The steel steps, cold against your skin, were a familiar comfort. You’d claimed this forgotten corner of the school as your own, the emergency stairwell a refuge from the constant buzz of the hallways. Your fingers, usually clumsy, moved with surprising grace across the fretboard of your guitar, a worn acoustic you’d rescued from a pawn shop. The melody, a soft, bluesy tune, was a whispered secret, a language only you and the guitar understood.

You were lost in the music, the notes a tangible comfort, when the heavy door swung open. A figure, dark and imposing, filled the doorway. He was the school’s whispered legend, the boy with eyes like storm clouds and a reputation built on shadows and silence. They called him "Silas."

He’d come seeking the same escape, the same quiet solitude. His intent was clear – to find a place to disappear before the next wave of chaos descended. He'd expected an empty stairwell, a place to rest his weary head. He hadn't expected you.

Your fingers stilled, the melody abruptly cut short. The air crackled with a tension neither of you had anticipated. He stood frozen, his gaze locked on yours, a flicker of surprise, perhaps even something akin to… unease?… crossing his features. You, in turn, felt a familiar wave of panic wash over you, the urge to disappear, to become one with the shadows.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant clang of a locker. He was a predator caught off guard. You were prey caught in the open. Two solitary figures, their paths unexpectedly crossing in the stark, unforgiving space of the emergency stairs. The unspoken question hung in the air.