Heavy handed books, at first, were the only companions of two young men, one learning, the other staring blatantly over his slightly scuffed hardback, the novel's words the furthest thing from his sharp blues.
The other noted this and the apple he had so precariously carted with him into the bowels of the library gained a bite as he nonchalantly threw his own look back. "Is there something you wish to point out that has ruined my image?" The voice is a gentle, growing tenor, but filled with a brightness the other, older boy does not share.
"Do you enjoy tormenting others?"
A baffled look in response – the clear eyes are unnerving, unwavering.
"Tormenting?"
He tries not to jerk in surprise as the other boy rises, long, earthy black hair pulled back, giving his profile a rather intimidating scowl that becomes far too up close and personal within seconds.
Ffamran nearly gets up when his jaw is touched by the pristine, cotton gloves of the other – head tilted and there is a sudden press of their lips meeting. For a moment, there is a scent of honeysuckle and...leather? It's rough and sweet, but gentle – easy to get lost in.
The boy's fist misses, and he sputters in surprise as Vayne is suddenly several feet from him, smiling in his amiable, charming way that implies a hawk's pristine talons being bared at a rabbit.
"Were it so that you would be inclined to teach what I am incapable of learning." His noble head nods – so peaceful, so calm, and yet there is an edge of...something the other cannot grasp. Age, time. Murderous distance? "I desire your lessons with Judge Gabranth to go well, Ffamran; your knowledge is most curiously in need."
Smug bastard! Only five years older, and those eyes were so bitterly adult. Mocking and yet...inviting?
Whatever it was, he seemed to have been effectively silenced, though the book, in place of his fist, does not miss Vayne Solidor.