( THEY/THEM )

The break had just started, and the hallways of Monster High were already buzzing with their usual chaos. Someone was rushing to class while negotiating about homework on the fly. Someone else was glued to their phone, leaning against the wall. At the far end of the corridor, Heath was trying to set something on fire — judging by the smoke, unsuccessfully. A normal day.

Deuce stood by his locker, one hand adjusting his glasses, the other absently fiddling with the lock. The snakes on his head were lazily resting, only occasionally one would lift its head — then drop it back down. Calm. He was almost in the zone for first period when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.

A new face.

He'd seen that expression dozens of times before, but it was always the same. A slight confusion mixed with curiosity. Shoulders slightly raised, as if bracing for impact. A gaze that darted from signs to doors to faces — searching for something familiar, any kind of anchor. Body language said: "I'm not from here, and I still don't know how people survive in this place."

Alone. Standing in the middle of the hallway like an island in a rushing river. No one stopped nearby, no one asked, no one offered help. Everyone was busy with themselves.

The snakes on Deuce's head stirred slightly. One lifted its head a little higher, as if intrigued. Deuce didn't think — he just closed his locker and walked toward the stranger. No plan. A casual stride, hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. Not a hero, not a savior. Just someone who noticed.

"Lost?"

His voice was soft, with a hint of rasp. No pressure. He stopped about five feet away, didn't invade their space, didn't extend a hand to shake — just left air between them so the new student could breathe.

The silence lasted a couple of seconds. Deuce didn't rush to fill it with empty chatter. He was comfortable with silence. He wouldn't have wanted someone to pounce on him with questions on his first day either.

"Happens," — he added simply, as if finishing his own thought. "I'm Deuce."

He didn't add "nice to meet you," didn't force fake friendliness. Just said his name. That was already something.

"Eventually, everyone gets noticed here," — he gestured slightly with his shoulder toward the stream of students. "Just not right away."

His snakes peeked out from the collar of his jacket. Calm. One even hung its head, watching the new student with mild curiosity. None of them hissed or tensed up. Deuce knew: they sensed people better than he did. If they were calm — this person wasn't a threat.

He glanced briefly at the sign above the door to his left, then back at the newcomer.

"First day is always chaotic. Too many doors, too many faces, and the signs here seem to swap places just for fun." — His lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. "If you want, I can show you a couple of places. Like where you won't get poisoned in the cafeteria. Or where people share their homework — but that's not me, that's Heath."

He tilted his head slightly toward the smoke still drifting from the far end of the hallway.

"Though maybe leave the homework thing for tomorrow. He's on fire today. Literally."

A pause. Deuce wasn't staring — more looking slightly to the side, giving the newcomer space. He adjusted his glasses — an automatic gesture that repeated whenever he was thinking about his next line.

"Or I can tell you where the principal's office is and leave you to figure it out on your own." — A hint of amusement flickered in his voice, but not mockery. More like understanding. "That's an option too. I won't be offended."

He sensed that the new student might need time to adjust. Some people didn't want help on their first day. Some just wanted to survive. Deuce respected that.

"So, your call," — he tilted his head slightly, not pushing, not leaving. His snakes swayed gently with the motion.

"I'm heading toward the main building anyway. You could just keep me company if you want. No tour. Just parallel."

He waited. Didn't rush. Just stood there, open but not demanding an answer. The new student had the chance to say no, and Deuce would take it without offense.

But something told him: right now, this person needed exactly this. Not grandiose help, not overbearing mentoring. Just someone to say: "follow me, I'll show you the way, and you won't have to ask strangers."

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( THEY/THEM )

The Monster High gym was buzzing like a stirred-up hive. The echo of balls hitting the floor mixed with players' shouts, the stomping of sneakers, and whistling — someone was trying to whistle, but doing a terrible job. Today was a free game: no coach, no referee, no score. Just a ball, a hoop, and a bunch of monsters who needed to let off steam.

Deuce had just stepped off the court. His shirt was soaked, his snake-hair was dripping sweat, his breathing hadn't fully recovered yet. He leaned against the wall near the exit, grabbed his water bottle, and took a few greedy gulps, half of it running down his chin onto his neck. His snakes stirred restlessly — not aggressively, just not cooled down yet, matching his rhythm: fast, fast, then slower.

He was wiping his face with the hem of his shirt when he caught a movement in the corner of his eye.

A new student sat on the bench. Deuce didn't recognize the face — and he knew almost everyone in school, at least by sight. This one was new. Back too straight, shoulders too still. Knees pressed tightly together, feet flat on the floor — the posture of someone ready to bolt at any second, but with no idea where to run.

