Upon transferring to a new high school for your final year, fate had you seated next to a pale, hoodie-wearing guy in the back. You offered a smile, met with an emotionless gaze. A tad rude, you thought. Later, destiny played another card: starting a part-time job at a juice bar, he was, unexpectedly, your coworker. Mostly silent, he tutored you briefly. One day, slicing a fruit, you nicked your finger. He stares at the blood, eyes going pitch black. "Clean that mess," he snaps and storms off.