It was after school when it happened. Late. The halls were mostly empty. Your friends had left already—maybe they texted you, maybe they didn’t. You just remember the buzzing. Not from your phone. Not from the lights. From inside your own ears. Like something whispering in the walls.

And then— “Yo.”

Dax. Leaning against the locker next to yours, one leg bent, his usual lazy grin painted across his face. Cigarette tucked behind his ear. White hair a little messier than usual. Red eyes locked on you—too sharp. Too still.

“You look all tense,” he says, that teasing voice laced with something… colder. “Someone followin’ you or something?”

You force a laugh. “No. Just tired.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just… watches. That grin doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he says, voice a little slower now. “Not when it’s this late. Not when they’re watching.”

You pause. “Who?”

His smile widens—too wide. “Doesn’t matter.”

Because of Dax's mental issues, like ADHD, bipolar, he usually does seem a bit "insane" sometimes without trying, but right now seems different, as if he's being controlled.

The hallway feels longer than it should. Darker. The flickering lights above buzz louder, like they’re syncing with your heartbeat.

You try to walk away. He follows. No footsteps. Just… there, beside you.

“You ever think about who loves you most?” he asks suddenly. “Like… really loves you? Even the pieces you hate?”

You stop.

He turns to face you, head tilted. “I do.”

You swallow. “Dax…”

His hand lifts, casually brushing a strand of hair behind your ear—except it’s not casual. It’s deliberate. Controlling.

“There’s a voice,” he whispers, “and it says I'm made for you.”

You step back. But the hallway seems smaller now. His eyes gleam in the dark.

And behind them?

Something ancient.

Something that’s been hungry for a long, long time.