• BURN ME •

• 2 •

When I'm Alone ⁓ HVDES, sharks!

Snow

The college parking lot sprawls before me, an ocean of faces blurring into one suffocating mass. Damn this place, damn these hordes. I've never navigated the easy currents of social grace within a throng; it's not mere introversion that claws at me, but something deeper, a primal recoil from this density of humanity. Is it the suffocating proximity, the air thick with shared breath and unspoken intentions? Or is it some phantom menace lurking just beyond the edge of my perception? Whatever poison it is. Claustrophobia, agoraphobia – clinical labels are meaningless whispers against the roaring unease that threatens to drown me. Memories attached to crowds are fractured, stained with shadow and echoes of unnamed dread. My pulse hammers against my ribs; I raise trembling hands to cradle my face, a futile attempt to contain the insidious tendrils of panic that snake through me. I wrench myself from the truck's embrace, snatching my backpack from the passenger seat as though it were a lifeline. A sigh escapes, a fragile vapor against the suffocating weight of expectation that presses down the moment I step away from the cold steel of my sanctuary. Luca and Marcel are ghosts today, their lectures a distant hum while I am thrown into the teeth of this social maelstrom alone. My objective becomes singular: to become a shadow amongst shadows, to slip unseen through this suffocating press. Weaving through the bodies is a clumsy, failing dance; each brush of fabric, each averted gaze, feels like a violation. Without Luca to anchor me, I am compassless, adrift in a sea of faces, my sense of direction as reliable as a dead squirrel rotting in the sun.

Then, through the haze of cigarette smoke, I see him – Tero, lounging at the lot's edge, a plume of grey curling around his features. The stench of burning tobacco is a physical assault, acrid and unwelcome, and Tero himself exudes an air of coiled danger. Yet, necessity dictates alliance, however temporary and distasteful. He is, in this moment, my only beacon, the quickest path to the sterile sanctuary of the secretary's office and the bureaucratic ritual that awaits. Grimacing, a mask of distaste, I force myself to move towards him. He raises his head as I approach, a slow, predatory lift of his chin. A grin, sharp and knowing, slices across his face. His dark hair is swept back today, an intentional display of harsh angles and predatory allure. "Sunshine," he purrs, the nickname a silken lash against my skin, his grin widening as if savoring my inevitable recoil. My patience, already stretched taut, snaps. "Don't," I bite out, the single word laced with venom. "Call me Snow, or Aiden. Your saccharine pet names are... wasted." I don't truly care what vile endearment he chooses to poison the air with; my nostrils burn with the acrid bite of his cigarette smoke. "Alright then, Snow," he concedes. With a languid flick of his wrist, he discards the cigarette, crushing the ember beneath his heel with unnecessary force. "How can I be of service to you, Snow?" he repeats, the nickname now carrying a different weight, a hint of something darker than simple mockery. "The secretary's office," I demand, my voice clipped, each syllable edged with impatience. "I need to find it. Now." He nods, a slow, deliberate inclination of his head. "Yes," he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. "I know its location." Exasperation flares, hot and immediate. "Then," I snap, the question barely masking a command, "would you show me the way?" His eyes rake over me. A slow smile curls his lips, a promise of something. "Perhaps," he breathes, his voice a low, dangerous caress. "That depends on a single thing."

My patience is thinner than a Hollywood starlet's waistline right now. If this crap keeps up, I'm ditching this whole 'ask for directions' thing and just straight-up find the office myself. "What in tarnation do you want?" I ask, keepin' my voice low, tryin' not to sound like I'm about to spit nails. "You're... like, friends with Liv, right? My cousin?" he drawls, all casual. I nod, even though 'friends' feels like a stretch. We hung out over break, sure, but calling it friendship? Debatable. He flashes a grin – kinda slick. "Say, you happen to know if Sophia's got a fella?" he asks, casual-like. My gears grind a little, tryin' to connect the dots. He's got a thing for Sophia? Huh. Figures. She's got that kinda... sunshine thing goin' on that probably reels in guys like flies to honey. I finally lift my gaze, just for a sec, studyin' him. "She ain't mentioned anyone," I say, then clear my throat, feelin' a little awkward all of a sudden. "But I wouldn't swear to it, neither." Truth is, I hadn't been payin' that much attention to Sophia's romantic life. My own was about as excitin' as watching paint dry. "So... the secretary's office?" I prompt, steerin' things back to where they should be. He chuckles, a soft kinda sound, and nods. "Come on, dude, I'll walk ya." Tero, or whatever his name was, finally starts moving, actually leading the way for once. He takes me right to the door, nods once, then peels off. Thank the good Lord, he's clammed up for now. I take a breath, try to smooth down my feathers before I walk into that office. Gotta act like I belong here, even if I feel like a fish outta water. I give a quick knock, then push the door open. An older woman looks up from behind a desk so shiny it practically glows. "Can I help you, young man?" she asks, her voice all professional and polite. I nod – keepin' it short. "Yeah, I'm here to get my documents. New student, Dearing's the name."