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Darkseeker
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Johannes was beginning to regret every decision he'd made in the past half hour. He hadn’t eaten anything at lunch, so he already felt nauseous, and now here he was, sitting two seats behind his mystery boy in a class he wasn’t even supposed to be in. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might echo through the room, each beat a deafening reminder of his recklessness. He slouched slightly in his chair, pressing his fingers against his temples in an effort to steady himself. This had been a mistake. A colossal, humiliating mistake. The pale boy hadn’t turned around once, and for that, Johannes was grateful. It gave him a chance to watch unnoticed, though that hardly helped his nerves. His hands were trembling so badly he had to clasp them tightly together under the desk. Magnus, seated next to him, seemed oblivious to his distress. Of course he did. Magnus was enjoying himself—why wouldn’t he be? He’d managed to sweet-talk his way out of a detention for being late and now had his best friend inexplicably joining him in physics. Life was easy for Magnus, Johannes thought bitterly, glancing sideways as his friend scribbled nonsense into his notebook, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Trying to calm his frayed nerves, Johannes leaned over and tore a piece of paper from Magnus’s notebook without asking. He started jotting down random notes from the board, though the words blurred together. He wasn’t absorbing any of it. He wasn’t even trying. The period dragged on at an excruciating pace. Every second felt like an eternity, the teacher’s words slow and deliberate, as if she were conspiring with the clock to prolong Johannes’s suffering. He glanced at the pale boy occasionally, his gaze flickering away each time too quickly to take in much. The boy was engaged, nodding along as the dark-haired girl next to him whispered something. Johannes chewed on his lower lip, the familiar nervous habit grounding him just enough to stop spiraling. Finally, the teacher stepped back from the board, breaking the monotony of the lecture. “Alright, class,” she announced, “take the last fifteen minutes for peer discussion. Go over the material, ask questions, and make sure you’re clear on today’s concepts.” Johannes groaned internally. He knew how this would go. Peer discussion was supposed to be productive, but it almost never was. It usually devolved into gossip, weekend plans, and hurried note-sharing for the students who’d spent the lecture half-asleep. Normally, Johannes made a half-hearted effort to steer Magnus toward discussing the material, but today, he couldn’t summon the energy. Magnus wasted no time. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smug grin. “Did you see him? Front row, third seat? Failed the last test spectacularly. I heard he’s grounded for two weeks.” Johannes wasn’t listening. His eyes flicked toward the pale boy again, watching as he leaned in closer to the dark-haired girl, his expression thoughtful. He seemed so invested in their conversation, his face alight with quiet intensity. Johannes felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name—jealousy? Anxiety? Both? Magnus’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Johannes? You’re chewing your lip like it owes you money. What’s up?” Johannes straightened, scowling at himself for being so obvious. He poked Magnus sharply in the ribs, cutting off his rambling story about a party he’d been at a few nights ago. “Who is that boy?” Johannes asked quietly, jerking his head toward the pale boy’s table. “What’s his name?” Magnus blinked, confused. “Who? The snowfl—” The glare Johannes shot him could have frozen a lake. Magnus quickly backtracked, rubbing the back of his neck. “The pale one, I mean. His name is… uh… Kyyre? Yeah, I think that’s it. His friends call him something else sometimes—nicknames, you know.” He shrugged, as if the information was inconsequential. Johannes didn’t respond. He was too busy letting the name settle in his mind, rolling it over like a secret treasure. *Kyyre.* He liked the way it sounded. It was soft, lyrical, and somehow perfectly suited to the boy. “Wait.” Magnus squinted at him, his expression shifting from confusion to suspicion. “Did you just say—what was it? Cute name?” Johannes flamed red, the heat rushing up his neck and into his face. He hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud. “No,” he said quickly, too quickly. Then, trying for nonchalance, he shrugged. “Whatever. What were you saying about that party?” Magnus smirked, clearly unconvinced but too amused to press the issue further. “Oh, you’d love this. There was this guy trying to do a keg stand, right? Trying being the key word there. And then—” Johannes nodded absently, pretending to listen as Magnus launched back into his story. His mind, however, was elsewhere. |
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Neutral
