Mr. Doren busies himself at the front of the classroom, using one of the whiteboard erasers to wipe away the previous classes lesson. He grumbles to himself, only passing a few spare glances at particularly loud students that file in and slot themselves into their seats. You find your seat easily—off towards the back of the class—and bring out your English notebook and textbook as well as your pencil case. Always had to be prepared.

As more students take their seats, you feel a... tick. A sensation in the back of your head. An instinct, perhaps.

Glancing around under the guise of boredom, your eyes land on Kylar. They (he? she?) were a loner, and ostracized from the others usually. Quiet, mostly kept to themselves. Didn't talk much. Was friends with Sydney—the library helper—but that was about it.

Seemingly now, however, they were staring at you. Wide-eyed, enraptured, completely focused on you. As they realize you're looking at them, they turn away immediately sinking back in their seat. It takes a moment—you've already looked away by now—before you hear chair legs scrape against the floor one more time. Kylar clutches their books tightly to their chest as they shuffle over, slipping into the desk next to yours without a word.

They're sweating from anxiety.

The lunch today was kind of... decent. Meaningless slop, yes, but marginally better than most of the week, or week previous. You think it's an attempt at 'a' pasta? You can't tell what's happening below the red sauce and vaguely meat shaped discs in the mush. The sweetcorn looks as bad as always, regrettably, but the brownie looks fine enough.

Could be much worse, all things considered.

As you walk away from the trays assembly line, you glance around and engage in a mental war over who to sit with. Robin is chowing down like normal, Whitney is off in the opposite side of the canteen relentlessly bullying a girl the size of a twig, and Sydney is looking over bible scripture and ignoring lunch altogether.

Kylar, however, sits alone. The other students give them a wide berth—completely avoiding that corner of the table—and chat amongst themselves while Kylar pokes and stabs at their food with a flimsy plastic fork.

You can't help but feel bad for them.

Ignoring the glances as people watch you go past the invisible barrier ostracizing Kylar from the rest of the flock, you settle down and say hello. They stop spearing their food, but doesn't respond.

It takes a moment after you begin tucking in to your meal before Kylar actually speaks. "H-Hello..."

It's eight o'clock and you're tired as shit. You worked late last night—had to make money to pay Bailey his three-hundred somehow—and your body was sore in all the wrong places from your... dubious work ethic. As you approach your locker, you spot someone peeking at you from the furthest corridor.

It's Kylar. They hide when they see you.

Unpacking your bag and gathering whatever materials you need, you wander over to where they're pressed against the wall. As Kylar peers back out, they're met with you standing right in front of them. They balk, sputtering and stumbling backwards. Freezing in place—stiff as a board—they avert their eyes and look anywhere else. Suddenly it seems the student counsel posters are the most interesting thing in the world.

Kylar was definitely, one-hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, NOT staring at you.

...They look like they're about to bolt.

You stretch your arms as you walk back in to the orphanage, tugging your bag a bit tighter when you pass Bailey's office. Prick was asking for double this week, and you already borrowed cash from Robin... Had to take double shifts at the café and bar. Tempting to just slut yourself out, at this rate.

You pass by the other rooms and a few other orphans meandering in the halls, closing the bathroom's door in cursory passing when you hear running water while still ajar. Wasn't really an orphanage, at this point. Everyone was eighteen, emancipated, full-blown adults. Just kind of... lived here. Like it was a shelter. Didn't help that the owner was a crook who demanded pay, which basically forced everyone to stay here.

Nonetheless, you had your own room you were headed towards. Robin was out today—off doing a little lemonade stand out by the beach—and you frown when you pass the door. You kind of wanted to play video games right about now.

Instead, you march your way a few doors down until you make it to your room. But... it's opened. Unlocked. You peer in and are surprised to see—

Kylar?

They're standing right at the foot of your bed, your sheets and duvet gathered in their arms and face buried in to it. Their eyes are closed in contentment, and they just kind of... smell your bedding (?).

Weirdo.

"Y-You're so..." Kylar tries, but they'e too busy blushing and frantically pressing their knees together.

You had asked for their underwear. In the middle of the rear courtyard of school. Kylar, for all intents and purposes, was mortified. Despite everything, though, they agreed. They excused themselves around an oak tree to take off their shoes and shorts, pulled off their briefs, and shuffled back into their clothes.

They were sitting next to you now, but their embarrassment was paramount. What did you want their underwear for? Just to have? For a collection? A pang of bitter jealousy flutters in their chest at the idea of you having anyone else's underwear, but it's sated by another thought.

Maybe you wanted them for... other purposes. Intimate ones. As Kylar stares at you, their eyes glaze over while thinking of you lounged out on your bed, smelling their scent and musk and touching yourself to them.

They make a small noise, wetting their lips, and finally refocus with an almost dazed expression. Kylar's hand instinctively reaches for your thigh.

"C-Can... I have yours?" They breathe, swaying side to side.

All it took was a kiss. A little one, just on the cheek. Then, another one just along the jaw. Then jugular. Collarbone. Adam's apple. Windpipe. That's all it took for Kylar to become a pile of jelly.

Their breathing is heavy—labored and whispered against your hairline—and they clutch at your shirt desperately and full of need. Kylar's eyes shut tight with each lingering kiss, daring their head to tilt back. When your hands wander, just as needy as their own, an obscene moan leaves their throat.

"Ghk—" Kylar chokes out, pushing on you slightly to stop you right where you are.

They take a moment, trying to calm their breathing from an ugly pant, and swallow spit that's gathered along their tongue. The hands on you tighten further and crinkle the fabric enough to stretch.

"L-Let's go. W-We can find somewhere private," she says. "Anywhere you want."

Kylar adjusts their grip to instead cling on your arm, afraid you'd run off. You wouldn't leave them, would you? You started this. You wanted this. You needed to fuck them. You were made for each other, right?

In an act of desperation, they start to rise to their feet clumsily and tug you along. Their direction is aimless, but intent clear. When they speak next, it's a whine. "I want you to wear me out, and then keep going."

...Where in the absolute living fuck are you?

You're in a chair. Can't move. Dazed, confused, and groggy with an awful singe of pain in the back of your neck. Legs are chained and arms are tied with something coarse and rough—you only can wager it's rope. The room is dark and dingy, a bit musty. Looks like a basement, from what you can make out from the little bit of light that bleeds in through the small, keyhole window on the opposite wall. There's a clattering suddenly, and you quickly glance over to watch a can of paint roll down the stairs and clunk against something on the far side, where you can't see.

A figure comes in to view, carrying something draped with a white sheet. A little table is off in the corner and they set... 'whatever' it is down, turning to face you.

Fucking KYLAR?!

They look crazed—hair messier and more unkempt than usual, hands bloodied at the knuckles, eyes wide and terrible—and it sends a shiver up your spine. They've gone absolutely nuclear levels of psycho. Sure they were a bit creepy before, but fucking kidnapping?

"You're awake!" They gasp, scrambling towards you and falling on their knees in nigh-reverence and leaning against your thighs, looking up at you with a spot of drool running down their lip. They're shaking.

"You're so beautiful." Kylar laughs. "I've done everything. Don't worry. The vicar will be here soon."

...The what now?