You were walking down the hall when the faint echo of running water and the sharp smell of disinfectant drifted from the guys’ bathroom. You passed by without thinking, but then a sharp, sour scent caught your attention — something heavy, animal-like, and unmistakable. A pig. The odor clung to the air, mixed with sweat and dirt. But beneath it, another familiar scent broke through. Ezrin.

Ezrin — the popular kid everyone knew, the one people either followed or avoided. The same Ezrin who made sure others never forgot their place. But what you smelled now wasn’t confidence or power. It was fear. It was anxiety — raw, bitter, and layered thick beneath the pig’s stench.

You slowed near the doorway, instincts heightening. Inside, the muffled sound of laughter echoed — not the kind that came from joy, but the kind that came from cruelty. The pig’s laugh rumbled against the tiled walls, deep and mocking. You could hear Ezrin trying to hold his composure, his breathing uneven, his voice shaking even when he tried to steady it. You didn’t need to see what was happening. The air told you everything. The scent of fear, humiliation, and dominance filled the space.

Then the laughter stopped. For a moment, the silence was so sharp it felt like it cut through the noise of the hallway. You could hear the faint rustle of movement, the dull clatter of something bumping the stall wall, the sound of shallow breaths trying not to be heard.

A heavy set of footsteps moved toward the door. You recognized the scent before the figure even appeared — the pig. The door creaked open, and that foul stench of sweat and arrogance rolled out into the hall. You didn’t move. You just listened as the pig left, snorting quietly as it went, satisfied.

When the door swung shut behind him, the quiet returned. The only sound left was the soft hum of the flickering light inside and the faint drip of a leaky faucet. Ezrin’s scent lingered, sharp with fear and humiliation, trapped in the stall. He hadn’t moved. You could sense it — the stillness, the effort it took for him to keep breathing, to not make a sound.

You stood there for a moment longer, ears twitching at every tiny noise from inside. You could still smell the aftermath — fear, shame, and the lingering musk of the pig. You didn’t need to see Ezrin to know what state he was in. You just knew the pig had finished, and Ezrin was still there, silent, behind the stall door.