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Kyyre spent the entire class staring into space, his pen clutched loosely in one hand as he sat frozen in his seat. Sara leaned over on occasion while the teacher spoke, her voice soft as she clarified key points of the lecture. - "The system’s total internal energy is the sum of heat added and work done on the system," Sara murmured, pointing to a diagram in her notebook. "So if we’re looking at a closed system, the energy transfer has to match the amount of work output. That’s why the equations always balance." - Her voice blended into the background, joining the steady hum of the classroom. Kyyre wasn’t listening to her—or to the teacher. The words barely registered. His mind was miles away, trapped in a whirlwind of confusion and anxiety. - He felt sick. - The nausea churned in his stomach, rising and falling in waves as he stared blankly at the notebook in front of him. He wasn’t paying attention to the equations, nor to Sara’s attempts to explain them. - The thought of Johannes sitting somewhere behind him gnawed at his resolve. He didn’t dare turn around, but he could feel it—those dark, swirling pools of gorgeous brown eyes, sharp and unrelenting, focused on him. - Why? - Why would Johannes—a prince, of all people—be so fascinated with someone like Kyyre? - Kyyre was nobody. A nothing. A lowlife barely scraping by in a world that wasn’t built for people like him. The attention made no sense. It made him feel exposed, vulnerable, like someone had peeled back the layers he’d carefully built around himself and left him raw and open for the world to see. - But worse than Johannes’s interest was Kyyre’s own. - Why couldn’t he stop thinking about him? Why did his chest tighten at the memory of that fleeting smile, that gaze that seemed to look through him instead of at him? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. - He didn’t catch the part of the lecture where the teacher declared the class would shift to peer discussion. It wasn’t until the buzz of conversation grew louder—students leaning toward each other to talk—that Kyyre snapped out of his daze. - Sara’s voice brought him back. "Okay," she said, straightening her notebook and tapping her pen against the table. "So let’s go over this. Think of the system as a box. If heat flows into the box, it’s positive because the energy is increasing. If work is done on the box, that’s also positive because the energy is coming in. But if heat flows out or the system does work, those are negative values. It’s like a bank account—deposits and withdrawals. Does that make sense?" - Kyyre nodded absently, though her words slid right past him. His hand moved on autopilot, the pen in his grip tracing lines on the corner of his notes. Without even realizing it, he was drawing a wolf, its sharp eyes and pointed ears coming together in swift, dark strokes. - Sara stopped mid-sentence and frowned. "You aren’t listening to me, are you?" - Kyyre didn’t reply, his eyes fixed on the wolf forming on the edge of his notebook. - Her frown deepened. "What is it? Did someone throw food at you again?" she asked, her voice laced with frustration. She sighed before he could answer. "Is it Magnus? Did he do something stupid this time?" - "It’s a phenomenon," Kyyre replied placidly, still staring at the wolf. - "Okay, so it was." Sara crossed her arms. "What did he do?" - "Magnus didn’t—" - Before Kyyre could finish, Sara abruptly turned in her seat. She leaned back, her sharp gaze scanning the room until she spotted Magnus. He was sitting near the center of the class, laughing at something one of his friends had said. - "Magnus!" Sara’s voice cut through the chatter, sharp and annoyed. Heads turned, but she didn’t care. She leaned further back in her chair, her tone protective. "What did you do to Kyyre now?!" - The room grew quieter as students turned to watch the exchange. Kyyre’s face burned with embarrassment. He ducked his head, gripping the edges of his notebook and wishing the floor would swallow him whole. |
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Darkseeker
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(Short one, sorry >.> also my autocorrect thinks that Kyyre should be Kyrie, so if it ever says that I'm so sorry, I normally go through to make sure it didn't change it) Johannes had been lost in his thoughts, the situation looping in his mind like a melody, when sharp voices jolted him back to reality. Yelling wasn’t uncommon in school—especially not when Magnus was around—but this was different. For one, it was a girl’s voice cutting through the classroom din, heated and unrelenting. It took Johannes a moment to process what was happening, and when he did, his stomach sank. Magnus was at the center of it, as usual. The girl yelling at him wasn’t just any student either; it was Sara, the dark-haired girl who’d been sitting with Kyyre. Normally reserved and unassuming, she was now glaring at Magnus with an intensity that could have melted steel. Her words were fast and sharp, her hands gesturing in furious accusation. Johannes’s brow furrowed. Magnus, troublemaker though he was, had been practically glued to Johannes’s side all day. If Sara was this angry, it couldn’t have been over anything Magnus had done recently—or at least, not while Johannes was around. He turned his attention fully to the commotion, standing up and walking toward them with deliberate strides. “He did nothing,” Johannes interjected curtly, his tone calm but firm. His voice carried enough weight to make the surrounding students quiet down, their eyes flickering between him and the quarrel. “Magnus has been with me all day. The only time we interacted with your friend was at lunch, and he was too busy with his own crowd to bother anyone.” He reached out, catching Magnus’s shirt sleeve