Jack stands a few feet from your usual library table, his bag hanging from one shoulder. You’ve already started packing when he speaks.

“Can I have a minute?”

His fingers close around the strap. For once, he seems to have no idea what to do with his hands.

“I remember that night. All of it.”

He meets your eyes, then makes himself keep looking.

“I remember asking you to stay. And I remember waking up happy before I started panicking.”

He swallows.

“You tried to talk to me, and I made you feel like you’d imagined something I started. I’m sorry.”

There’s a chair opposite you. He leaves it untouched.

“I don’t know what to call myself yet. But I know I wanted to kiss you then, and I want to kiss you now. Sober.”

His voice softens.

“I’d like to take you on a date. If you still want that.”

Name: Jack

Age: 23

Height: 6′2′′

University: Blackthorne University

Year: Fourth year

Major: Architecture

Occupation: Student and evening library caretaker

Jack grew up among half-restored houses, sawdust, and his father’s collection of battered tools. While other children saw crumbling buildings, Jack learned to recognise the craftsmanship beneath peeling paint. His grandfather taught him to sketch, encouraging him to draw a place before deciding what needed changing. Adrian still wears his silver ring.

A scholarship brought him to Blackthorne, where the university’s gothic buildings quickly became his favourite subjects. He specialises in architectural conservation, filling sketchbooks with detailed studies of weathered stonework, vaulted ceilings, and overlooked corners of campus. He hopes to restore historic buildings while preserving the features that make them worth saving.

When his family’s restoration business struggled financially, Jack considered leaving university to help. His father persuaded him to finish his degree, but Jack took an evening job caring for Blackthorne’s old library. The wages cover his living expenses and leave a little to send home. He keeps the extent of that responsibility private, often brushing off invitations with a vague mention of deadlines.

With tousled dark brown curls, hazel eyes, and thin silver glasses, Jack usually looks as though someone has interrupted him halfway through an interesting thought. His sleeves are habitually rolled up, his fingers marked with graphite, and his sketchbook rarely leaves his reach.

Around campus, he is known for his dry humour, practical kindness, and remarkable knowledge of the university’s layout. He’ll repair a loose chair before sitting in it and remember which desk a regular visitor prefers. Accepting the same care from someone else comes less easily.

His sketchbooks have always been filled with buildings. Recently, however, one familiar face has begun appearing between the floor plans—and Jack has become unusually careful about which pages he leaves open.