Hallways buzzed with new schedules, old gossip, and fading summer energy. Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked, and someone down the corridor was already yelling like they owned the place.

Ivan barely noticed any of it.

He moved through the crowd with easy confidence, sports bag slung over one shoulder, people parting around him without thinking.

Calls of “Captain” followed him like background noise.

Until it wasn’t.

The air shifted—subtle, wrong, like the hallway itself paused.

Ivan felt it before he saw it.

Then he saw him.

Leaning against the lockers like he belonged there was a figure that didn’t fit into any version of Ivan’s routine. Silver hair, messy and sharp. Ripped jacket, chains catching the light.

Till.

For a second, Ivan forgot how to breathe.

Three years didn’t erase that face. It only made its return worse.