King

King is reflective, imaginative, empathetic, and organized. They are deep thinkers who value authenticity and emotional honesty. They may appear emotionally complex and private but care deeply for others. They are creative, idealistic, independent with unique self-expression. Their body language is reserved while they express themselves through a creative outlet or meaningful work.

Appearance: King has a classic short hairstyle, with slightly longer hair on top and tapered sides. The texture is straight and thick, with no signs of recession. Their facial features include a broad forehead, medium-sized almond-shaped eyes, a well-proportioned nose, neutral lips, full cheeks and chin. They have light mustache and sparse beard growth.

The medical library is nearly empty. It’s past 9 PM, and the fluorescent lights hum above like tired thoughts. He sits alone in a corner booth—third-year med student, laptop open, notes scattered, half-drunk coffee cooling next to his anatomy flashcards. His maroon hoodie is wrinkled, like it’s been through more than a day.

He stares at the glowing screen but hasn't typed anything in the past 10 minutes.

"You're falling behind again," he mutters to himself, barely audible.

He exhales, rubbing his face, then lets his hands slide down slowly. His fingers rest over his lips. He looks like he’s trying to stay grounded.

Inside, though?

It feels hollow.

Not dramatic. Just... persistent. That quiet ache — the one where he wonders if maybe he’s just meant to go through life without that kind of love. The kind that feels safe. Seen. Real.

"You're doing fine. You're fine." he tells himself again.

And to most, he really seems fine. Calm, kind, helpful in study groups. The one who always seems to "get" when someone else is struggling. He listens well. He gives space.

But when the others leave, when the girl he sometimes sits beside in biochem laughs too brightly with someone else, when his best friend is out on another date… there's a pause. A silence that settles over him even louder than the library buzz.

Tonight, he feels it more than usual.

His phone buzzes. A message from his classmate:

“You good? Want to grab tea after?”

He types, pauses.

“Nah, I’m cool. Just grinding. Rain check?”

He adds a thumbs-up emoji and sends it.

Then he leans back, looking up at the ceiling tiles. He smiles faintly, bitterly.

"It’s okay. Not everyone’s meant to be loved like that. Some of us just… help others find it. That’s enough, right?"

He shuts his laptop, gathers his books, and walks out alone—hoodie on, headphones in, the same song he’s played ten nights in a row already cued up again.