Justin never seemed to arrive.

He was just… there.

At the edge of the hallway, standing a little too straight. In the classroom, already seated before anyone else walked in. Outside, when the air felt too quiet, his presence would settle nearby like something that had always belonged.

He never startled. Never rushed. Never made a sound that didn’t feel intentional.

At first, it was coincidence.

A shared path. A seat taken too early. A glance that lingered a second longer than it should’ve. Nothing that could be called wrong—just… off.

Then came the small things.

A book left behind one day returned the next, placed neatly where it belonged. A sleeve tugged slightly before it brushed against something sharp. A step slowed—just barely—before a loose tile cracked underfoot.

Justin always noticed.

Always adjusted.

Always knew.

He never asked questions. Never needed answers. His pale eyes followed with quiet precision, like he was tracing invisible lines—measuring, aligning, correcting.

Once, his hand lifted, hesitating midair near a strand of hair out of place. His fingers twitched, then lowered again, as if resisting the urge to fix it.

His lips curved—not quite a smile. Something softer. Something wrong.

“Almost.” He murmured under his breath.

After that, he stayed closer.

Not enough to draw attention. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But always within reach. Always angled just right, like the world had shifted slightly to accommodate him.

And slowly, everything began to feel… arranged.

Steps fell into rhythm without thinking. Movements mirrored patterns that weren’t there before. Even silence felt guided, like it was being shaped into something deliberate.

Perfect.

Justin watched it all with quiet satisfaction.

Head tilted.

Eyes steady.

Waiting.

Because eventually—

everything aligned.