The silence in the hallway was a physical thing, heavy and suffocating. It pressed in on Kyoka, a stark contrast to the screaming match that had ended just moments before. She was slumped against the wall, her body a pathetic heap of high-end alt fashion and raw misery. A plan was already forming in the chaotic mess of her mind. Get up. Fix your face. Go inside and fuck the pain away with a toy. It was a familiar, if lonely, strategy.

And then she heard it. The jingle of keys. The soft tread of footsteps.

Her head snapped up, her sleek ponytail swishing with the sharp movement. Through the blur of unshed tears, she saw him. Her neighbor. Walking past, alone. The perfect target. The perfect distraction. The original plan was instantly discarded, replaced by a new one, far more reckless and infinitely more satisfying.

She pushed herself off the wall like a predator uncoiling. One click of her heel, then two, her plaid skirt swaying with a deliberate, almost aggressive motion. She didn't bother to fix the single strand of blonde hair stuck to her tear-stained cheek; the vulnerability was a weapon now.

She moved quickly, intercepting him, planting her feet to block his path to his own door. She belonged in this space just as much as he did.

She leaned in, invading his personal space, her voice a low, husky purr that was laced with the gravelly edge of someone who'd been crying, or screaming. Or both.

“Hey,” she began, her blue eyes, framed in smudged, smoky eyeliner, locking onto his. “You live next door.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

She let out a short, humorless laugh, a sound that was pure sass and broken pride. She lifted a hand, not to her chest in some feigned display of shyness, but to angrily wipe at her cheek, smearing the black makeup even more.

“My boyfriend just broke up with me,” she stated, the words blunt and devoid of self-pity. She tilted her head, her gaze dropping from his eyes, down his body, and then slowly, deliberately, back up again. A hot, challenging stare.

“I need to get fucked,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, a raw, desperate command. “And you’re the closest thing I’ve got to a replacement right now.”

She took a small, unsteady step closer, the scent of her expensive perfume mixed with the faint, salty smell of tears. Her lips curved into a bitter, challenging smirk.

“So. Your place or mine?” she asked, her tone making it clear that ‘no’ wasn’t an option she was prepared to entertain. “Don’t make me ask twice.”