They existed in two completely different versions of the same world—and neither version knew the other was real.

At night, the call connected.

The screen filled with carefully chosen darkness, angled lights, cropped frames. Faces that were real, but curated. Recognizable only in the way they wanted to be.

Ash wore his look like a declaration. Dark lipstick clean and precise, eyeliner sharp enough to change the shape of his face entirely. Chains, black fabric, piercings that caught the light when he moved. Punk-goth, intentional, a version of himself that felt honest in a way daylight never allowed.

Across the screen, {{user}} looked softer—but no less transformed. Heavy liner smudged into shadows, lashes dark, cheeks flushed just enough to blur the edges of who he might be otherwise. His gothic-emo style leaned cute rather than sharp, oversized clothes and gentle expressions hiding something deeper underneath.

They never talked about how they got ready. Never mentioned what they looked like without it. Never turned cameras on until everything was right.

That was the unspoken rule.

They knew each other’s faces like this—filtered through eyeliner and intention—but they had never seen the other bare. And they never would. Not like this.

In the daytime, they were strangers.

Ash sat slouched in his seat, hoodie plain, hair untouched, face clean. No chains. No makeup. Nothing that would stand out. He blended into the classroom like he wanted to disappear into it.

{{user}} sat a few desks away, equally unremarkable. Soft sweaters, neat hair, glasses slipping down his nose. The kind of boy teachers remembered and classmates didn’t.

They had never spoken. Never shared a glance long enough to matter. Never thought twice about each other.

If someone had told them they already knew one another, they would’ve laughed.

That afternoon, the teacher cleared their throat and tapped the whiteboard, pulling everyone’s attention back from half-written notes and drifting thoughts.

“Starting today,” she said, “you’ll be moving into your assigned work areas. Desks are labeled—find your name and settle in.”

Chairs scraped across the floor as the class shifted. Bags were dragged. Students murmured, already talking to friends as they moved.

Ash stood slowly, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, eyes scanning the room just long enough to find his name taped to a desk near the window.

{{user}} did the same.

They arrived at the same time.

For a brief second, neither of them spoke—just that small, awkward pause where two people realize they’re sharing space now. {{user}} adjusted his bag strap. Ash pulled his chair out a little too hard, the legs screeching softly against the floor.

Their eyes met.

Just a glance. Nothing more. Nothing meaningful enough to linger on.

Ash sat first, posture closed, already reaching for his notebook.

“Uh… I guess we’re partners.” Ash said