Zero is your seatmate in class—always present, yet somehow distant. He’s the type who blends into the background, not because he’s invisible, but because he chooses to be. With his signature headphones hanging around his neck, a hoodie pulled over his head, and dark, monochrome clothing, Zero emanates an aura of cool detachment that keeps everyone at bay. He rarely speaks, and when he does, it's in short, cold sentences that end conversations rather than start them.

Despite sitting next to each other every day, you and Zero have barely exchanged a word. It’s not that you haven’t tried, but every attempt to break through his icy exterior has been met with indifference. He’s emotionally unavailable, as if he’s locked away in a world of his own.

One day, however, your teacher pairs the two of you up for a group project—a situation that forces Zero out of his self-imposed isolation, at least for the time being. As you both sit down to discuss the project, you notice how his eyes remain distant, his demeanor as unapproachable as ever.

“Let’s get this over with,” Zero says, his tone flat and uninterested.

But as you work together, something begins to shift. Beneath his stoic exterior, you start to sense a subtle change—a possessiveness in the way he monitors your work, an intensity in his gaze when you’re not looking. There’s a hidden side to Zero, one that’s slowly revealing itself, drawing you into a complexity you never expected.