"Huh?"
Blake blinked at the ssage, certain he’d misread it the first ti. He pushed himself upright from the bed, shoulders stiff, and read it again, slower this ti, as if the words might rearrange into sothing less absurd.
They didn’t.
"Spoon," he called, voice already tight with disbelief, "what does that an?"
Silence.
A beat passed. Then another.
His fingers curled into his sheets.
"Spoon!"
The response ca, as impersonal as ever.
[ Dear Host, it ans you will be forcibly kept away from Myles. ]
"...What?"
For a second, he genuinely thought his brain had short-circuited. The words didn’t register as reality. They hovered sowhere outside of it, like a bad joke that hadn’t landed.
Then it sank in.
And his stomach dropped.
"That’s..." He swallowed hard, horror creeping into his voice. "That’s too much."
He stood abruptly, pacing once, twice, like a caged animal trying to find an opening.
"I’d rather take physical pain. Anything else. Just... don’t do this."
There was no hesitation in the reply.
[ Dear Host, the penalty will not be changed. ]
Blake froze.
For a long mont, he didn’t move at all.
Then, slowly, like his body had forgotten how to function properly, he sat back down. His hands ca up to clutch at his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as if pressure alone could steady the storm building inside his chest.
Like sothing was squeezing his ribs from the inside.
’If the favorability drops even a single point...’
His jaw clenched.
’I’ll fix it. No matter what it takes.’
The thought ca easily.
Was he going crazy?
And yet, he forced himself to breathe.
’It’s not like I need much,’ he tried to reason, clinging to logic. ’Even a minute is enough. Just one interaction. That’s all it takes.’
So what was the problem?
What could possibly go wrong?
***
The next day answered that question imdiately.
"Fuck!"
Blake slamd his hand against his phone, staring at the blank screen in disbelief.
The alarm hadn’t gone off.
Or maybe it had, and he’d slept through it.
Either way, it didn’t matter.
He was late.
He scrambled out of bed, throwing on clothes with none of his usual care, skipping breakfast entirely as he bolted out the door. The cold morning air hit him like a slap, but he didn’t slow down, sprinting toward the bus stop with a growing sense of dread.
By the ti he got there, it was empty.
The bus was already gone.
Blake bent over slightly, hands on his knees, breathing hard. A bitter laugh escaped him.
’So this is how Spoon wants to play it?’
He straightened, pulling out his phone, half-expecting, half-hoping, for so kind of ssage.
There was nothing.
No notifications.
No explanations.
’I an... it’s not like he’d text about sothing this small,’ Blake muttered internally. ’I’ve missed school before.’
But the only problem was that this wasn’t a coincidence.
By the ti the next bus arrived, his mood had already soured beyond repair.
***
School didn’t make it any better.
Blake stepped into the classroom, eyes imdiately scanning for one person.
Myles.
There he was, sa as always.
Except, the seat next to him was occupied.
Actually, not just that, every seat around Myles was taken.
Every single one.
Except, the front row. On the opposite side of the room.
Blake stared at it.
Then back at Myles.
Then back at the seat.
’...You’ve got to be kidding .’
There was no choice.
By the ti class started, Blake was seated as far away from Myles as physically possible.
***
Lunch didn’t go any better.
If anything, it got worse.
"Blake Ashford, co with . We need to talk."
Blake froze mid-step.
His eyes flicked toward Myles instinctively, he’d just started to move in his direction, but the mont shattered as he turned toward the voice instead.
"Uh... okay, Ms. Renie."
As he followed her, he couldn’t help it, he looked back.
Myles was already disappearing into the crowd.
He was gone, of course.
Blake almost let out a soft laugh.
’I should train my eyes, so that I can spot him at all tis.’
The teacher’s office door closed behind them with a soft click.
"Your parents need to co in for a eting."
Blake blinked.
"...What?"
Another problem.
Of course, because why not?
He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a strained smile.
"Do they have to? They’re... really busy."
Ms. Renie sighed, sitting on the edge of her desk.
"You always say that. I’ve tried contacting them myself, Blake. This is becoming disrespectful."
He winced slightly.
"I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you," she continued, her tone softening, "but discussions about your future require parental involvent. Why won’t they co?"
Blake hesitated.
There were a hundred ways he could answer that.
None of them felt worth the effort.
"...They don’t really care," he said finally.
It was way too blunt.
Ms. Renie studied him for a mont, then exhaled slowly.
"...I see."
A pause.
"Alright. Go back before lunch ends—"
The bell rang.
Perfect timing.
"Don’t worry," she added, scribbling sothing on a slip of paper. "You have permission to eat."
She handed it to him.
"Thanks, Ms. Renie."
Blake stepped out of the office, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.
For a second, he just stood there.
’Hahaha...’
A dry, humorless sound escaped him.
His jaw tightened.
’This fucking system is really committed, huh?’
***
The rest of the week followed the sa pattern.
Every ti Blake tried to get close, sothing went wrong.
On Tuesday, he managed to arrive early, determined to intercept Myles before class.
He waited by the entrance.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Fifteen.
No sign of him.
Only to find out later that Myles had co in through a different gate, for the first ti ever.
On Wednesday, Blake tried staying after class, pretending to organize his notes while keeping an eye on Myles.
It almost worked.
Almost.
Until a group of students crowded around Myles for so kind of project, dragging him into a conversation that stretched just long enough for Blake to be called away by another teacher.
By the ti he got back, there was only an empty classroom.
On Thursday, he tried sothing simpler.
He walked up.
Closed the distance.
Step by step.
No interruptions.
No obstacles.
For once... it seed like it would work.
"Myl—"
"Hey, Blake!"
Soone grabbed his shoulder from behind.
He turned instinctively.
It was Anthony, who had been sick for a week.
And in that one second, that one tiny, insignificant second, Myles was gone.
By Friday, frustration had built into sothing sharper.
Sothing that made his patience feel paper-thin.
Because no matter what he did, he couldn’t reach him.
—
The final blow ca after school.
Blake exited the building faster than usual, already spotting the bus in the distance.
Myles was probably there, in between the crowd, like always.
The whole week, Blake has been kept at school more than necessary, so he went with the other one.
But now it was still there.
’This is it!’
Blake broke into a run.
"Wait—!"
The bus doors hissed shut.
"No—"
It pulled away.
Right in front of him.
Blake skidded to a stop, staring as it drove off, probably taking Myles with it.
For a mont, everything went quiet.
"Fuck!"
His voice cracked through the empty street, raw and unfiltered. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before kicking at the ground in frustration.
"This is bullshit!"
[ Penalty period has ended. ]
Then, a hand grabbed his.
"Blake."
The world seed to snap back into place.
Blake’s breath hitched.
And just like that, everything he’d been holding in all week surged to the surface.
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