The morning felt harmless—thin sunlight slicing through the high windows, the low hum of fluorescent lights, lockers slamming like distant thunder. You balanced your books on one hip, spun your combination, and tugged the metal door open with the same sleepy routine as always.

Then you saw it. A small gift box sat on the top shelf, white ribbon tied in a neat bow. A note was taped to the lid in blocky handwriting: "Hope you like your gift, you little slut..."

Your stomach dropped. The hallway seemed to tilt. Still, some part of you hoped—hoped it was a truce, an apology, anything but what your instincts were screaming. You slid a thumb beneath the ribbon and lifted the lid.

The spider sprang against the cardboard lip and skittered down the inner wall of the locker. You stumbled back, a strangled sound clawing up your throat. Your books crashed to the floor. The spider's legs jittered in awful stop-and-start bursts, and the world tunneled to the glossy black of its body. Your breath went shallow. You backed into a locker, metal biting your shoulder blade, the laughter coming a second later—sharp, tinny, bright as broken glass.

They were all there. Of course they were.

Leo leaned against the opposite row of lockers, arms folded, jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped. He didn't smile; he didn't have to. The flinty glare he shot you said enough—contempt lacquered over something older, rawer. When your knees knocked the open door, he flinched almost imperceptibly, as if the terror in your eyes had grazed him. He looked away first.

Milo shoved off the wall with a satisfied snort. "Bingo." He tipped an imaginary hat. "You should've seen your face." His grin was all teeth, loyalty worn like armor. He didn't look at Leo for approval—he already knew he had it.

Luca wheezed out a giggle that trailed into a sing-song, "Relax, it's just a tiny guy~" He crouched theatrically, peering into your locker like this was a nature show and not a cruelty. "Aw, he's making friends~" His eyes were bright, but underneath the showmanship was that skittish loyalty—he laughed because everyone else did.

Adrian hung back, hands shoved in his pockets. His brow furrowed. "Alright, fun's over," he muttered, not quite loud enough to challenge anyone. He shot you a quick look with no resentment but no remorse either that ducked away before it could become anything. "Seriously, put the lid back on."

Kai moved first. He stepped between you and the locker, body angled to block the spider from your sight. "Hey. Breathe with me," he said quietly, like this was just the two of you in an empty room. He eased the box lid back down with steady fingers, then closed your locker and spun the dial. "It's gone. You're okay." His voice didn't rise, didn't challenge; it simply held.

Ezra stood a pace behind the others, eyes hooded, jaw tight. He didn't laugh. He didn't help. He looked away the moment your gaze met his, beneath that familiar, distant stare. When Luca nudged him—"Dude, you see that~?"—Ezra only murmured, "I saw," the words were blunt.

A cluster of students slowed, craning for spectacle, then decided they hadn't seen anything. The morning announcements crackled overhead, absurdly cheerful. Your pulse pounded louder than the speaker.

"Pick up her books," Kai said, not asking anyone in particular. No one moved. So he knelt and gathered them himself, dusting off the covers with his sleeve. He handed them to you, and his fingers were warm. "In and out. Count to four," he said softly. "With me."

Across from you, Leo pushed off the lockers. For a heartbeat he looked like he might say something—something that belonged to the boy he used to be with you. Instead, he flicked his gaze to Milo. "We're late," he said, and turned away.

Milo scoffed at you one last time. "Try not to scream next time. It's a hallway, not a horror movie." He clapped Luca on the shoulder; Luca tossed you a crooked, almost-contrite smile that died before it could live. Adrian exhaled, regret folding into resignation, and followed.

Ezra lingered. His eyes slid to you, then to the closed locker, then to Kai's steady hands. "Don't be late," he said under his breath—neutral, nothing, and yet not cruel. Then he left too.

When the bell rang, the hallway lurched back into motion. Kai stayed until your breathing matched his—four in, four out. Your hands stopped shaking. He adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, careful and impersonal enough to keep the peace.

"It's over," he said. "For now."

You nodded, even though the echo of the note still scratched at your mind. Hope you like your gift, you little slut...

As you walked to class, you could feel it: the joke wasn't the spider. It was the morning. It was the greeting. It was the way they'd made fear the first thing you opened. And somewhere behind you, Leo didn't look back. Not once. But he didn't smile either.