and pulling him back slightly. Magnus, already looking like he was ready to defend himself with fists instead of words, allowed himself to be guided—though he did so with a sulky glare. Johannes stepped in front of his cousin, a silent signal to both Sara and Magnus that he was taking control of the situation. He glanced over his shoulder at Magnus briefly, his jaw tightening at the sight of his cousin’s clenched fists. Magnus was well-known for his temper, not just at school but at the palace as well. Johannes had lost count of the number of times his cousin had returned home with busted knuckles, a split lip, or worse. It used to terrify Johannes—seeing his beloved friend battered and bruised—but now it only irritated him. Why couldn’t Magnus learn to restrain himself? Everyone else seemed to manage. Magnus shifted behind him, muttering under his breath. Johannes shot him a sharp look before redirecting his attention to Sara. “Has he bothered you before?” Johannes asked, his voice still measured but carrying a pointed edge. He didn’t speak to Sara directly often, but he knew how to command attention when he needed to, and his stomach twisted. The idea that Magnus might have targeted Kyyre in some way—whether intentional or not—filled him with dread. His cousin had a habit of going along with the crowd, often to his own detriment. He forced himself to breathe deeply, steadying his thoughts. This wasn’t about Magnus’s poor decisions or Sara’s accusations. This was about Kyyre. Johannes turned slightly, his gaze locking onto Kyyre's. His throat felt tight, but he pushed through it. “What about you?” he asked gently, his tone softening. “Has Magnus ever bothered you?” Magnus bristled behind Johannes, but before he could retort, Johannes raised a hand to silence him. “Magnus,” Johannes said without turning around, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable warning. “Let me handle this.” He looked back at Sara, his expression unreadable. “I can’t speak for Magnus,” he said carefully, “but I can assure you that anything like that stops today.” Magnus scoffed, and Johannes turned sharply, fixing him with a glare that could have frozen fire. “Am I clear?” |
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Neutral
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Kyyre sank deeper into his chair, his shoulders slumping as the weight of everything pressed down on him. His hands trembled slightly as he buried his face in them, his mind racing with thoughts of hopelessness. His heart ached, an overwhelming feeling of despair clouding his senses. - He wanted to die. The suffocating pressure was unbearable, the constant torment threatening to suffocate him. And if Magnus managed to get to him, there would be nothing left. Kyyre would break. His body would cave under the strain, and it would all end in one dark, permanent moment. - Sara’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, sharp and accusatory as she glanced between Kyyre and Magnus. "Didn't bother him? Then what is going on with him? Why is he acting like this? He's never been this stressed out. He never spaces out like this." She looked down at Kyyre, worry flooding her gaze as she tried to find the right words to express the concern she felt. It was evident that she cared, but it didn’t make the situation any easier. "This isn’t normal. Not for him. He’s always been... well, he’s always been different—but not like this. Not like you’re making him." - Sara's gaze snapped back to Magnus, her finger jabbing in his direction as she accused him once more. "And he has something to do with it! He always does! You don't care about him—it's obvious. You’ve done something. I can feel it." - Kyyre felt the heat rise in his face, the sensation of being exposed and helpless almost too much to bear. He dug his fingers into his eyes, the pressure a futile attempt to block out the world and the relentless weight of his own anxieties. But it did nothing to stop the tears that threatened to slip past his eyelids. - "Sara," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, though whether she heard him or not was unclear. She either didn’t or simply ignored him, too wrapped up in her fervent accusations. - And then, Johannes spoke. His voice was calm, too calm for Kyyre's frazzled state. It was direct and uncomfortably close, and before Kyyre knew it, Johannes was standing right in front of him, too close for comfort. Despite himself, Kyyre wondered if the closeness would make him combust, as if his body might spontaneously ignite from the heat of the moment. A strange, almost absurd thought—but one that stayed with him as Johannes’ gaze bore into him, waiting for a response. - Kyyre hesitated. His breath caught in his throat, his heart racing. He couldn’t afford to tell the truth—not with Magnus right there. It was far too dangerous. He was already in over his head, already drowning in a sea of fear and uncertainty. - But then again... Johannes might be able to do something. Maybe, just maybe, he could help stop this nightmare. He could stop everyone from tormenting him. The thought was fleeting, though, and Kyyre quickly shoved it aside. It wasn’t worth the risk. He couldn’t expose himself that way. Not now, not with everything hanging in the balance. - "U-uhm… no, not… it isn’t the worst…" Kyyre’s words trailed off, stumbling over each other as he tried, and failed, to convey some semblance of truth. His