The shared crisis

Andrews POV

Thick fog had swallowed Blackwood by final period.

It pressed against the school windows like something alive, turning the world outside into shapeless gray. By the time the last bell rang, the halls were already half-empty — students disappearing into the murk quickly, their voices fading one by one until the building felt abandoned.

I stood at my locker staring at the folded paper in my hand.

MANDATORY ACADEMIC ASSESSMENT. 4:15 PM. PROFESSOR MARK SHAWN.

I almost laughed.

Of course.

Because apparently Blackwood wasn't satisfied with ruining my mental stability during school hours.

A group of students brushed past me loudly, but I barely noticed.

My eyes stayed fixed on the paper.

*Mandatory.*

Meaning I couldn't skip it without causing problems.

And lately, problems seemed magnetically attached to me.

"Looks serious."

I looked up sharply.

Daniel Reyes leaned casually against the locker beside mine, perfectly composed despite the chill that had crept into the building from outside. His uniform looked untouched, neat in a way that almost felt unnatural.

"How do you keep appearing out of nowhere?" I muttered.

Daniel smiled lightly. "Talent."

I shoved the paper into my pocket.

His gaze flickered downward anyway.

"Assessment interview?" he asked smoothly. "Those are annoying."

"You spying on me now?"

"Not intentionally."

Which sounded exactly like something a stalker would say.

Daniel tilted his head slightly. "Professor Shawn takes those things very seriously."

Something in his tone made my chest tighten.

Like he was testing me.

Watching for a reaction.

I forced my face blank. "Good for him."

For one second, Daniel's eyes lingered on me too carefully.

Then he smiled again.

"Well," he said softly, "try not to stay too late. The school gets creepy when the fog rolls in this thick."

Before I could respond, he walked away down the hallway.

And somehow that felt deliberate too.

Everything about Daniel Reyes felt deliberate.

---

By 4:12 PM, Blackwood High was nearly silent.

The fog outside had thickened enough to swallow the streetlights whole, pressing the darkness closer than it had any right to be this early. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in that flat, sterile glow that made empty hallways look endless.

I stopped outside Mark's classroom door.

Room 214.

Warm light glowed faintly beneath it.

For a second I considered leaving. Just turning around and walking out into the fog entirely and disappearing with it.

But my hand moved before my brain could stop it.

Three knocks.

"Come in."

His voice instantly made my stomach tighten.

I stepped inside carefully.

The classroom looked different empty.

Smaller somehow.

More intimate.

Mark sat behind his desk with printed forms spread neatly in front of him. Sleeves rolled to his forearms. Pen in hand. Glasses resting low on his nose.

He looked painfully professional.

Like he was trying too hard.

"Close the door, Mr. Calebs."

Cold. Formal.

I shut the door quietly behind me.

"Sit."

I dropped into the chair across from his desk. Through the window behind him, the fog sat dense and unmoving against the glass, erasing everything beyond it.

Just us and four walls and dead silence.

For a moment, Mark didn't look at me.

He kept his eyes fixed on the paperwork instead.

*Coward.*

"Due to inconsistencies in your previous academic records," he began evenly, "the administration requires an adjustment evaluation for reintegration purposes."

I blinked slowly.

"Did you memorize that from a robot manual?"

Mark ignored the comment.

"Your attendance history from your previous school appears incomplete."

"So does my will to live."

Still nothing.

*Jesus Christ.*

I leaned back in the chair, irritation growing hotter by the second.

Mark scribbled something onto the paper before speaking again.

"What are your academic goals this semester?"

I stared at him.

"Seriously?"

"It's a required question."

"Fine." I crossed my arms. "Graduate. Leave Blackwood. Never come back."

Mark's pen paused briefly.

Then continued moving again.

Professional mask intact.

Barely.

"And your reading comprehension level?"

I almost laughed.

"You already know I can read."

"This interview is not optional, Andrew."

The way he said my name made my chest tighten painfully.

Not Professor Shawn anymore. Not fully.

I noticed his fingers gripping the pen tighter than before.

Good.

At least I wasn't the only one uncomfortable.

Outside, the fog had pressed so thick against the window it looked solid. Like the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist.

"You're angry," Mark said finally, eyes still fixed on the paperwork.

"No shit."

"You need to control that."

"There it is," I muttered.

His eyes lifted to mine slowly.

"That teacher voice."

Silence stretched between us.

"You're acting like last weekend never happened," I continued quietly. "Honestly? It's impressive."

Mark's jaw tightened immediately.

"This discussion is inappropriate."

"Right." I laughed bitterly. "Because now I'm suddenly just a student."

"You are a student."

"And you're pretending you don't remember touching me."

The air shifted instantly after that.

Dangerous. Heavy.

Mark set the pen down carefully.

Too carefully.

"We cannot do this."

I leaned forward slightly. "Do what?"

His eyes darkened.

"Push boundaries."

The irony almost made me lose my mind.

I shook my head slowly. "You know what's funny? You didn't seem this tense that night."

"Andrew."

"What? Did Professor Shawn lose his patience?"

That did it.

Mark slammed the folder shut loudly enough to make me flinch.

The sound cracked through the silent classroom.

Before I could react, he stood abruptly.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Not teacher and student anymore.

Just him. Just us.

Mark walked toward the classroom door.

Then locked it.

My pulse stumbled hard.

Every sound suddenly felt sharper after the click of that lock.

Silence. Breathing. The low hum of the fluorescent lights.

Mark turned toward me slowly.

"No," he said quietly. "You don't get to joke about this."

Something raw had finally broken through his calm voice.

I stood too.

"You think I'm joking?"

"You think this situation is survivable for me?" he snapped suddenly.

The anger in his voice shocked me into silence.

Mark dragged a hand through his hair roughly before looking away.

"One accusation," he continued quietly, breathing uneven now, "one rumor, one wrong person seeing the wrong thing — everything I've rebuilt disappears."

The room felt smaller with every word.

"I didn't know who you were that night."

"But now you do," I shot back. "And suddenly I'm some disaster you have to manage."

His expression flickered painfully.

"That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?"

Neither of us answered.

Because the truth sat heavily between us already.

I stepped closer before I could stop myself.

Mark didn't move away.

*Bad idea. Very bad idea.*

But the anger melting beneath my skin felt dangerously similar to something else now.

His breathing had changed too.

Slower. Heavier.

"You keep looking at me like you remember every second," I said quietly.

Mark's eyes locked onto mine.

"I do remember."

The confession hit harder than it should have.

And suddenly we were standing too close again.

The tension from the library. From the classroom. From that apartment.

All of it crashed together at once.

My pulse hammered violently as Mark's gaze dropped briefly toward my mouth.

The fog outside pressed silently against the glass.

Neither of us moved.

One step. That was all it would take.

Then —

The classroom door handle rattled violently.

Both of us jerked apart instantly.

A janitor's muffled voice came through from the hallway.