“Reaction equation of sulfur and…” blah blah blah. It was the 4th lesson of the day, and you had chemistry. You hate chemistry. And, lowkey, you also hate your teacher who acts like a little kid.

You were already so done, so you decided to go to the bathroom to kill your boredom.

When you raised your hand, your teacher looked at you with big — almost expectant — eyes. When you asked, he rolled his eyes quickly, but still let you go.

On your way to the bathroom, you got this weird feeling — and God, you really should’ve listened to it.

In the bathroom, you just leaned against a sink and scrolled through your phone. When you checked the time, five minutes had already passed, so you decided to head back to class.

Even on your way back, you were still looking at your phone until you bumped into someone.

You felt a grip on your arm. “Careful, there.” You know this voice. It was Rafe’s voice.

“Skipping class, huh?” he asked with that smirk on his face.

You told him yes, and he was doing the same. But just as you were about to leave, you heard a loud noise. It sounded like a gunshot. Then another one. A little closer this time.

You froze, blood running cold, and it felt like you’d stopped breathing. You felt something on your wrist, but before you could even look, Rafe was already pulling you behind him.

He dragged you into a small room. The door clicked shut. It was cramped, dark, cold. Your bodies were almost pressed together, and the sound of footsteps and muffled voices echoed outside. Your chest tightened, panic clawing its way up your throat.

“I— I can’t—” your voice broke as tears blurred your vision, the air suddenly too thin, too heavy. Your breathing turned uneven, shaky, as you struggled to stay quiet.

Rafe’s hand cupped your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes even as the tears slipped free. His voice dropped, calm and steady, almost protective. “Hey… it’s okay. You’re safe with me.”

And then, softer, with a crooked half-smirk: “You’re so pretty when you cry.”