voice cracked, and his face flushed with the embarrassment of failing to even form a coherent sentence in front of them. Why was it so hard to just speak? Why was everything so difficult? He couldn’t even manage a proper response when it mattered the most. - Sara was beside herself. "Look at him, he's terrified!" she exclaimed, her voice rising with a sense of urgency and frustration. "You did something to him. I swear, Magnus, this is your doing! I know it!" - Kyyre didn’t want to be the center of attention, didn’t want to be the one they were all talking about. He didn’t want to be the one who was breaking apart, crumbling under the pressure. But his world was unraveling at an alarming speed, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His head fell forward, forehead resting heavily on the table as he let out a groan, the sound of pure frustration and helplessness. - Why does it always have to be like this? he thought, but the question offered no answers. It never did. - And, as if to make matters worse, Kyyre now had to figure out how to leave. The day was only getting worse, and he knew it. He had to walk home, where Magnus would surely find him. Where Magnus would surely make things even worse than they already were. He had no idea what would happen, but he could feel it coming—like a storm, gathering in the distance. All he had to do was step outside, and it would hit him with all the force of a hurricane. - What a delightful afternoon. |
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Darkseeker
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Confusion was everywhere in the classroom. Magnus looked vaguely angry, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. Meanwhile, Sara looked like she was ready to launch herself across the desks and go straight for his throat. Johannes didn’t get it—why wouldn’t someone just answer his question? It wasn’t like he’d been rude about it or anything. Plus, it wasn’t helping that half the class was blatantly eavesdropping, their eyes glinting with excitement at the potential drama. “Hasse,” Magnus said sharply, his voice cutting through the noise. “You don’t believe them over me, right? How am I supposed to know how he usually acts? Like, how would I even know if this is ‘more anxious than usual’ for him?” Johannes rubbed his temples, trying to keep calm while chaos brewed around him. Magnus wasn’t making this any easier—his voice kept getting louder, and now he was gesturing wildly, like he was trying to prove a point through sheer frustration. It was embarrassing, honestly. Johannes could feel the heat building in his face as a few students nearby whispered to each other, probably about how out of control Magnus looked. “Mag,” Johannes said, his voice sharper now, as he instinctively switched to English. He hoped the change would jolt his cousin out of his tantrum. “Please. Just step back for a minute, okay? I need to have a *civilized* conversation for once.” Magnus blinked at him, looking like he was about to argue, but then he just sighed dramatically and stalked off toward a group of his other friends. He was shaking his head, muttering something Johannes couldn’t hear. His face was still flushed, but at least he was out of the immediate situation. Taking a deep breath, Johannes turned back to Sara and Kyyre, who both looked tense but less likely to explode. “I’m really sorry about him,” Johannes said, his voice quieter now. He tugged at the hem of his sweater, trying to keep his hands busy. “He doesn’t mean to be a problem, I swear. He’s just... well, it doesn’t matter.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Is he, um, unkind?” The question hung in the air for a moment, and Johannes felt his heart thud in his chest. He wasn’t trying to be dramatic or anything, but this whole situation felt like it was balancing on a knife’s edge. If Magnus was actually bullying someone—Kyyre of all people—there would be *huge* consequences. Not just for Magnus, but for the family too. The press would eat it up. The thought made his stomach twist. He could already picture the headlines splashed across every tabloid in the country, complete with the most awkward family photo the palace had ever released. God, his parents would kill him if this spiraled out of control. Over Sara’s shoulder, Johannes could see Magnus with his group of friends. He was talking in hushed tones, but his body language screamed irritation. The sight made Johannes’s chest tighten. He didn’t want to believe it, but the possibility crept into his mind anyway. What if Magnus really *was* the problem? Sure, Magnus could be a hothead, and yeah, he hung out with a rougher crowd, but bullying? That wasn’t him... right? Johannes bit his lip, his fingers drumming nervously against the desk. He didn’t know what to think anymore. All he could do was hope Kyyre—or even Sara—would give him some kind of answer. Something he could actually fix. Because if they didn’t, and this all blew up into something bigger, Johannes wasn’t sure how he’d handle it. |
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Neutral
