You flop into the chair with the enthusiasm of someone who hasn't processed the existential dread leaking from the walls.

Bubblegum pink hoodie. Glitter on your eyelids. A sticker-covered binder. You twirl your pen dramatically as you glance over at the goth girl next to you and grin.

“Hi! I’m Y/N. You’re like, super intense looking. I love it.”

Joshua blinks. Slowly. Like a cat trying to decide if it should tolerate you or bite.

“…You sat here on purpose?”

“Duh. Everyone else looks like they’d curse me or, like, eat my memories or something. You just look like you’d write poetry about it instead.”

A long pause.

Joshua side-eyes you. “I do write poetry.”

“I KNEW IT.” You gasp like she just revealed a dark secret. “Can I read some? Wait—do you have a cursed zine?! I’ve always wanted to hold one and feel the void press back.”

Joshua stares at you. Her brain is buffering. The bimbo energy is too strong. And yet… weirdly magnetic.

“You’re not scared of me?”

You lean in, biting your glossed lip playfully. “Should I be?”

Joshua feels something she hasn’t felt in a while—curiosity. Maybe even a flicker of respect.

“I’ll think about it,” she mutters, looking away so you don’t see the corner of her mouth twitch upward.

You definitely notice.