Obsidian

He walked into the dining hall for breakfast with Mei, he lined up at the ticket machine to get his ticket for breakfast. Choosing from the menu of the day, he typed in his student ID number and pressed the button for the regular English breakfast and a cup of unsweetened tea.
He plucks the ticket from the machine and lined up to get served his breakfast.

He spotted Mei waiting for him at the end of the line with a tray of pancakes, and he followed her towards a table near the window. Mei still looks slightly disheveled from sleep in her pajama pants and a band tee in comparison, he looks slightly more put together in his white long sleeve shirt and yoga pants and awake eyes.
He snorted as he watched Mei smearing a bit of syrup on her face, tossing her a napkin.

It’s the first day of classes, Hadrian has been anticipating it the whole week. Mei took it upon herself to take him around the campus ground, introducing him to every staff member and getting him familiarized. She also introduced him to her friends and he managed to fit in the little comfy and wild clique.

“Staying up late again, Mei Mei?” a voice suddenly said. Hadrian looked up to see Owen and Este Hangrove. Owen has on a simple white shirt and sweatpants, but the red varsity jacket he has on was a contrast to his general appearance. 
Este wears a simple white wool sweater and sweatpants.
Owen’s dirty blonde hair was more disheveled compared to Este’s, which was tied into a low ponytail.

“You know it, Owy. Nearly burned the dorm room while I’m at it.” Mei said, stretching the sleep out of her. 
Owen gave them a friendly smile, he reciprocated it as Owen sat down next to Hadrian. Este rolled her eyes fondly at her brother, and sat down next to Mei.

He had learned that Owen is a History major and his sister is an art major, both of them were seeked out by the school after working on a collaborative project together for a contest. The Hangroves owns a real estate agency in Colmar, a well off one at that. They and Mei met when she helped them with their car during break, and they became friends ever since.
Hadrian found himself enjoying his little clique, a few wild people with different majors and life goals grouped up into one. It sparks a story between them.

“So I have this thing with calling my friends with nicknames, Owen is Owy, Este is Essie. So I’m gonna call you Harry, or would you prefer Hadri or Annie?” Mei teased, Hadrian laughed at her antics. 
“Harry’s fine, my mum calls me that anyway.” he shrugged, Mei gave him a thumbs up.
He and his newly appointed group of friends chatted about different things at breakfast, old school gossip or even new ones. The topic of the belltower came up again. 

“Honestly, I think it has something more to do with the lake than the tower itself.” Este mused out, and Harry can’t help but agree. The lake was beautiful, don’t get him wrong, but it does have a bit of ominous to it. It was quite deep, and had a single boat docked on it. The boat reportedly still works, and some students even use it as a date spot. If they’re brave enough, that is.

Breakfast time was wrapped up and the four of them walked together back to the Dormitory. Owen and Este live on the 5th floor, he had learned.

Harry hopped in the shower and got ready for his first day of classes, sporting a simple beige turtleneck sweater and black trousers, a brown tweed jacket over him. He managed to tame his hair into neater curls, Mei was waiting for him out in the living room as he put on his glasses.
The strap of his messenger bag slung across his body, and he exchanged his loafers for oxfords that day.
Mei went to her morning Mechatronics class, and Harry walked through campus halls to his first English Literature class.

He walked through the door and sat down on the middle level of the tiered seats and set his bag down with a huff. He still has about 5 minutes before class officially starts so he used that time to look over his writing progress. It’s not much, he had only started writing it a month ago, but it’s a work in progress. 
“The rain droplets hit his skin, the wetness dripping down as he stares at the ruined building in front of him. A feeling of compulsion led him back here, it was luring and pulling. He felt like a lamb being lured into a trap by the wolf, but the wolf was nothing but a figment of his broad mind.”

He didn’t even particularly know what he was writing, just that it felt right. He glossed over the story of a lost boy being dragged back into his past home, compelled to do something but not knowing what. The boy just knows that he should be there.
The room shushed and Harry noticed that the 5 minutes he had had already passed. He shoves his writing back into his bag and glances down at the figure who walked into the room.

