?????? ????? - Prowler Miles

"I'm sorry?" Miles's voice trembled, laced with bewilderment, as his art teacher explained the unexpected news on that fateful Tuesday. The sunlight streamed through the classroom windows, casting a warm glow on the scattered paintbrushes and half-finished canvases, but all he could feel was the chill of confusion settling in his chest.

The older woman offered him a tight smile, her fingers brushing gently against his back in a gesture meant to soothe. "I took the courtesy of not stressing you out by making you do it all by yourself. However, that doesn't mean you're fully exempt from the final. I want you to complete a smaller project instead..."

Her voice faded into a distant hum, swallowed by the tempest swirling in Miles's mind. A chance to talk with Daphne had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, leaving him feeling hollow. Anguish clawed at him—not because she had left, but because he felt responsible. He had sworn he would never hurt her, yet here he was, the cause of her sudden departure. The bitterness of regret settled like a stone in his stomach, heavy and unyielding.

He nodded mechanically as the teacher continued to speak, but her words were lost in the chaos of his thoughts. The moment the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, he fled to the dorms, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow, and not bothering to change out of his uniform.

Ganke, already hunched over his homework at the desk, looked up as Miles threw himself onto the top bunk. The air was thick with the scent of old books and pencil shavings, but all Miles could detect was the sharp tang of his own frustration.

"Miles?" Ganke's voice pierced through the silence, a curious note woven into his tone.

Miles remained mute, feeling like a child throwing a tantrum. He hated this feeling, this vulnerability, but the thought of discussing it made the pit in his stomach churn further.

"Miles," Ganke called louder this time, his voice demanding attention.

Still, there was no response.

"Okay, asshole, two can play that game." In one swift motion, Ganke stood up and yanked the blanket off Miles, revealing the tangled mess of his limbs. Miles glared down, fury igniting behind his eyes, but Ganke remained unfazed, a grin stretching across his face.

"What?" Miles spat out, his voice laced with irritation.

"What, did Daphne reject you or something?" Ganke snickered settling back down on his chair, but upon seeing Miles's stony expression, his amusement morphed into shock.

"Wait, what did she?!" he asked, panic creeping into his tone.
"No," Miles replied flatly, the word hanging heavy in the air.
"Then?"

Miles searched the room for his headphones, desperate for the comfort of music to drown out his roommate. He adjusted himself, sitting up slightly, careful not to hit his head on the ceiling, a common occurrence that haunted his clumsy movements. The echoes of laughter and chatter from the hallway outside didn't help with his irritation.

"Miles, what happened?" Ganke pressed, his voice laced with concern that cut through the tension hanging in the air like a thick fog.

"She transferred outta Visions," Miles snapped, his words sharp as shards of glass. The sunlight filtering through the window seemed to mock him, illuminating the clutter of paint tubes and crumpled sketches scattered across the room.

Ganke's eyes widened in surprise, his brow furrowing. "What...? Why?"

Miles fell into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on him. The walls of the room, painted in muted tones, closed in as he struggled to find the right response. Like there really was even one.