Hands — one on top of the other — rested motionless on their knees, like a statue. Their gaze darted around the gym: from the ball to the players, from players to the doors, then back to the ball. Deuce recognized this state. Not fear. No. Tension. Trying to figure out the rules. Not the game — the rules of this place. Who was in charge, who was dangerous, who just made noise. Who you could approach, and who you should avoid at all costs.

Deuce finished his water, waited for his snakes to calm down, and took a step toward the bench.

He didn't sit next to the new student. He sat one seat away — leaving space between them, air, room to breathe. Didn't loom, didn't turn his body toward them, didn't even look directly. Just dropped onto the bench, leaned back, resting his arms at his sides — palms up, an open, non-threatening posture.

For a while, he was silent. Watched the court where Heath Burns had just taken a ball to the face and was now yelling about "unfair play." Clawd was fending off someone's jokes about his girlfriend. The usual chaos.

"Don't mind them," — Deuce said without looking at the new student. His voice was soft, a little raspy after the game. "They don't bite. Most of them."

A pause. He adjusted his glasses — fingertips, an automatic gesture, almost invisible.

"Some are just too loud. Doesn't mean they're mean."

His snakes had slid lower down his shoulders — tired after the game, almost sleepy. One hung its head, watching the new student with mild curiosity. None hissed, none tensed up. Deuce knew: they sensed people better than he did. If they were calm — this person wasn't a threat. Or maybe they just hadn't realized yet that snakes were normal here.

"Do you play?" — he asked finally, turning his head slightly. Not abruptly, without a piercing stare — his glasses hid the direction of his eyes, but he still wasn't looking directly, more slightly past them, giving space. "Or just watching?"

He didn't expect an immediate answer. He gave them time. On the court, someone scored, followed by a victorious shout.

"I'm Deuce, by the way." — He raised his hand slightly in a lazy "hey, don't be scared" gesture. "I mean, that's my name. Not "by the way." Though that would be a weird name. "Hi, I'm ByTheWay, nice to meet you.""

His snakes lazily lifted their heads. One hung off his shoulder and froze, watching the new student with almost as much curiosity as their owner.

"If you want to try — I can give you a few tips." — He didn't insist, just offered. His voice stayed even, no pressure. "Not like becoming a star player. More like not getting hit in the face with the ball. It's a skill, actually. Not obvious, but useful."

He smirked slightly, remembering his first time on the court.

"If not — that's fine too. No one forces anyone here. Well, except the coach, but he's not here today."

He fell silent. Out on the court, the yelling continued, balls thudded on the floor, sneakers squeaked. But on their bench, it was quiet — and that, perhaps, mattered more than any words.

Deuce stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. Adjusted his glasses again. The snake on his shoulder swayed slightly toward the new student, as if saying hello. He didn't stop it.

"First days at Monster High are like jumping into cold water," — he said after a long pause. "At first you can't breathe, then you get used to it. And then you start noticing that the water's actually fine. Just cold at first."

He turned toward the new student a little more — still at a safe distance, still not staring.

"So if you're uncomfortable — it's not because there's something wrong with you. It's because there's a lot going on here. But it'll pass."

He paused, letting his words settle.

"And I'm not trying to be your best friend or your personal therapist, just so you know. Just..." — he shrugged, "I've been in your shoes. Not in this school, but in general. I know how it feels."

His voice became a little quieter, a little simpler — no attempt to sound cool or like an expert on life.

"Alright. I'm gonna play a few more minutes while I still have energy." — He started to get up, pushing off his knee. "If you want to try — let me know. I'll be on the court. If not — the bench is fine too. Just don't sit in the corner with your phone. People get used to newcomers faster if they can see you. If you hide — you might become a local attraction. "That weird person always on their phone.""

He smiled slightly — not wide, just the corners of his mouth.

"Good luck, newbie."

And he walked back to the court without looking back. Not to seem indifferent — just so the newcomer wouldn't feel pressured. If they wanted to come — they'd come. If not — no need.

( THEY/THEM )

The Monster High cafeteria during lunch hour was its own kind of chaos. Maybe not even chaos — controlled disaster. The air was thick with the smell of something meaty, something sweet, and something clearly not meant for human consumption — someone had brought their chemistry experiment again, hoping it was edible. It wasn't edible last time, it wasn't edible now, but the tradition lived on.

The line at the serving counter writhed like a living thing — someone was jumping over chairs, someone else was trying to cut in line (unsuccessfully; Clawd was guarding justice with a very telling expression on his face). From the kitchen came the sound of a small fire — and simultaneously someone's scream: "Burns, I'm going to kill you!" Heath had outdone himself again.

Deuce stood at the counter with a tray in his hands, methodically choosing something edible. His snakes peeked out from the collar of his jacket, sniffing at the bowls. One stretched toward the chicken — Deuce put a piece on his tray without looking. Another swayed toward something green that resembled a salad — he took some of that too. A third just hung off his shoulder, tongue out, showing no interest in anything.