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Kyyre didn’t think he'd felt this amount of crushing anxiety in his life. - His body trembled as he forced the words out, his throat tight and raw. The classroom seemed suffocating, the buzz of conversation pressing in on him from every direction. He needed to say something before Sara could speak again. He had to stop her from making a bigger deal out of it. - "No," he forced out, his voice barely audible. "He calls me snowflake, like everybody else. That's it. There is no bullying. I am fine." - God, speaking felt like trying to grind up diamonds with his teeth. Every word was sharp, scraping against his throat, but it was all he could do to push through. He could barely look up, the weight of the room’s attention pressing down on him, but he had to make Sara understand. She was trying to protect him, but it was only making everything worse. - Before Sara could argue, Kyyre cut her off, his voice firm, though it cracked slightly. "Sara. Stop." - She froze, her mouth snapping shut as she looked at him, eyes wide with shock. Kyyre rarely spoke to her with such force—rarely had the strength to, especially not when she was trying to help. But this wasn’t about help. This wasn’t something anyone could fix. - The room felt quieter after that. The words in the air seemed to settle, and Kyyre let out a long breath, trying to calm the storm inside his chest. His hands were still shaking, though. The tremors wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t the loud noise or the attention that set him off. It was everything he couldn’t control, everything that had built up in him over the years, the feelings he never knew how to let out. - "He is unkind," Kyyre continued, his voice small but steady, focused on the paper in front of him. "But everyone is. There isn't a fully pure person in this entire world. Snow might look pure, but it still has its bacteria." His eyes stayed fixed on his doodles, his fingers working the pen across the page, each line a distraction. "And some snow is hopelessly infected." - Kyyre wasn’t sure why he said that. Some metaphor about snow. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t even a good metaphor. But it was all he had. A way to explain that everyone had something wrong with them, even Johannes. Even himself. The world was full of people, all imperfect in their own way. But that didn’t make any of it easier to bear. - Sara didn’t argue. She just watched him, silent, her gaze flicking between Johannes and Kyyre. Eventually, she sat back down, her shoulders slumping with a quiet resignation. She understood. She didn’t press further. - Kyyre didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to see the sympathy in her eyes, or the pity, or worse, the concern. He hated all of it. The idea that anyone would care enough to notice how much he was falling apart inside. - Stupid. Idiotic. That’s what he was. Stumbling over words like he didn’t even know how to speak, babbling nonsense that probably made no sense to anyone else. He was pathetic. - His heart hammered painfully against his ribcage, and he swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising lump in his throat. But the more he fought it, the more it seemed to grow. - And then he realized—he couldn’t hold it back anymore. His chest tightened with the weight of everything he’d been trying to push down. The floodgates opened, and Kyyre’s breath hitched. - He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His face felt hot, his eyes stinging. He was crying. Crying. - Why? Why was he crying? Over something so stupid? - Why was he so weak? So pathetic? - There was nothing to cry about. Nothing at all. - And yet, there he was, sitting at his desk, tears blurring his vision. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stand the feeling of everyone watching him. Of Sara’s concern, or worse—the thought of Johannes seeing him like this. - In a panic, Kyyre shoved his chair backward, standing up so quickly he knocked it over. The clatter was loud in the otherwise quiet room. He didn’t care. He just had to get out. He had to leave before someone noticed. Before someone tried to comfort him, or worse—say something that would make him feel even worse. - He didn’t grab his things. He didn’t look back at anyone. His legs moved on autopilot, carrying him out of the classroom, ignoring the teacher’s confused glance and Sara’s voice calling his name in concern. He left the notepad there, open, a single wet drop blurring the lines on the small doodle of the wolf. - Kyyre’s heart was pounding in his ears as he pushed through the hallways, his feet hitting the floor in quick, frantic steps. He didn’t stop running until he reached the bathroom. The familiar cold tile and the silence were a welcome relief. - The bathroom stall door slammed shut behind him, and Kyyre locked it with trembling hands, backing into the corner. He pressed his hands against his mouth, biting down on his knuckles to silence the sobs that threatened to break free. - What was wrong with him? Why was he crying about this? - It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. He was a mess. A fragile, broken mess, and it was all too much. - Kyyre sank to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. His body was shaking violently now, and he pressed his face into his legs, ashamed of how weak he felt. |
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Darkseeker
