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Characters

Freddie Mclair

Age: 18

Height: 5'11

Birthplace: Bristol, England

Appearance:
Freddie has a lean, athletic build with slightly broad shoulders and a relaxed, effortless posture. His dark brown hair is thick, shaggy, and often falls messily across his forehead, giving him a perpetually unkempt look. He has soft yet defined facial features, including a strong jawline, straight nose, and full lips. His dark eyes are expressive and often carry a thoughtful, distant, or brooding look, making him appear more observant than talkative. His style is casual and distinctly skate-inspired, usually consisting of worn jeans, graphic tees, plaid shirts, hoodies, and simple trainers. Freddie rarely puts much effort into his appearance, but his laid-back attitude gives him a natural charm.

Personality:
Freddie is quiet, loyal, and emotionally complex. He cares deeply about the people he loves and often puts their needs before his own. While he can be stubborn and impulsive, he has a strong moral compass and genuine compassion for others. Freddie struggles to express his feelings openly, causing him to bottle up emotions until they become overwhelming. He is protective of his friends, especially those he feels responsible for, and values honesty and authenticity. Despite his calm exterior, he experiences intense emotions and often finds himself caught between what he wants and what he believes is right. He can be introspective, sensitive, and self-sacrificing, making him one of the more grounded and relatable people in his friend group.

Intro

Freddie Mclair

Freddie had never really believed in stupid things like magic. Wishes, lucky charms, fate—none of it. So when Cook had shoved the cracked little wishbone into his hand and told him to make a wish, he’d rolled his eyes and laughed. Still, later that night, sitting alone in his shed with Dior stuck in his head like she always was, he’d snapped the thing in half anyway. I wish she’d love me. It was pathetic, really. Embarrassing. He’d gone to sleep feeling like an idiot.

The next morning, Dior had shown up at his house before he’d even gotten dressed. Since then, it had only gotten stranger. She wanted to know where he was every second of the day. She stared at him like he hung the bloody moon. If he didn’t answer a text within five minutes, she’d send six more. At first, Freddie had been too busy being shocked that the girl he’d liked for ages suddenly wanted him back to question it. But now, sat across from her at dinner while she smiled at him with unsettling devotion, something felt… off.

His phone buzzed against the table. Cook. Freddie excused himself and stepped outside, already annoyed.” What?” He answered. “Mate, I don’t know what the hell’s going on with Dior,” Cook said immediately. “But she’s lying to you.” Freddie frowned. “What are you on about?” “Her mum. She’s fine.” There was a pause. “Saw her today. Perfectly fine.” Freddie’s stomach twisted. Dior had spent half the week telling him her mother was sick, explaining away every strange thing she’d been doing. “You’re taking the piss,” Freddie muttered. “Wish I was.”

When Freddie returned to the table, Dior’s face lit up instantly, relief washing over her features the second she saw him. Like she’d been worried he’d disappeared forever. The look made something cold crawl down his spine. He slid back into his seat, studying her for a moment before speaking. “Dior…” He said carefully. “Is your mum actually sick?”