Their room had never been so quiet. Of course, it had been silent before - it was almost always silent - but never… never quite like this. The chapstick-like container of concealer sat by the desk underneath their mirror, plain with a modern black frame and nary a smudge on the glass, as they observed the newly-forming dark blushes ruining the shadows below their cheekbones. Sighing a little to break the silence, they let their heavy eyelids close for a second, taking a moment before opening them again and letting their fingers drift over and clasp the small container, those on their other hand unscrewing the top.

Inexperienced fingers fumbled with the application, but they persevered, letting the streaks of the pale, creamy substance roll onto their skin, covering the blemishes as the flesh beneath them tingled and complained quietly, but they preferred that to the dull ache which had been before it. Once the initial layer was applied, strikingly separate from the skin under it, they moved to rub in the substance, so that it didn’t look so peculiarly unnatural, but the continued touch on their tender areas reminded them of a day they’d rather forget, and the memories alone were enough to make them tremble.

Finally, the emotionally arduous task was completed, and they could rest for a few moments. Sitting on the edge of a small single bed pushed right against a radiator, opposite the only window in the room - small and hidden by a plain black curtain which hadn’t been changed since they’d first moved in - they instinctively found their phone and checked the time. A bleak display stared back at them, the stupid quote they found on the internet almost mocking them, but they had no energy to be defiant and change it, or even press the button to close their phone - instead, it fell from their hand to meet the duvet cover, as they lay back, refusing to close their eyes. They couldn’t fall back asleep - couldn’t be late to school. Not again.

If you were late, then the teachers started to notice. First it would be their form tutor, with kindly encouraging words at first, then stricter recommendations of alarms and such, and then threats of parent intervention and, finally, informing Miss Denn of their inability to trudge into form on time, ‘like everyone else’. They’d seen the whole scenario play out like a soap opera too many times, while they sat in their seat at the back, by a window and a radiator with their elbow resting on the window sill: a silent observer. They couldn’t let that happen - flying under the radar was their speciality, and that wasn’t stopping now.

Interrupting their thoughts, their phone buzzed, the dim screen inviting them to read the first few lines of T’s regularly scheduled paragraph on how his morning was going, usually containing an excuse for him being a few minutes late getting to Jey’s house. The sight alone made them smile, even as a slight glaze grew across their eyes. T really didn’t need to walk to his house every morning, especially since it was a ten minute walk in the opposite direction to school, but he insisted on travelling right up to their front door and, usually, sitting with Jey while they had their morning coffee, guzzling an energy drink before they left for school.

Taking their phone off the charger and stowing it in a blazer pocket, they had a last glance at themself in the mirror, quietly admiring the power of Cleo’s small container of concealer, before leaving their room to put the kettle on downstairs.