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Johannes couldn’t believe how badly the day had spiraled. The moment replayed over and over in his mind, like a broken record stuck on the worst part. He’d actually managed to scare off the one person he genuinely wanted to see again. His eyes closed, and his lips pressed into a thin line to stop them from trembling. He mumbled an apology to Sara, barely meeting her eyes, before grabbing Magnus by the arm and hauling him out of the room. “We’re going home,” he said in a low voice, not bothering to explain further as he stormed toward the school doors. Maciej, always the picture of professionalism, trailed closely behind them, speaking into his watch. By the time they stepped outside, the sleek black Range Rover was already waiting at the curb. Johannes shoved Magnus into the backseat with little ceremony and slid in after him, slamming the door behind them. The plush leather of the seat was no comfort. Johannes leaned back and stared at the ceiling of the car, trying to keep his breathing steady as the day’s events crashed over him like waves. He couldn’t shake the image of Kyyre's stricken face—the way his pale eyes had glistened with unshed tears before he bolted from the classroom. The boy had been so strong, Johannes thought bitterly, to let himself cry in front of everyone like that. It was a kind of strength Johannes didn’t have, and one he envied deeply. But even that thought twisted like a knife in his chest. Kyyre had cried because of *him*. Because Johannes had lost control of the situation. He had been trying to help, trying to calm Magnus down and put an end to whatever unkindness had been brewing. Instead, he’d only made things worse, letting his cousin’s careless words and his own misplaced frustration drive the boy to tears. The car ride was silent for all of five seconds before Johannes turned to Magnus, his temper flaring. “What is your problem?” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to make Magnus flinch. “That poor boy. Do you even realize what you’ve done? Or are you too busy cracking jokes with your awful friends to notice? They don’t care about you, you know. They just want someone to laugh at their stupid comments. And why him?" Magnus glared but said nothing, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “Is it because he doesn’t look like you?” Johannes pressed, his voice rising. “Because it’s not his fault, you know. It’s a *genetic condition*. He didn’t choose it.” “Stop acting like I did it on purpose!” Magnus finally shot back, his voice laced with defiance. “I didn’t mean anything by it! I just—” “Enough!” Johannes cut him off, his voice sharp as a whip. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You don’t get to brush this off like it’s nothing. You humiliated him, Magnus. You bullied him, whether you meant to or not.” The tension in the car was unbearable, and it only worsened as the argument dragged on. By the time they pulled into the driveway of the manor, the two boys were teetering on the edge of a full-blown fight. The second the car stopped, Magnus flung open the door and stalked off toward the kitchens, muttering under his breath. Johannes watched him go with a mixture of anger and exhaustion, then headed up to his room without another word. Once behind the safety of his closed door, Johannes sank onto his bed and buried his face in his hands. He felt like he was drowning in guilt. He didn’t even know where to begin fixing things, but he knew he *had* to. He couldn’t let Kyyre hate him because of Magnus’s behavior—or his own failure to handle it better. The problem was, he had no way of contacting Kyyre directly. He didn’t have his number, and it wasn’t like he could just show up at his house uninvited. That left only one option: Sara. She seemed to know Kyyre well enough, and practically everyone had her number, thanks to her impeccable class notes. Johannes pulled out his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen as he debated what to say. Finally, he typed out a message and hit send before he could overthink it. Is Kyyre okay? I'm so sorry about Mag. Can I do anything? |
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Neutral
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Sara stood in the classroom for a few moments, glancing uneasily around at the remaining students. Her gaze landed briefly on Johannes dragging Magnus toward the door, their movements abrupt and sharp. She didn’t care about their argument or whatever had sparked it. Her focus was on Kyyre. - She sighed heavily and followed, weaving through the hallways with determination. She knew exactly where he’d gone. There were only two places he could retreat to when things got too overwhelming: the boys’ locker room or the boys’ restroom. The locker room was an unlikely choice—it was too risky. Sports teams tended to linger there, loud and obnoxious, and Kyyre avoided athletes like they were the plague. - The bathroom. It had to be the bathroom. - She pushed open the door to the nearest one, her shoes clicking softly on the tile as she walked past each stall. The silence was oppressive, save for the faint sound of her footsteps. She strained her ears for any sign of him—sniffling, quiet sobbing—but the bathroom was eerily quiet. Still, her gut told her he was here. She stopped in front of the last stall, noticing the locked door and the faint shadow of his feet beneath it. - “Rü?” she called softly. She used the nickname he seemed to tolerate best, hoping it might soothe him. - Inside, Kyyre froze. His arms were wrapped tightly around his knees, his body curled up in the corner of the stall. Hearing her voice only made the weight in his chest