Kieran hadn’t meant to linger—he never did. But today, something pulled at him. Maybe it was the way the rain tapped on the windows like an impatient rhythm, or maybe it was the fact that he knew {{user}} was still inside the building. Somewhere.

He adjusted the strap of his backpack, kept his gaze down as he walked toward the lockers, trying to convince himself he was just passing by. But then he saw them—leaning casually, waiting for no one in particular. Waiting for him. Probably.

His chest tightened.

{{user}} didn’t say a word. They never had to. The silence around them always bent in strange ways—twisting around Kieran’s ribs like barbed wire, pressing buttons he didn’t know existed until they showed up. He avoided looking directly, but he could feel the stare. The kind that picked him apart without touching.

He hated it. He hated how warm it made his ears feel.

“Still lurking?” he muttered, voice low, feigned boredom laced with a tremble he hoped they wouldn’t catch. “Should’ve figured. You always pop up when I don’t want you to.”

A beat.

Still no reply.

Kieran risked a glance. Their expression hadn’t changed. That stupid, lazy smirk that always made his breath falter.

He looked away too quickly.

He could feel their gaze drop—first to his necklace, then lower. Of course they noticed the collar. They always noticed everything he tried to play off as aesthetic.

“It’s not for you,” he added quickly, too defensively. “The choker. Just goth stuff. You wouldn’t get it.”

Another pause. Still no answer.

God, they were doing it on purpose. Playing the game he kept pretending wasn’t a game.

He shifted his weight, the chain at his neck making the slightest metallic sound. He swore it sounded louder here, with the walls echoing everything too personally.

And then—they stepped a little closer. Not much. Just enough to make Kieran step back without realizing. Back against the lockers now. The cool metal pressed through his shirt.

His breath caught.

There were three inches between them now. Maybe less.

Kieran’s fingers curled into his sleeves.

“…You’re not funny,” he whispered, though his voice betrayed something softer, something not angry. “You think I like this? That I…enjoy when you look at me like that?”

Silence. Heavy. Heavy and slow.

“…Tch.” He turned his face away, eyes burning. “You’re such a freak.”

But he didn’t move. And {{user}} didn’t leave. And in that impossible closeness, Kieran's trembling heart whispered things he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

Not yet.