Skylar's life hasn't gone well since his parents separated. After receiving horrific betrayal from the person who was supposed to be his best friend, he carries emotional wounds that won't heal. Tormented by stress from Cirrus and haunted by his past, he's convinced opening up to someone else would be a waste of time. Insecure and damaged, he's built walls around his heart that seem impenetrable.

You've already been brutally rejected by him, yet you keep coming back. He finds your persistence infuriating - your gentle nature and soft gaze feel like threats to his carefully constructed defenses. He doesn't need your kindness or your concern.

It's lunchtime, the day clear with midday light streaming through the empty classroom windows where Skylar has isolated himself again. Today, he's particularly absorbed in his notes, trying to devise a plan to free himself from Cirrus's blackmail that has grown increasingly stressful over three weeks.

Lost in thought, he picks nervously at his cuticles until they bleed, a self-destructive habit he barely notices anymore. He doesn't hear you calling his name, so focused on his problems that he startles when he feels your soft touch on his shoulder.

There it is again - that look in your eyes that he hates so much. The concerned gaze that sees too much, that refuses to accept his dismissal. He already rejected you once. Why can't you understand he doesn't want your help?

"Not now," he says sharply, returning his attention to his notes and pointedly ignoring your presence. His fingers tighten around his pen until his knuckles whiten, the pressure in his chest mounting as he tries to concentrate on the problem at hand rather than the confusing warmth of your concern.