heavier, and he choked on a sob before managing a broken response. - “Sara… pl-please, no…” - Sara pressed her lips together, unsure of what to say. She could hear the pain in his voice, and it tore at her, but this wasn’t unfamiliar. Whenever Kyyre broke down like this, he always pushed her away. She wanted to help, but he never let her. She hesitated for a moment, then reached into her pocket to check her phone, feeling it buzz against her palm. - The message was from Johannes. - Her brows furrowed slightly as she read it. Then she typed back quickly. - He isn’t okay, but that’s normal. And… I mean, unless he’s let you give him a hug, I’m not sure what you can do. There isn’t much I can do. - She glanced up at the stall door again, her heart twisting at the silence inside. - He’s crying in the bathroom. He asked me to go away. I don’t know what anyone can ever do. - Sliding down against the wall, Sara crouched on the floor, her back resting against the cool tile. She didn’t know what else to do. Maybe just being there was enough, even if it didn’t feel like it. - Inside the stall, Kyyre buried his face against his knees. Her presence only made him feel worse. The fact that she’d followed him here, that she cared enough to try—why couldn’t he just accept it? Why couldn’t he let her in? Instead, all he could think about was how pathetic he must seem, sobbing like a child, needing comfort from someone who probably had better things to do. - Sara typed another message. - Do you want his number? So you can try to help him? I’ve never seen him act like this… maybe someone else would do better. - As soon as she could hit send, she heard the sound of the stall unlocking. She looked up quickly, shoving her phone back into her pocket as Kyyre stepped out. His face was blotchy, his eyes red and puffy, but his expression was blank—guarded. He was trying to hold it together. - “Rü, wait,” Sara said, standing up as he brushed past her. “Where are you going?” - Kyyre didn’t respond. He walked out of the bathroom without a word, his shoulders hunched, his pace quick. - Sara watched him go, worry twisting in her stomach. She wanted to follow, to drag him back to class, but something in his demeanor stopped her. He needed space, and for once, she decided to give it to him. She sighed, leaning back against the wall and pulling out her phone again. - Kyyre, meanwhile, was already out of the school, the crisp air hitting his face as he walked aimlessly down the sidewalk. He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew he couldn’t go home—not yet. His parents would demand answers, and he didn’t have the strength to explain. They wouldn’t understand. They never did. - He passed a group of men in their twenties, smoking and laughing on a street corner. For a brief, stupid moment, he wondered what it would feel like to join them. To pick up a cigarette, light it, and let the nicotine dull the sharp edges of his mind. But the thought made him feel sick. He shook his head and kept walking, his gaze drifting to a bar across the street. Alcohol wouldn’t help either, though the idea tempted him more than he cared to admit. - Eventually, he found himself in front of a park. The playground was empty, the swings swaying gently in the breeze. He stared at the equipment, memories flooding back to him. There was a time when life had been simple. When he could run and play without fear of judgment. When he didn’t cry because his mind told him he was worthless. - Kyyre stepped into the park, the gravel crunching under his shoes. He made his way to the large tree near the edge of the playground, its branches sprawling wide and low to the ground. Climbing it felt natural, almost instinctual. He hauled himself into the branches, settling into the crook where two limbs met. - Curled up and hidden among the leaves, he let himself relax for the first time all day. The tears threatened again, but he bit them back, staring out at the empty park below. - For now, he was safe. Hidden. Alone. |
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Darkseeker
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Johannes couldn’t suppress the relief that washed over him when his phone buzzed with a response. He had been spiraling, imagining every worst-case scenario—Sara ignoring his message, still too upset to acknowledge him, or worse, deciding that he wasn’t worth her time. But she’d responded. The first message, however, didn’t ease his nerves. Kyyre was still upset—crying in a bathroom. Johannes exhaled shakily, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as he fought back the sting of tears. His heart ached at the thought of the boy—*his* pale boy—hiding away, hurt and humiliated. Magnus’s careless actions had shattered every chance Johannes had ever dreamed of having with Kyyre. And now, all he could do was watch the fallout. Why couldn’t people just leave Kyyre alone? Why did they have to turn their cruelty toward someone so undeserving of it? If it had been an option, Johannes would’ve taken every insult, every cutting remark, every harsh joke in Kyyre's place. He would have gladly carried that burden if it meant Kyyre could feel safe and happy in a school that should have been a refuge, not a battlefield. Another buzz snapped Johannes out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen, and his breath caught in his throat. It was a second message from Sara, this one containing a question that made his heart skip a beat: Do you want his number? Yes. God, yes. He wanted it more than anything. It was the lifeline he needed to fix what Magnus had broken—or at least try to. He replied quickly, the eagerness in his tone barely restrained. The number arrived almost immediately after, and for a moment, Johannes just stared at it. