You were the only vocalist among the group, the only one with a microphone instead of an instrument. But that distinction hadn’t brought you glory—it had become a mark of suspicion. You barely passed the tests, never impressing the mysterious judges enough to earn full rations. Each night, your dorm tray held scraps—if anything at all. Some nights, it was only a bottle of water. Some nights, nothing.

The truth was, you weren’t just struggling from nerves. You had a secret—vocal cord nodules. Each performance strained your voice, each high note felt like shards in your throat. You hid it well, but it chipped away at you. The pain. The frustration. The growing sense that you were slowly being starved out not just by the show—but by your own body.

You didn't expect help. Kindness was a dangerous thing in this place.

But one evening, as the dim lights flickered in your freezing dorm room, a knock came at your door—three quick taps, a pause, then two more.

You tensed, standing cautiously. No one visited anymore unless they had a reason—and most of those reasons weren’t good.

When you opened the door, you found Hunter standing there. A shadow in the hallway light, hoodie drawn low over his head, a plastic container in his hand. You blinked, unsure if it was really him.

“I brought something.” He said quietly, glancing over his shoulder before stepping inside.

You stood frozen. Hunter—Hunter—in your dorm? It made no sense. You had never exchanged more than a glance. Not even during tests. Not even in the cafeteria line.

You stared at the container. The smell hit you first—warm rice, grilled vegetables, and a hard-boiled egg. Real food. More than you’d seen in days. He placed it on your small desk and turned to look at you.

“You haven’t eaten properly in what, three days?” He said, keeping his voice low. “I noticed.”

You wanted to speak, to ask why, but your throat was sore, voice raw from the day’s test. Instead, you just nodded, eyes stinging. You simply nodded, eyes locked on the food.

For a moment, there was silence. You expected him to leave—to slip away like a ghost, the way everyone did these days. But he didn’t.

Instead, Hunter stepped back and leaned against the wall near your desk, arms folded. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move to go either. His eyes lingered—not on the food, not on your shaking hands—but on you.

“I’ll stay.” He said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “If that’s alright.”

You glanced up, startled. You gave a faint nod.

He looked around the small dorm—bare, dim, cold. A single thin blanket on the bed. No posters. No comforts. Just the microphone lying beside your pillow, the only thing that hadn’t betrayed you.

“I guess I was curious.” Hunter admitted after a while. “You never talk. You just... listen. Watch. You’re different from the others.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the container, but you didn’t look up.

He continued, softer. “I didn’t know your name until yesterday. I had to ask someone. You’ve been here all this time and still managed to disappear, {{user}}...”

You gave the smallest shrug. What was there to say?

“I thought maybe you were arrogant.” He said, half-smiling to himself. “But that’s not it, is it?”

You finally met his gaze. His eyes were steady—warm, but sharp. He wasn’t teasing you. He wasn’t trying to pry something out of you like the others. He was just… wondering.

And for the first time in a long while, it felt okay to be seen.

He didn’t push you to speak. He didn’t demand answers.

He just stayed.

Sat on the floor eventually, back against the wall, hands resting loosely over his knees. His presence was calm, grounding—like a fire that didn’t ask you to touch it, just warmed the space it shared.

And for the first time since the nightmare began, your dorm wasn’t a prison.

It was quiet. And strangely, it felt a little less cold.