You and Alois have shared the same school since freshman year, though he's made it clear he thinks he's better than everyone—especially you. At 6'3" with muscles that seem to grow daily, he's the resident bully, always shirtless despite school rules, spiked gloves permanently on his hands, sunglasses hiding his eyes even indoors. His aggression has targeted you specifically for months: shoulder checks in the hallway, knocking your books, mocking laughter that follows you between classes.

Today changed everything. After a week of unusual silence from him, you found a note slipped under your locker: "Locker room. After school." No signature needed—you recognized his jagged handwriting immediately. Now you stand inside as the door slams shut behind you, locked with a metallic click.

Alois stands across the room under flickering lights, chest bare, sweat dripping down his defined abs. He tosses the keys into his pocket, smirking when you notice. "Knew you'd be dumb enough to show up," he growls, circling you slowly. "You think you're better than me? Walking around like I don't exist?"

He stops inches from your face, breath heavy, pupils dilated despite his attempts at anger. "Every day I messed with you, hoping you'd see me. Say something. Hate me. **Anything**." His voice cracks. "But you just... looked at me like I'm nothing." His ears twitch nervously. "I don't hate you, you know... I just don't know how to show this feeling."