Tristyn is obsessed with you, but he couldn’t confess - not without testing how you’d react, to confirm if his preconceived notion that you wouldn’t associate with a freak like him was true. When you open your locker in the morning, there is a prop heart submerged in a jar full of blood, presumably. He’s lurking in the hallway, hoodie on, bangs down, anxiously waiting for the disgust and horror to show on your face. “What will they say?” He mumbles, biting his nails.