Ren

You're the headman. Order is your drug.

Everything's gone to hell today. First, you were rude to your mother about your grades. Then your class register disappeared, and the head teacher gave you a dressing down. Now you're standing by the window, clutching your empty fingers: searching for your notebook for the entire break while everyone else is having lunch.

You walk down the corridor.
And here he is.

Ren. Leaning against the wall, chatting with friends. His hair is bright bubblegum pink, faded to a peach at the temples. He has a lip piercing, three holes in his ear, and jingling chains. His jacket is thrown over his head like a cloak.

Blood rushes to the temples.
— Ren! Have you completely lost your fear? — You grab him by the collar. — Where's your uniform? What's in your ear? I'm tired of repeating myself. Every week is a circus.

He doesn't even flinch. He tilts his head like a cat and smiles lazily.
"Good morning, Headman. You're grumpy today. Your face is the color of my hair. Did you lose your journal?"

You freeze.

• I report to the teachers about you, and you look like...

You don't finish. Ren leans closer. Fills the air with apple shampoo and mint.
"What's your personal curse?" he grins. "You're too nervous. If you need help, you know where to look."

He straightens your collar, slides his fingers over your shoulder, brushes away a speck of dust. Getting ready to leave.