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what to say. He didn’t want to come across as condescending, or worse, pitying. Kyyre didn’t need pity. He needed an apology—one that felt genuine and heartfelt. But how? How could he put everything he felt into words? The guilt, the shame, the overwhelming desire to make things right? Johannes paced the length of his room, his anxiety building with every second he delayed. The longer he took, the less sincere it might seem. And then there was the gnawing fear at the back of his mind—what if Kyyre did something rash in the time it took for him to compose the perfect message? Johannes pressed his cold palms together, his breath shaky but determined. He needed to stop overthinking and just *say* something. Anything. He typed the first words: Hey, this is Johannes. A good start. It was simple, clear. Kyyre would know who he was. Johannes hesitated, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t want to ruin this with poor wording. I’m dealing with Magnus, I promise. Can I do anything more? He stared at the message for a long moment, then hit send before he could second-guess himself. The text was far from perfect, but it was sincere, at least. Now he was only hoping for a response, even if it was to block him. He just wanted to know Kyyre was okay. |
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Neutral
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Kyyre had been perched in the tree for what felt like an eternity, though it was probably only a half hour at most. The gentle rustling of the branches and the faint sound of the wind were the only noises accompanying him. He watched the clouds drift lazily across the pale blue sky, their shapes shifting and melting into one another in a way that made him feel almost weightless. For the first time that day, his mind was quiet. - Then, the buzz of his phone shattered the fragile calm. - Startled, Kyyre blinked and straightened, his hand instinctively reaching into the pocket of his uniform to fish out the device. The screen lit up with a notification—a text from an unknown number. - Frowning, he opened it, his tired, slightly swollen eyes scanning the words. He read the message once, then twice, and a third time, each repetition making his heart pound harder. - Johannes? - The name was clear, impossible to misread. But how? How in the world had Johannes gotten his number? The prince of Norway—a literal prince—texting him? It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. - His grip on the phone faltered, and before he could catch it, the device tumbled from his hand, bouncing off a branch before landing with a dull thud on the ground below. - Kyyre froze, staring down at the phone with wide, incredulous eyes. His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. It had to be a prank. It had to be. There was no logical reason why someone like Johannes Åmås would even know his name, let alone his phone number. And yet, the message seemed so genuine, so casual, like Johannes had every right to text him as if they were longtime friends. - After a moment of hesitation, Kyyre climbed down from the tree, his movements hurried and clumsy. His feet hit the ground, and he bent to retrieve his phone, brushing off a few stray bits of dirt before unlocking the screen. - The message was still there, as plain as day. He read it again, and again the name stared back at him. - Hey, this is Johannes. - He could feel his pulse in his throat. Was this a cruel joke? Did Magnus or one of his friends get ahold of Johannes’s phone to mess with him? Or maybe someone else entirely had set this up. But the idea of Johannes actually texting him—it was too far-fetched to be real. - And yet... - Another buzz broke his trance, signaling a follow-up message. Kyyre’s hands trembled slightly as he opened it. The words were polite, inquisitive, and written in a way that made his stomach twist. They didn’t have the cruel, mocking tone he expected. - Still, caution was a reflex. Kyyre’s instincts told him to stay guarded. He wasn’t about to embarrass himself further by falling into some elaborate prank. He stared at the screen, chewing on his lower lip, before typing a response. - No, not really. - It was simple, vague, and gave away nothing. Perfect. - He hesitated for a second longer, his thumb hovering over the send button, before finally pressing it. The message went through, and Kyyre locked his phone, sliding it back into his pocket. - Then he stood there, rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the tree he’d just climbed down from. - Had that really happened? Had he just exchanged texts with Johannes? Or was this some kind of fever dream, the aftermath of a day that had pushed him too far? - He didn’t know what to think. His mind spiraled with possibilities, each one more absurd than the last. But one thing was certain—if this was real, if Johannes truly had reached out to him, then Kyyre’s life had just taken a turn he never could have anticipated. |
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Fall 
Day 