The figure who walked in catched his eye.
The man looks to be about in his early 30s, though he already has a few premature grays in his hair. A silver fox, if you will. Framing his face, waves of dark hair cascaded effortlessly, adding an element of rugged charm to his overall aesthetic. The few strands of gray, tousled and untamed, spoke of a spirit unbound by convention, hinting at an underlying wildness that lay just beneath the surface.
He’s wearing a simple light blue button up tucked into a dark brown tweed pants that matched his blazer, the top two buttons undone showing his bare collarbone. 

His countenance could be described as a tapestry of contrasts, where strength and vulnerability intertwined in a delicate dance.
His features were meticulously crafted, each element coming together to create a composition that was both captivating and mysterious. Chiseled and defined, his jawline carried an air of strength and determination, hinting at a resilient spirit that lay beneath the surface. 
His lips, softly curved and inviting, seemed to hold the promise of untold stories and whispered secrets, drawing others in with their subtle allure.

But it was his eyes that truly stole the spotlight. Deep and penetrating, they glistened with a mesmerizing intensity, as if they held the power to unravel the deepest mysteries of the human soul. Their color, a rich blend of earthy hues, shifted with the ebb and flow of light, revealing a hidden depth that seemed to mirror the complexity within. Set beneath gracefully arched brows, his eyes were the windows to a world of emotions, capable of conveying both vulnerability and resilience in a single gaze.

The man was stunning, simply put. Stunningly attractive.
Harry has seen his fair share of “hot” and “attractive” teachers, mostly in his High School years. But they could not compare to his level of beauty, and the boys in his old school couldn’t even compare by the slightest margin. 
His blue eyes roved over the sitting students around him, his eyes lingering on Harry for a brief moment, before moving on. Harry caught it, his right brow raised in interest, the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly into a smirk. Oh, this guy is interesting.
Under all that beauty, he’s hiding something more, something more interesting, something wild and unkept. If Harry’s curiosity wasn’t piqued before, it certainly was now.

“Morning, my name is Alexander Blackwood,” he said addressing the class, voice firm with authority. “You may call me Mr. Blackwood, of Professor Blackwood, I don’t really mind either. I will be teaching you Linguistics and Literature this semester. This semester we will be covering the fundamentals of certain literatures, the different schools of critical thought, and study some classics and their perspectives. Clear?” 
Most of the students nodded.

“Good,” Mr. Blackwood went behind the desk, taking out a folder. “For the literature, we will be covering old classics such as Frankenstein or Pride and Prejudice, but if you have any other suggestions you may run it over to me after class or feel free to email me.” he clapped his hands together. 
“For classics, you’ll be given a choice between a few. Whichever you decide, we’ll study. You’ll be required to write two papers for the entire semester. Any questions?”

It took Harry a second to realize that he has his hand raised, Mr. Blackwood looked at him and nodded for him to proceed. “Homer’s The Iliad?” his mouth moved, Mr. Blackwood’s head tilted in consideration. “Very well.”
Harry smirked once more as he meets Mr. Blackwood’s blue eyes, propping his chin on his palm. Harry broke first, glancing down on his notebook and his other hand twirling his fountain pen between his fingers.

The class introduced themselves one by one,”Hadrian Gray,” he mused when it got to his turn. He ignored the hushed whispers at the mention of his last name, he’s used to the whispers. 

The class officially started after that, he granted Harry’s request and covered the role Apollo played in the Trojan War. His anger brings forth a plague on the Acheaens for disrespecting his priest, Chryses, by kidnapping his daughter. His siding with the Trojans because Agamemnon, leader of the Achaean forces, insults him by taking Chryseis as a war prize. Many of the gods take sides in the war.
They discussed his role and the effects of his presence in the war.
They ended the class with a brief talk about Achilles redirecting his anger towards Hector after the death of Patroclus, and how he savagely sacrifices twelve Trojan men at the funeral of Patroclus.

The bell finally rang, everyone scrambled to get out of class. Harry took his time putting away his notebook and utensils, he walked down the stairs of the tiered seats towards Mr. Blackwood, who was looking over his folder.
“What can I help you with, Mister Gray?” he asked, looking up from the folder in his hand.

Harry meets his eyes, bright green staring into grayish-blue ones, his tweed blazer resting over his forearm, and his other hand on the strap of his messenger bag.
“I was just wondering if The Picture of Dorian Gray is qualified to be covered for literature?” Harry asked, a sly smile playing on his lips.