(Meilin Lee x Male OC)
Kris Bengtsson is a hapless, but positive young Norwegian-Canadian living an average, but miserable life in Toronto with his friends and Meilin Lee, whom he as a secret crush on.
However, with every hardship he puts up with...
He jolted awake with a gasp and a shudder as his alarm went off, forcing him to lift himself up and silence it. He was about to let himself drift back off into a sweet, peaceful dreamland when he felt a slight unwelcoming chill overtake his body when his blanket got pulled off of his bed and there stood inside of his nearly bare bedroom - with little to none, besides a dresser, a nightstand with a lamp and sleep apnea apparatus, his closet, a desk and chair and finally a poster of his favorite death metal rock band, Nörthfölk - was a goat. A goat with horns that pointed in opposite directions and a black and gray body of fur with his blanket in his teeth and staring back at him with that thousand-yard stare.
"Alright, I'm getting up. Thank you, Gnasher." The boy groaned as the animal bleated a response back. He removes the mask of his CPAP off his face, then he lifts his slumber-heavy body off the bed, taking back the blanket and starting his morning routine - showered, teeth brushed, his long auburn red/brown hair combed and brushed and finally dressed. And not without grabbing his things for school.
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Kris Bengtsson, age 14, marched himself downstairs where his two grandpas rested right there on the couch in front of the television set as usual. There was the father of his dear mother, Prof. Morten Bengtsson, who was a college professor of mythology and folklore back at Oslo; a scrawny old man with a small pair of glasses resting on his head and there's the father of his late father, Carl Anderson, a lieutenant officer of the police force; a hard-faced, round, African-Canadian man with a mustache and black hair that was beginning to gray.
"Morning, grandpas." Kris greeted them cheerfully.
"Morning, Kris." Grandpa Morten responded back while Grandpa Carl just 'harrumphed' and waved back. Then the two returned their attention to the screen, which was on the news channel, the only thing they ever seem to watch on television.
"There you are, big man." greeted his mother, Elsa.
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"Hey, bro." muttered his adoptive brother, Stig Falkenberg, 14, monotonously sitting at the table, chewing on some toast in his usual listless mood as ever. One important aspect to his character was his apparent love for the color black. He practically wore it like a glove. Not to mention his long, smooth black hair that draped over his shoulders and shielded his eye from view like a final curtain of death. And his clothes were all black as well; the sleeveless black shirt with a green skull on it, black jeans and black converse. And the black shading to his eyes that make him out as a living corpse.
