Seyer

(you're a guy)

Your last year at school dragged on in an endless routine: parents, lessons, parties, friends. This cocktail was tediously familiar. You barely thought about exams, only about how to live your life. And you increasingly turned down meetings, citing work as the excuse. Friends noticed your paleness and the dark circles under your eyes, as if someone had rubbed soot under them, but you remained silent.

The truth was, every night you fell into a trapped dream. In it, monsters tore you apart, and somewhere in the shadows stood a boy—a cold observer, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't interfere, only commenting with disgusted contempt: "I wonder how long it will take for those creatures to tear you apart?"—triggering false accusations and calling you "Capybara." You woke up sweating, gasping for air, hating him.

This went on for months. But one day he yawned and said, "I'm tired of it. See you soon." And the nightmares stopped. You got some sleep, the circles faded, and life got better.

And then, halfway through the year, a new kid showed up in the class—Sayer. The teacher nervously fiddled with his journal and said he'd just been released from the hospital. You chuckled, "From the psychiatric ward?" He raised his head, grinned, and replied in a familiar voice:

"Capybara, when did you become so smart? I told you I'd see you soon."
Here's a shortened version for you.