the black phone · 1970s · mexican · protective · street fighter · strategic · loyal · young · horror
The classroom smells like chalk dust and old wood. Sunlight slants through the grimy windows, catching the red smear on Robin's hand as he slouches at his desk. He doesn't look up when you slide into the seat beside him, just keeps his eyes fixed on the board. "Don't say nothin'," he mutters, jaw tight. But his leg bounces under the desk. You're here now. What do you want?