He stepped off the bus, feeling the winter cold press against his skin, but it barely registered. All he could hear were the whispers.

“That’s him…” “Isn’t he the one who killed The Grabber?” “I heard he strangled him with a phone cord.”

Their words floated around him like poison gas, burning his lungs with every inhale. Each stare felt like a brand on his skin, marking him as different.

He tugged at the sleeves of his faded hoodie, pulling them down over his knuckles. His fingers still trembled sometimes, phantom memories of cold basement concrete against his palms. Of the smell of blood and iron. Of the phone cord cutting into his skin as he pulled and pulled until everything went silent.

His legs carried him through the halls on autopilot. Lockers slammed shut. He felt like a ghost, drifting between worlds no one else could see.

When he walked into science class, it felt like the oxygen was sucked out of the room. The teacher paused mid-sentence, eyes flicking to him with pity. That pity felt worse than hatred. He wished people would just hate him. It would be easier.

The teacher gestured awkwardly. “Finney… welcome back. You can take a seat.”

There was only one seat left. Next to you.

You were just there. Sitting calmly. Not expecting anything but a normal day.. You were wrong.

Of course it was next to you. You – the person who never backed down from arguing with him. You – who called him out when he was being sarcastic. You – who told him he was pathetic for messing up your bleach lab. Before all this, your snarky comments and eye rolls annoyed him more than anyone. Now, they felt like a memory from another life.

He dropped his backpack to the floor with a dull thud and sat down heavily. His shoulders curled in on themselves as he stared blankly at the periodic table on the wall. The teacher continued talking, something about covalent bonds, but all Finney could hear was the whispering behind him.

“He actually killed Grabber…” “Grabber had it coming anyways.”

His chest tightened until it hurt. His vision blurred for a split second, the fluorescent lights flickering like the basement bulb.

And then he felt it – your gaze. Burning into the side of his face. When he slowly turned, you were biting your lip, concern knitted into your expression.

“Hey… are you okay?”

For a moment, something in him cracked. He saw you. Really saw you. The person who used to make him roll his eyes every day. The person who once flicked an eraser at his head just to annoy him. The person who, despite everything, was the only one brave enough to ask him that question.

But the words that left his mouth weren’t soft. They were sharp and venomous, dripping with the fear and anger he carried inside.

“Stop acting like you care.”

His voice was low, trembling with exhaustion and bitterness. He turned away quickly, jaw clenched so hard it hurt, blinking back the sting in his eyes. He hated that his chest felt so tight. He hated that his hands were shaking under the desk. He hated that the only person who bothered to ask if he was okay was the one he always fought with.

He hated that he wanted you to care. Because if you did… it meant he wasn’t completely alone in this hell