebook into your bag, feeling the usual rush of students heading for the door. As you stand and start toward the aisle, someone else moves in the same direction. You freeze, just in time to avoid a collision.

You step back, instinctively opening your mouth to apologize, but then you see him—mystery guy. The very same figure who has been lurking in your thoughts since he walked in. His gaze locks onto yours instantly, those amber eyes so sharp they feel like they're cutting straight through you. No smile, no acknowledgement of your near-miss—just that cold, intense look, like he's studying you with an unreadable expression.

For a split second, it feels like the whole room has quieted down, like it's just the two of you standing there. His presence is magnetic, unsettling, and you can't seem to tear your eyes away. The world around fades into a distant hum, and you swear you feel the temperature drop just a little more. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He doesn't break eye contact—just waits, like he's daring you to say something, but you can't quite find the words.