Chapter 3: The Murderer's Blush

Tristan let out a loud, mocking laugh. "Trying to get my attention that way? Points for originality, I almost bought it. But you're really good at—"

"Yeah," I said.

The laughter died in Tristan's throat, choking him into a sudden cough. He pushed himself off the desk, standing up straight. "You... 'yeah' what?"

My gaze didn't waver. Yeah, I was giving up. I didn't want to save Julian anymore; I just wanted to break free from this endless loop.

"If I said I liked you, could you kill me someday?"

Tristan froze. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. A few seconds later, a deep flush crept up his neck, rushed to the tips of his ears, and burned across his cheeks.

The classroom fell dead silent. Everyone was staring, a low buzz of gossip rippling through the room. The only other noise was the faint scrape of a chair from the back row. Julian, who had kept his head bowed until now, buried his face completely in the crook of his arm. His jersey was still damp, and the muscles in his back were tight with tension.

"You..." Tristan took half a step back, putting some distance between us. When he finally found his voice, it was loud and unsteady. "You're out of your damn mind! You're way too young to be talking about dying all the time. You think that's cool? Get over yourself, psycho!"

The friend standing beside him, clearly never having seen Tristan so flustered, snorted a laugh. Tristan instantly lashed out, kicking his friend's shin.

"What the hell are you laughing at? Shut up!" His voice was thick with unconcealed anger.

I looked at the noisy boy in front of me, but my mind conjured an entirely different image. Many years later, on a similar afternoon, a grown-up Tristan was escorted out of an apartment building by two uniformed officers. His hands were cuffed behind his back, stained with dark, dried blood. Bystanders whispered, muttering a single word: *Murderer.*

My last memory of Tristan was him looking at me through the window of a police car. He had caught my eye and tugged the corner of his mouth into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Hey! Are you even listening?"

Tristan's voice snapped me back to the present. He poked my forehead with his index finger. The gesture looked aggressive, but the touch was surprisingly light.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Is that how you confess to someone?" Tristan withdrew his hand and scratched his head irritably, messing up his hair. "Say something!"

Suddenly, a sharp scrape echoed from the back of the classroom, followed by the dull thud of a chair hitting the floor. All eyes instantly snapped toward the noise.

Julian was standing, leaning slightly forward with one hand pressed against his desk. His chair lay overturned behind him, its legs sticking up in the air.

Meeting my gaze, Julian stiffened like a kicked dog. He bent down clumsily and righted the fallen chair. He kept his head down the entire time, his dark hair falling forward to hide his face. Without looking at anyone, Julian turned and hurried out of the classroom.

The lingering flush finally faded from Tristan's face. He stared coldly at Julian's panicked, retreating back and spat out a single word.

"Freak."