The room was cold. Not from the air, but from the stillness.
Dark curtains blocked out the morning sun, casting the space into shadow. The only light came from a flickering computer monitor in the corner, bathing everything in a dull bluish glow.
The hum of the CPU was the only sound in the room.
Sitting in the middle of the room, cross-legged on the floor, was a boy. His curly hair fell over half his face, thick dark circles pooling under his eyes like bruises. He hadn't slept—not properly—for days.
On the wall in front of him, dozens of photographs were pinned in chaotic patterns. Every single one was of the same girl.
Dianne Lee.
The photos varied; some were from a distance, others were painfully close. Some captured her candid: tying her hair into a bun at the edge of the library, laughing with her friends, chewing a pen while studying at her usual seat in Room 4B.
Others were... private. A low-angle shot of her climbing stairs, her shirt unbuttoned a little too far in summer heat, the glint of sweat at the nape of her neck during P.E.
Across many photos, messy red pen scribbles danced:
"My angel."
"You smiled at me."
"Look how you looked at me that day."
He had even drawn a tiny heart around the reflection of himself caught faintly in the background of one picture. He stared at the collage in silence, then suddenly stood up. Without hesitation, he ripped a photo down.
Riiiiiiiiip.
Then another. And another.
Each time louder. More frantic. Until his hand slipped and a thumbtack drew blood from his palm.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he crumpled the photo of Dianne smiling wide—sunlight in her hair, her fingers brushing the shoulder of a tall senior boy—and crushed it tightly in his bleeding fist.
"You lied to me..." he whispered. His voice cracked mid-sentence, like he hadn't spoken in days.
"You smiled at me. You said I was funny. You touched my arm. You laughed... just for me..." He dropped the photo, eyes wild. "But you were just playing, weren't you? Just like the others…"
He tossed the crumpled pictures into a pile and reached for a box cutter on the floor.
One by one, he began to slice them.
Slowly. Methodically. Line through the eyes. Line through the mouth. Line across the chest.
"You humiliated me... you called me a pervert... in front of everyone..."
__________
Flashback...
The boy had stopped Dianne — he wanted to ask why she was showing the same feelings she saw him, for someone else; why she had been smiling and laughing with that senior. He thought she'd explain it to him, but instead, she got angry.
He didn't understand why she got mad, questioning him, as if he was the one who cheated.
"Why were you following me?!" Dianne had snapped, her voice sharp.
Of course, he followed—if he didn't, would he have known she wasn't trustworthy?
"I smiled at you once. Once. That doesn't mean you know me!" she shouted. "You creep me out!"
Creep? Why would she feel like that? He was there to protect her, not someone... to be creeped out by. He'd tried to explain; by coming forward and telling her, but she didn't let him.
"Look, D-Dianne—"
"What the hell do you think you're doing, huh? You pervert!" Dianne shoved the boy roughly and he fell down. People looked toward them, yet...
No one interfered. It seemed like no one wanted to get involved with him. Some were even giving him looks of disgust.
But what had he done wrong? To love someone? To follow her because he wanted to be with her? To ask her why she was with other guys?
He tried to show her he was the only one who loved and cared for her. And when he opened his mouth, that's when she slapped him.
"Don't you dare follow me again, okay?!"
Everyone in the hallway had stared, some gasping others just watching. He could still feel the sting of that moment on his skin.
No one was willing to help him. How could they? They were all monsters that wanted nothing from him; it was always like that, if even the one who he thought cared for him, is now treating him like this in public, the others? They wouldn't bat him an eye.
But just when he had given up... Someone showed him kindness.
Just as Dianne raised her hand again—
A voice cut through the tension:
"Hey! That's enough!"
The crowd parted.
A girl stepped between them, grabbing Dianne's arm.
The boy opened his squinted eyes. And there she was. Her eyes were calm, her voice unshaken. She looked at him—not with fear or pity—but something close to… care.
Only she looked at him.
She helped him to his feet.
"Are you okay?"
He couldn't answer. He just bowed and ran—too flustered to speak.
__________
Back to Present...
He stopped slicing.
He remembered it now, clearer than ever.
The warmth. The defiance. The way she stood between him and Dianne.
Sayu Hayashi.
He turned to his computer and tapped his trackpad.
The screen lit up to Sayu's Instamass profile.
He scrolled through her posts—some photos with her friends, her reading, her favorite snacks and latte posts, some cat pics...
And then he paused on one photo where she was smiling.
Her smile was different—not flirtatious, not mocking. Just… kind. Real.
He clicked through some photos, lingering on one where she stood awkwardly near the back at a group photo, holding a foam heart prop in one hand and blinking at the camera like she hadn't meant to be captured.
His lips twitched into a faint, crooked smile.
"She's not like the others…" he whispered.
He opened a new folder on his desktop: Sayu – Angel
His eyes glittered in the glow of the screen, and for the first time in weeks, his fingers moved not with fury—but delicate obsession.
"My angel Sayu..." he whispered. "...she's different."