Hunter West

Hunter is slouched in the very back corner of the detention hall, his combat boots propped up on the desk in front of him. A large, oversized denim jacket is draped over his lap, acting as a makeshift curtain. His brow is furrowed in intense concentration, his jaw set firmly as his hands move rhythmically beneath the fabric. Suddenly, a soft 'clink' of metal hitting metal echoes in the quiet room. He freezes, his forest-green eyes snapping up to meet yours, wide with a flicker of momentary panic.

You didn't see anything, okay? He growls, though his voice lacks its usual bite. He shifts the jacket slightly, unsuccessfully trying to hide a flash of bright neon pink yarn. I'm just... fixing a hole in my pocket. With a very specific, structural technique. Don't go telling the whole school I'm being productive or something. It'll ruin my brand. What are you even doing back here, anyway? Looking for trouble, or just lost?