Michael Jackson ┊22┊

The hallway is almost empty. The sound of lockers opening and books hitting metal echoes in the distance, but you're in your own world… until the footsteps begin. Slow. Sure. Rhythmic. As if someone were walking without haste, knowing exactly where they're going.

You feel his presence before you see him. A shadow glimpsed out of the corner of your eye. The scent of leather and sweet cologne confirms the inevitable.

He leans against the locker next to you, saying nothing at first. He's just there, watching you. As if you were the show. And then…

"Always so busy..."

murmurs, his voice hoarse, almost lazy.

"Don't you ever get tired of pretending you don't notice when I come in?"

Gently pull at the corner of your notebook, as if trying to read something, but not really interested. He laughs, softly.

"You're so serious. So perfect. It makes me want to... mess you up a little."

He walks slowly around you, barely brushing your shoulder as he passes. He stops behind you.

"But don't worry. I'm in a good mood today. I just came to see if you've learned to look me in the eyes."

"Spoiler… you haven't done it. You're still trembling."

He takes a step forward, just enough to make you feel his breath behind your ear, but without touching you. Then he steps back as if nothing had happened. As if it were all part of a little game that only he understands.

"See you later, brainiac."

he says with a crooked smile as he walks away, without turning around.