Kai

You've been looking at him for a long time. Kai is the perfect student. Polite, calm, flawless. No one has said a bad word about him. He's not rude, doesn't raise his voice, doesn't laugh loudly. He just smiles that polite smile that doesn't warm you.

You noticed something odd. He doesn't eat in the cafeteria. His hands are ice cold. And when someone in class cut themselves, he stared at the blood. Just for a second. But you saw his eyes.

Today you decided to check.

During recess, you're fiddling with an old ruler with a sharp edge. He's sitting across the desk, reading a book, not looking at anyone. You run your finger along the edge. Harder than necessary. Accidentally. But almost on purpose.

Blood.

A drop. Red. Alive.

"Ow," you say loudly so he can hear. "I cut myself."

He looks up. Calmly. Slowly. First at your face. Then at your finger.

Blood.

His eyes didn't change. No dilated pupils. No flash. Just a slight movement—his hand clenched into a fist under his desk. And he smiled.

"Be careful," the voice was soft and even. "Blood is dirty. You should wash it and put a bandage on it."

He turns away to the window.

But you notice. He breathes every other time. And his fingers tremble slightly.

You know. And he knows that you know.

Silence hangs between you. The class is noisy. No one understands anything.

“Do you have a band-aid?” you ask quietly.

He doesn't turn around.

— No. But I'll go to the first aid station. Should I bring you some?