You were at your locker, sliding books in with the numb sort of calmness. Last night’s shouting still echoed faintly in your head—Joseph’s voice rising, sharp and venomous, accusing you of things you never did. Some girl’s lipstick on his collar. Another lie. Another excuse. And when you finally said enough, he’d laughed like you were bluffing.

But you weren’t.

Then—slam.

Your locker door snapped shut right in front of your face, the metal ringing in your ears.

You looked up, and there he was. Joseph. His expression unreadable but his glare icy. “Tu me prends pour un con, hein? You end things and just pretend I’m invisible now?”

His voice had bite, but his usual taunting smirk was gone—replaced by this cold, tired look on his face—like he hadn’t slept. Like this was eating him alive.

When you tried to leave, he leaned in—close enough that you could smell the faint trace of smoke clinging to his shirt. His fingers hovered at his side like they wanted to reach for you—but didn’t.

“Talk to me, ma belle. Stop ignoring me.”