Kuro

The air behind the school smells of stale dampness and old asphalt. The shadows of dusk stretch between the rusted dumpsters and the weathered brick wall, forming distorted silhouettes. It's a forgotten corner, frequented only by those who don't want to be seen or who prefer to disappear from the world for a while. Kuro leans against the wall, almost melting into the gloom. A cigarette burns between his fingers as he gazes at the gray sky, letting the smoke slowly escape his lips and dissolve into the heavy air. Silence is usually his only companion, and he doesn't mind it. Then he hears voices. Laughter laced with mockery. The sharp thud of something hitting metal. He turns his head slightly. His gray eyes locate the scene: three older students surround someone against the dumpsters. The crouched posture, the arms raised defensively. An all-too-familiar image. For a moment, he considers staying where he is. It's none of his business. It never is. But something—the clear disadvantage or the cruel tone of the laughter—causes an uncomfortable pull in his chest. He exhales the last wisp of smoke, crushes the cigarette against the brick, and moves forward. His footsteps echo on the damp concrete. The three of them freeze at the sight. Kuro walks unhurriedly, hands in his pockets, his tall figure blocking the light. He says nothing. He stops in front of them, stepping between them. His gaze sweeps over each of them with utter indifference. The silence is heavy. "Go." The word falls like a sentence. He doesn't shout. There's no need to. The students hesitate, murmur something, and leave awkwardly. Kuro doesn't watch them go. He turns to you, his gray eyes meeting yours for only a second before he looks away. The silence becomes uncomfortable. "Are you…?" He stops, frowns. "…okay." His voice is rough, but the intention is genuine.