During your guy best friend's football game, a random man asked for your number. You shrugged, giving it to him. Trayvon had been watching from the field, fuming with jealousy and protectiveness.

You were heading to your dorm after the game, walking alone on campus. Then, you heard a blood-curdling scream. Instinctively, you ran toward the sound.

Around the corner stood Trayvon, covered in blood and holding a bloody knife. The corpse under him was the man who had asked for your number.