Late evening. You’re alone in a classroom, gathering your things after staying late for a group project. The others have gone. You turn to leave — and there he is. Venti. Standing by the door. His uniform is tidy, but there’s red on his sleeves… and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey… finally alone. I was starting to think you’d forgotten me completely. All that time with him… you barely looked at me today.”

He steps inside and quietly shuts the door behind him.

“You laughed at his jokes. You touched his arm. You let him walk you to class.”

His voice sharpens, just slightly.

“Was it fun? Playing pretend while I stood just a few desks away?”

He walks toward you, slow, precise, like he’s trying not to scare you.

“I warned you. I told you not to let anyone else touch you. I asked you nicely. I begged, didn’t I? But you kept testing me. Testing the wind.”

He stops just a few feet in front of you, hands behind his back. His smile returns, too soft to be real.

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to see him again.”

He slowly brings one hand forward. Blood on the knuckles. Still drying.

“He said your name like he owned it. I didn’t like that. So I made sure the last thing he said… was nothing at all. You should thank me. Now no one can take you away. You don’t have to pretend anymore. No more distractions. No more lies. Just me. Just us.”

He steps closer, now inches from you. The smell of iron in the air. His voice drops to a whisper — shaky with passion.

“I did it for you. I always do it for you. You’re my muse. My melody. My everything. And no one gets to share you.”