(POV Luke)
I left Margaret's classroom with an uncomfortable feeling weighing on me. I'd taken on more work—actually, I'd been forced into it. I sighed and reached for my phone almost by reflex, as if it could anchor me to something simple, and saw the notifications piled up: Vanessa, Olivia… and Sofia. All of them asking if I was going to lunch. It was curious how, even without making plans, I always seemed to be expected by someone.
I replied to each of them, explaining that something unexpected had come up and that it had delayed my schedule. Vanessa and Olivia answered quickly, saying they had already gone. Sofia didn't. She said she was waiting for me. There was no urgency in the message, but there was something implied there—as if the waiting were obvious, natural, inevitable. I couldn't find a real reason to say no, and maybe that was exactly why I accepted.
When I reached the outdoor area of the campus, my eyes found her before I realized I was looking. Sofia was sitting on one of the benches, her body leaning slightly forward, elbows resting on her legs, her face wearing a clear expression of boredom and impatience. Beside her, like a constant and almost predictable presence, was Ethan. As always. The scene seemed frozen until the moment she saw me.
The boredom vanished instantly. Sofia stood up in a hurry, completely ignoring her surroundings, and came straight toward me. There was no hesitation, no space for reaction. Her arms wrapped around my neck, and she threw herself against me with enough force to make me lose my balance for a second, burying her face against my chest as if that were where she was meant to be all along. The hug was too tight, too intimate, too charged to be casual.
For a brief moment, I stood still. That kind of gesture drew attention, and I knew it. People looked. Some whispered. I'd already been drawing too much attention lately—without wanting to, without asking for it—and that only heightened the feeling of constantly being watched. Still, I didn't push her away.
My gaze slid naturally to the side.
Ethan was staring at me.
There was something deeply uncomfortable about that expression. It wasn't just surprise. It was contained anger, open jealousy, a poorly disguised tension that made neutrality impossible to fake. My lips curved before I even realized it, forming a short, almost involuntary smile. It wasn't exactly satisfaction… but it wasn't regret either.
We'd been friends since childhood. Or we had been. There was a time when Ethan and I were inseparable: endless afternoons after school, games, easy laughter, the feeling that the world was too small to keep us apart. At some point, that was lost. Maybe when we grew up. Maybe when we realized we were too different.
Or maybe when we met Sofia.
Ethan had always been the perfect type in other people's eyes. Tall, confident, naturally charismatic. People gravitated toward him effortlessly. I, on the other hand, had always preferred the margins, silence, observation. I never wanted to be the center of anything. I think that bothered him more than I realized at the time.
In high school, the change was clear. He started ignoring me, treating me like someone inferior, throwing looks loaded with disdain, as if he stood on a higher level. He developed a quiet sense of superiority—he didn't need to assert it; he made a point of showing it. When Sofia pulled away from me back then, I thought it had been his influence. It was almost common sense that they were seen as the "perfect couple." Today I know that wasn't how it was. Sofia pulled away because she wanted to. Ethan simply occupied the empty space that remained.
And now, seeing that same boy—always admired, always desired, always whole—react like that awakened something in me that I didn't immediately recognize. Something dark. Something petty. Something dangerously satisfying.
Sofia was still hugging me, as if no one else existed. I wrapped my arms around her body and returned the gesture, not only out of affection, but by choice. To anyone watching, we looked far too intimate, far too comfortable—a couple that didn't need to explain itself. I tilted my head and kissed her forehead, a simple gesture, but one loaded with meaning in that context.
She blushed immediately. Her face lit up in an almost exaggerated way, her eyes shining with an intensity that made me hesitate for a moment. For a brief second, I had the absurd impression of seeing hearts in her eyes. I pushed the thought away. It had to be my imagination.
I looked back at Ethan. His expression worsened.
I felt a quiet satisfaction. I considered it a small settling of accounts for the bullshit of high school.
"Shall we go have lunch, Sofia?" I asked.
"Yes. I was waiting for you," she replied with an open smile, before leaning in slightly and whispering, "Unfortunately, Ethan waited too."
The cafeteria was emptier than usual. Most students had already eaten. It would have been a pleasant moment if it weren't for Ethan's constant presence. Every time Sofia tried to start a conversation with me, he cut in, redirected the focus, pulled the subject back to himself. It was impressive how he managed to make everything about him.
Sofia, on the other hand, kept her composure. She smiled, participated, feigned normalcy with an almost unsettling skill. Anyone who didn't know her would believe everything was fine. I knew it wasn't. That calm was constructed, controlled, held together by force.
In the end, luckily, Ethan had an appointment. Reluctantly, he stood up, clearly bothered, like a sulky child. The idea of leaving Sofia and me alone after the intimacy we'd shown seemed unbearable to him, but there was nothing he could do.
"My next class isn't until four," I commented casually.
"I don't have class this afternoon… we can spend more time together," Sofia said, stepping closer and clinging to my arm.
The contact was enough to wake my body. My arm pressed against her breasts, the warmth, the perfume. My desire responded too quickly. I'd been changing, and I knew it. Two days in a row of sex—with Sofia, then with Bianca—had left everything closer to the surface. Still, it wasn't the moment.
"How about ice cream? It's hot," I suggested.
"Let's go," she answered, far too happy.
We headed to the ice cream shop near the campus. Even though we'd only recently resumed contact, Sofia's company felt strangely comfortable. We talked, laughed, and for a few minutes everything seemed too simple. Until my phone vibrated. It was Emily. That morning she'd said she would get in touch about the play. I hadn't thought it would be so soon.
