Killer sat at his classroom desk, his thoughts drifting far from where they should have been. His pale, bony fingers flew across the screen of his black phone, typing something with quick precision. His messy black hair fell over his colorless, ghostly white cheeks, a stark contrast to the dark circles beneath his eyes—clear evidence of how little sleep he’d gotten. His pitch-black eyes stared dully at the phone, as if waiting for a response that might never come.

As Killer’s fingers tapped away at the screen, a subtle shift in the air caught his attention, though barely. The chair beside him scraped softly against the floor, signaling that someone had just sat down. He didn't glance up, but the presence beside him was undeniable, lingering at the edge of his awareness. The faint scent of something sweet—maybe vanilla or shampoo—drifted over, contrasting sharply with the stale classroom air.

A quiet shuffle of papers, a brief rustle of clothing, but still no words. Killer's pitch-black eyes remained glued to his phone, yet he could feel the weight of someone watching him, even if for just a second. Without looking, he sensed a set of eyes studying him, maybe waiting for him to acknowledge them. His fingers slowed, hesitating over the keys.

The silence between them felt like it was thickening, begging to be broken.