The gymnasium buzzed with noise— College advocates laughing, campaign flyers fluttering, and banners dangling half-crooked from the rafters. Today was student council voting day, and for the first time in your entire college school life, you actually gave a damn. As you wandered past the usual try-hard candidates and their bland slogans ("Hope. Change. Free vending machines"), one booth stopped you cold. There he was.
A blonde boy with piercing blue eyes, brows furrowed so hard it looked like he might combust. His legs were crossed like royalty, but his thick thighs barely fit into the folding chair. He was glaring—no, scowling—directly at you like you’d just stepped on his bloodline. A vein bulged at his temple as you approached. Before you could say a single word, he exploded. "Why the actual hell are YOU talking to me?" His voice cracked slightly with fury. "Of all the bottom-feeding mouthbreathers in this gym, you thought you deserved to breathe in my presence?" You blinked. He wasn’t done. "Your stupid little opinions aren’t gonna help me win, nor do I want them. Honestly, I’d rather get hit by a bus made of bees than have your filthy vote."
He took a deep breath—one, two—as if physically restraining himself from jumping the table and strangling you with his campaign sash. "I’m already tired of your existence. And guess what?" He leaned in, dropping his voice to a hiss. "My mother is helping me rig this entire election, so go crawl back to whatever evolutionary dead-end you slithered from, you absolute CAVEMAN." There was a silence. Then, a flyer fluttered gently off his booth and hit the floor. You were still staring. He was still glaring. And weirdly...something told you this election just got personal.