"Is it a woman?" Sofia's voice came cold at my side.
"Yes. An acquaintance," I replied, without lying. "But I don't have anything with her. I just offered to help with a play."
I thought it best to be clear. Lying to Sofia never seemed like a good idea. I'm afraid she might snap and hurt people because of me.
She watched me in silence, suspicious.
"Hm… you don't even like that kind of thing."
"I'm going to help as labor. Can I?" I asked jokingly, as if I needed her permission.
She got the joke. The heavy air around her dissipated almost immediately.
"Let me think," she said, bringing a hand to her chin. "Only if you sleep at my place tonight."
"Well… that's not a bad idea."
I really didn't feel like going home that night. Seeing Bianca, dealing with the strange atmosphere between us… not today. Besides, I knew my absence would mess with her a little.
"Do you have more clothes that fit me at your place, Sofia?"
"Even the wedding suit," she replied with a strange smile, her eyes shining too much, fixed too intensely.
I know Sofia is a kind of yandere, but sometimes she scares me. A lot.
….
At the end of the day, around six in the evening, I headed to the place Emily had sent me by message. The sky was beginning to take on warmer tones, that soft orange that precedes nightfall, and movement on campus was gradually slowing. According to her, that would be the day of the official presentation of the play to all the members of the organization. From what she'd explained earlier, the main roles were already assigned, since the production would be handled by her club, which made me relatively calm about my role there.
Even so, the more she talked about the project, the clearer it became that the work wasn't simple. As director, Emily had to take care of absolutely everything: organizing meetings, defining costumes, structuring rehearsals, revising the script, planning the stage setup, coordinating schedules. It was far too much for one person. And the more I thought about it, the more the uncomfortable feeling grew that I hadn't been called in merely as "labor." If that were the case, she wouldn't have bothered explaining every detail so far in advance. Deep down, I already knew it: I was about to become her assistant, whether I liked it or not.
I arrived in front of the room where the club met and knocked on the door. Emily herself opened it. Different from the confident posture she usually displayed, she looked a little nervous. As soon as she saw me, she opened the door too quickly and turned her back, as if she had forgotten something important. The club room was much more spacious than I had imagined, with a personality of its own: colorful walls, a central table surrounded by chairs, a couch pushed into a corner, pillows and cushions scattered across the floor, along with posters, fabrics, and stage props that gave the place a chaotic yet creative feel. At the back of the room, mounted on the wall, there was a large, extremely organized board with detailed notes about the play—scenes, lines, schedules, everything meticulously divided.
"It's not here. Fuck," Emily muttered nervously, rummaging through her backpack.
"What happened?" I asked, closing the door behind me.
She sighed, running a hand through her hair.
"I forgot the script at home, and there won't be time to get it before the meeting," she said, frustrated. "The meeting is at 6:30. I can't walk home and get back in time."
I checked the time in my head. There was still some margin.
"We can go by car. I'll take you."
She stopped abruptly and looked at me, surprised.
"You have a car?"
"I do. Let's go before it gets later."
I didn't wait for a response. I turned around and left the room, feeling Emily practically on my heels, rushed and flustered. In the hallway, I had to remind her to lock the door; the way she was, she would have left everything open. When she realized it, she stopped suddenly, embarrassed. I let out a genuine laugh at the sight of her like that—the responsible club director completely lost. Her face flushed slightly, contrasting with the dark aesthetic she usually projected.
Despite the gothic look and serious demeanor, there was something genuinely cute about her.
We went down together and headed to my car. During the drive, Emily gave me quick directions until we reached her place. She lived above a tattoo shop called Ted Tattoo, with a side staircase that led directly to the apartment. I planned to wait in the car, but an uncomfortable urge to pee made me reconsider.
"Can I use your bathroom?" I asked.
"Oh, sure. Go ahead," she replied naturally. "Meanwhile, I'll look for what I need in the bedroom."
We went up. As soon as I entered the apartment, I was pleasantly surprised. The place was well organized, with simple but well-kept furniture, and a faint smell of paint in the air, probably coming from the shop below. There were paintings leaning against the walls, some unfinished, which gave the place an artistic, almost intimate feel.
"The bathroom is that door. Use it as you like," Emily said, already heading toward one of the rooms.
"Okay."
The bathroom door was closed. Out of courtesy—and precaution—I knocked before trying to enter. I didn't know whether Emily lived alone or not. When there was no response, I turned the handle carefully, imagining I'd find the bathroom empty.
It wasn't.
When I opened the door fully, I was hit by a sight my brain took a few seconds to process. There was a woman there. Very beautiful. Black hair, even darker than Olivia's, contrasting with skin so pale it was almost white. Her lips, naturally red, drew attention immediately. My gaze traveled over her body almost against my will, and only then did I realize she was wearing only panties. Her ass was round and firm without being excessive, and her medium-sized breasts balanced her body perfectly. For some reason I couldn't explain, I felt a strange, immediate attraction.
She, in turn, froze in place. A toothbrush was stuck between her lips, and she was wearing headphones connected to her phone. That explained everything. She hadn't heard the knock.
"Ah… hi," I said, completely embarrassed.
The next second was chaos.
"AAAAAAAAAAAH AN INTRUDER!"
Before I had time to say anything, I felt something heavy hit my forehead with enough force to make me stagger back. A hair dryer. The pain came instantly.
"Ow, my forehead!"
As I brought a hand up to the spot, I realized that the night had just become far more complicated than I had expected.
….
This is the last female character; in the next chapter, I'll finish introducing her into the story.