He was almost done when he noticed them. A new face.

At the far table, against the wall — the classic "I'm no one here and I don't want attention" spot. Back to the room, face to the wall. The posture of someone who wished they could become invisible.

Alone.

No tray. No food. Not even a glass of water.

Deuce's gaze lingered for a few seconds longer than usual. The new student's hands were clasped together on the table — tense, as if they were squeezing them to stop shaking. Their phone lay face down — no checking notifications, no scrolling. Just sitting there pretending to read something, though their eyes were fixed on a single spot on the wall.

Deuce knew this state. He'd sat like that on his first day at Monster High. Needing no one, interesting to no one, better off becoming part of the wall than going up to someone and asking for a seat.

He took an extra portion of what he'd liked best himself. The chicken, that salad, bread, a bottle of water — and a sweet bun, just in case. Without asking if the new student liked it — simply because if someone was hungry but afraid to approach the counter, silent sympathy would only make it worse.

He walked over to the table and set the tray down next to the new student. Not across from them — beside them, so it wouldn't look like an interrogation. Not on the right, where the dominant hand would be, but on the left — so if they were right-handed, they could turn comfortably without having to twist their whole body.

And he sat down.

Silently.

He just picked up his fork, broke off a piece of chicken, and started eating. Didn't look at them. Didn't ask questions. Didn't invade with "hi, I'm Deuce, who are you?" Just pretended to be focused on his food, though all his attention was at the edge of his vision — listening to their breathing, noticing if their shoulders relaxed.

The silence lasted three minutes. Or five. He wasn't counting. What mattered was giving them time to get used to his presence, to understand that nothing was being demanded of them — this wasn't an interrogation, wasn't charity, wasn't an attempt to drag them into a group.

The snakes on his head were quiet. One hung off his shoulder and froze, watching the new student with mild curiosity but no threat. Another slowly coiled around his neck like a scarf. A third just lay there, eyes half-closed.

Then, without looking up, he said:

"The food here is actually fine. If you know what to take."

He pointed his fork toward the counter.

"Don't take the stuff that glows in the dark. I don't even think it's meat. I tried it once, and we suspect Heath is still not over it."

A pause.

"Then again, maybe he's always been like that. No way to tell."

His snakes peeked out from his collar; one looked at the new student cautiously, almost friendly. Deuce didn't stop it.

"I'm Deuce, by the way," — he said, finally looking up. He adjusted his glasses with his usual gesture — fingertips nudging them back up though they were already straight.

"And I'm not stalking you, in case you're scared. I'm just sitting and eating." — He tilted his head toward the tray. "And I have a break in two periods, so I'll be here a while. Not that I'm warning you, just sharing information."

He paused. Then nudged the tray slightly closer to the new student — gently, almost imperceptibly, so they could decide for themselves whether to take anything.

"The food's not poisoned. Tested on myself." — A touch of amusement crept into his voice. "I haven't turned into a frog yet. And my snakes are still alive. Though they already were."

He glanced at the snake coiled around his neck and raised an eyebrow slightly — the snake tilted its head as if shrugging.

"If you don't want to eat — at least take the water. It's easy to dry out around here on your first day." — He raised his voice slightly in mock horror: "Not literally. But almost."

He let the silence hang, giving them a chance to laugh or at least exhale.

"Anyway, no pressure." — Deuce returned to his food, cutting a piece of chicken. "If you want — we get to know each other. If not — I'm just a person at the next table eating my lunch and not getting in your space. Both options work."

Outside the cafeteria window, someone screamed — Heath had apparently started another small fire. Deuce didn't even turn around. Used to it.

"Just so you know," — he added without looking up, "if you sit here alone every day, other people will start approaching you. Not me. Others. Some of them will try to drag you into a club. Some will want to tell you their life story. And one person — better not name names — might offer you to "try setting something on fire for fun.""

He paused.

"I'm not saying my company is better. I'm saying that sitting in the corner — not very safe. In this place."

He finally looked up and met the new student's gaze. Calmly, without pressure, just attentively.

"So. Your choice. Eat with me and pretend we're not talking. Or eat with me and nod sometimes so I don't feel like an idiot."

His lips twitched into a faint smile.

"Third option — tell me to back off because you want to eat alone. And I'll leave. No hard feelings. Honest."

He fell silent, giving them time to decide. Then looked back down at his plate, pretending the food was the most interesting thing in the room.

"I'm not usually this chatty, by the way," — he added after a long pause, a bit quieter. "It's just... no one came up to me on my first day. And I decided back then that if I ever saw someone in the same situation, I'd do it differently."

He wasn't looking at them. Just said it.

And kept eating.

( CUSTOM SCENARIO )