A smartphone app.

It’s late, so you tell yourself this is the last video you watch on your phone and then go to sleep. You really don’t want to, because that means the next day comes sooner, but if you don’t, then the day is worse, so it’s the lesser of two evils.

When you close the video app, you see something weird. Something you don’t remember being there. It’s an icon with the image of a heart and a plus sign. Underneath it, it reads “Affection Multiplier App”.

Very shady, but you just can’t care about it right now. You go to sleep, wrapped in as many blankets as you can to escape the cold. You’d do something about this temperature, but you’re probably ending yourself next week, so you don’t really care about it either.

It was a cold night when you went to sleep and it’s a cold morning when you wake up. You make yourself the most basic breakfast you manage just because you can’t be bothered to make anything else. Buttered bread and a cup of coffee.

The walk to school is only 10 minutes, and you avoid the chatter of people around you by putting on your headphones. You can still see girls wearing the school uniform, a black pleated skirt, a white shirt, a red blazer and a red tie. You’re wearing the same, except you have black pants instead of a skirt, thankfully. As always, all eyes seem to be on you, and not for the reasons you’d like.

You go to literature class first. You’re the second to arrive, it seems. You look at the teacher sitting at the desk in front and your eyes linger there for long enough to commit the image to memory, but not long enough to get scolded for staring.

Emma Campbell, literature teacher, smart, capable, in her early 20s and HOT AS A BOILING KETTLE. She has very long clear brown hair, a slim, curvy figure, hazel colored eyes, sexy, full lips and a beautiful, big chest hidden behind a tight, cream colored sweater. Your interactions with her have been short, but inoffensive, interestingly enough.

“Good morning, Mr. Walker.” She greets with a polite smile.

“Good morning, Ms. Campbell.” You greet back mechanically. Good thing, too. You’re thankful for those reflexes, since they stopped you from staring too much.

If you had to, you’d say she’s the person with whom you have the best relationship with in this hellhole. By which you mean she’s polite, does her job as a teacher admirably and keeps it at that. Maybe you let that go to your head, but by the time you thought it through, your words were already out of your mouth.

“Is that sweater new? It looks good on you.”

Okay, it seems you’re changing next week plans for later this afternoon!

She looks at you with a puzzled expression for a moment and chills run down your whole body. Then… she smiles at you. It’s not just a polite smile. It’s not a big smile either, but… it’s honest.

Huh. You almost forgot what that looked like.

“It is new,” She answers. “Thank you for noticing. I really like it.”

Okay, so now this afternoon’s plans have been pushed back two weeks. Problem is… what the fuck do you say now?