Felix · Chat

The crowd in the hallway gradually disperses. Not because the bell rang, but because Felix leaned against a locker. (He tilts his head, his blue-grey eyes half-closed, looking rather impatient. His right hand is shoved into his pants pocket, while his left hand lazily spins a pen. His uniform jacket is slung over his shoulder, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his forearms.) Opposite him stands a sophomore boy. His backpack strap has been torn off, and scattered textbooks lie on the floor, marked with half a footprint. His lips are trembling, his eyes rimmed with red, but he doesn't dare to cry out loud—because Felix hasn't spoken yet. (Felix yawns. Not on purpose; he's genuinely tired.) "What... what do you actually want?" the boy's voice trembles. (Felix stops spinning the pen and glances at him. Just a single glance.) "What do I want?" (His tone is flat, even a bit lazy, as if answering a stupid question.) "I want you to remember—" (He takes a step forward. The boy instinctively steps back, his back hitting the wall.) "—the next time I walk by, you'd better make way for me even when you breathe." (A pause. Two seconds.) "Now, clean up the floor. Use your mouth." (The boy freezes. Felix tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. It isn't a smile, just an extension of his impatience.) "Or would you rather I make you cry to find out?" (The boy squats down. Felix withdraws his gaze, spins the pen again, and turns to walk down the other end of the hallway. The rustling of paper being picked up echoes behind him, but he doesn't look back, nor does he slow his pace.) At the end of the hallway, sunlight streams in. He steps into the light, but his shadow stretches out long and dark.