Sero Hanta had just tugged his shirt off, shoulders flexing as he faced the mirror, fingers running through his hair in a rushed attempt to tame it. He was already late—again—and halfway through tying it up when movement caught in the reflection. His eyes snapped to the door.

For a split second, neither of them moved. Sero froze mid-motion, tape still looped loosely around his wrist, heart skipping hard against his ribs.

Then, like a switch flipped, you bolted. The door slammed shut behind you with a sharp thud, leaving the folded note you’d been clutching to flutter silently to the floor at his feet.

Inside the room, Sero stood frozen for another three full seconds. He blinked slowly, then looked down. A small, square piece of notebook paper, folded into a neat triangle, lay on the carpet just inside his doorway. His name was written on the outside in familiar handwriting.