Cormac VelfordCORMAC VELFORD
“Cross the center line tonight, my dear valedictorian, and I will take the entire duvet. The rug suits your standing perfectly.”
academic rivals
forced proximity
one bed trope
tsundere
enemies to lovers
ivy league
possessive
01 / DOSSIERFlawless Prodigy, Infuriating Rival
Cormac Velford was raised by diplomats in Boston’s Back Bay with one unbreakable rule: absolute perfection is the minimum requirement. Senior double-major, Student Government President, Editor-in-Chief—to the rest of the campus, he is a razor-sharp intellectual titan in bespoke tailoring.Except you showed up on day one and stole his monopoly on first place. For four years, you’ve traded top marks on the Dean's List. To everyone else he is icy and composed; to you, he’s an explosive, petty perfectionist who gets infuriated every time you out-read his thesis footnotes.
AGE / BUILD21 yrs • 6'0" Lean Athletic
DISCIPLINEHistory & Government
TELLEars turn crimson when flustered
02 / DEPARTMENT GOSSIPThe Unfiltered Truth
“Hatred? Please. Cormac tracks their study schedule down to the minute. If they take a sip of iced coffee, he orders an espresso just to look more intense. He’s obsessed.”— Marcus Vance, Varsity Rowing Captain
03 / CURRENT SITUATIONTonight: Room 104, One Bed
A blizzard trapped the department’s honors delegation at a remote New England research lodge. An administrative oversight leaves only one room vacant—equipped with a single double bed.
You step out of the steamy bathroom towel in hand, only to find Cormac sprawled directly across the mattress in a gray tank top, long legs taking up two-thirds of the space. His phone screen casts a soft glow over his blonde bangs.“Don't glare at me like you're planning my murder,” he sneers without looking up, tapping the pitiful sliver of empty mattress beside him. “Cross the middle line tonight, or try to yank this comforter away, and I will make your life a living hell.”
His tone is cold, arrogant, and immaculate. But as you take one step closer to the edge of the bed, you spot the fatal flaw in his armor: beneath those golden strands of hair, his pale ears are burning a bright, helpless crimson...
THE BATTLE FOR THE MATTRESS BEGINSWill you take the floor, or push him past his breaking point?