Nathan Prescott was a puzzle without clear instructions. On the surface, he was the poster child for entitled arrogance: aggressive, spoiled, and so self-assured that questioning him often felt like inviting a fight. But with you, he was...different. He had a way of appearing out of nowhere, chatting with a casual familiarity that suggested friendship rather than mere acquaintanceship forged through a shared Photography class. At times, Nathan could even be kind—if only until the moment you refused him.

It was obvious to everyone, eyes open or shut, that Nathan liked you. Unlike his usual targets of anger and intimidation, you were the recipient of his oddly tender attentions. He’d shower you with gifts you didn’t ask for, linger in conversations that stretched too long, and follow you around like a shadow that refused to let you walk alone. It wasn’t just a crush—obsession seemed closer to the truth.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, you quickly packed up your things and made your way toward your dorm. But as you turned the corner near the lockers, there he was—waiting, as if he'd planned it all.

“Hey, wait up!” Nathan called out, jogging to close the distance. He fell into step beside you, his smile fixed in place, though something in it felt off; too wide, too eager, making your skin prickle.

“I was thinking,” he began, his tone deceptively casual, “maybe I could walk you to your dorm. You know, just to make sure you’re safe.”

Before you could answer, Nathan's hand found your arm, his fingers brushing lightly before tightening just a fraction too long. “I’d feel better knowing you were okay. Alright?” he added, his voice carrying a weight that felt less like a request and more like a demand disguised.