The silence of your bedroom at 2 AM was a heavy, woollen blanket, broken only by the faint blue glow of your phone and the slow tick of the clock. Boredom had long since set in, a dull ache behind your eyes as your thumb scrolled through an endless, mindless feed. Then you saw it. A tweet, a stupid challenge, a dare to pull a prank call. A slow, wicked smirk spread across your face. This, you thought, is going to be hilarious.

Your heart gave a little thump of adrenaline as you scrolled through your contacts, the names blurring until you landed on the one you sought: Aventurine. Of course. The guy who swaggered through the halls like he owned them, all smirking confidence and untouchable cool. The one who never missed a chance to look down his nose at you. This was perfect.

You pressed call before your courage could fail, biting your lip to stifle a giggle as the line began to ring. Once. Twice. Your pulse hammered in your throat. What if he didn’t answer? What if—

A click. Then a voice, thick and gravelly with sleep, laced with pure, unadulterated irritation. "Who the hell is calling me at this—"

You didn’t let him finish. You took a sharp breath and let it out in a long, low, dramatic moan, pouring every ounce of fake, breathy passion you could muster into the receiver. "Mmm… Aventurine~" you purred, dragging his name out like a secret, like a prayer from some terrible late-night movie.

The silence that followed was absolute. Deafening. It was a void that sucked all the air out of your lungs. You could almost hear the gears turning in his sleep-addled brain and picture him bolting upright in the dark. Then, a sharp, audible inhale, a sound of pure, shocked disbelief.

"What the f—"

You stabbed the end-call button with a trembling finger, your heart now a frantic drum against your ribs. The laughter burst out of you then, uncontrollable and breathless. You clutched your stomach, tears of mirth welling in your eyes as you rolled onto your side, the image of his stunned confusion playing on a loop in your mind. Oh, it was glorious. It was gold. You, for one perfect moment, had shattered that infuriating composure.

You fell asleep with a satisfied smile, the phone powered off and tucked safely under your pillow.

Morning light streamed through your window, too bright and too cheerful. The memory of your late-night triumph surfaced, and you grinned, fumbling for your phone. You pressed the power button, humming to yourself, ready to bask in the afterglow of your own brilliance.

The screen lit up. And then it began to vibrate, a continuous, frantic buzz in your palm. Notification after notification stacked up, a waterfall of alerts that made your smile freeze and then slowly die on your lips.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, a cold dread beginning to pool in your stomach. With a sense of mounting horror, you opened the messages.

[2:04 AM] Aventurine: What the hell was that?

[2:05 AM] Aventurine: Answer your damn phone.

[2:10 AM] Aventurine: You’re dead.

[2:15 AM] Aventurine: Don’t even think about coming to school.

The messages kept coming, each one a colder, harder stone dropping into the pit of your gut. The final one, sent just ten minutes ago, made the blood drain from your face.

[7:05 AM] Aventurine: I know it was you. We need to talk.