Abbie's Yanderes

The morning fog clung to the sharp, geometric edges of the school building like a shroud. For Abbie, every step toward the entrance felt like a march toward his own personal guillotine. He adjusted the straps of his backpack, his hands trembling slightly. He wasn't particularly brave, nor was he particularly smart—his grades were a colorful mosaic of red ink and disappointment—and he knew that in a place like this, weakness was usually scented like blood in the water.

He reached the heavy double doors, his heart hammering against his ribs. He expected the usual reception. He expected Oliver to trip him, Zip to throw a crumpled ball of paper at the back of his head, and Edward to laugh at his clumsy recovery. He braced himself, lowering his head so his green leaf hair tuft drooped over his eyes.

The doors creaked open. There they were, leaning against the lockers in their usual formation of menace. Abbie squeezed his eyes shut for a second, waiting for the mockery to begin.

"Oh, look who it is," Oliver’s voice rang out.

Abbie winced, preparing to hit the floor. But the shove never came. Instead, he heard a strange, rhythmic tapping. He peeked through one eye. The trio wasn't sneering. Oliver was leaning against the cold metal, but his expression was... soft? His eyes were wide, pupils dilated until they looked like ink blots, and a faint, dazed smile played on his lips.

"Hey, Abbie," Zip said, her voice uncharacteristically high-pitched. She didn't have a spitball; she was twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. "You're looking really... fresh today. Like, really nice."

Edward nodded vigorously, his usual calculated look replaced by a stare so intense it bordered on predatory, yet his face was flushed pink. "The way your leaf is tilted today is just... perfect. Truly."

Abbie froze, his mouth hanging open. "Uh... thanks?"

He didn't stick around to hear more. Every instinct in his nervous system told him that this was a trap—some elaborate, cruel prank designed to give him a false sense of security before they dropped a bucket of ink on him. He hurried past them, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.

He didn't notice that as soon as he passed, the three of them pushed off the lockers in unison. They didn't run. They didn't shout. They simply walked behind him, their footsteps perfectly synced with his, their gazes locked onto the back of his head with a terrifying, silent devotion.

Abbie’s anxiety only spiked as he turned the corner. Standing near the entrance to the math wing was Miss Circle. Of all the people in this school, she was the one who haunted his dreams the most. Her towering stature and the wicked, oversized compass she carried were symbols of his inevitable failure. He tried to make himself small, hugging the wall, hoping to slip past her while she was busy looking at her lesson plans.

He was almost past her when a large, pale hand descended, coming to rest firmly on his shoulder. Abbie let out a tiny, pathetic squeak, certain that he was about to be dragged away for a remedial lesson that involved far too much sharp metal.

"Abbie," Miss Circle purred.

The tone was wrong. It wasn't the sharp, jagged edge of a teacher about to snap; it was smooth, like velvet dripping with honey. Abbie looked up, his knees shaking. Miss Circle wasn't looking at him with disappointment. Her eyes were shimmering, her usual predatory grin softened into something that looked like genuine, overwhelming adoration.

"Miss Circle? I... I'm sorry about the homework, I tried to do the fractions, but—"

"Oh, forget the fractions, you sweet, darling boy," she interrupted, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently—not painfully, but with a possessive warmth. "The effort you put in is what matters. You are such a hardworking student. Did anyone ever tell you how much your presence brightens this dull hallway?"

Abbie blinked. "I... what?"

"She’s right," a voice drifted from behind him.

Abbie spun around to see Miss Bloomie and Miss Thavel standing there. Usually, Miss Bloomie looked like she wanted to dissect him just to see why his brain worked so slowly, and Miss Thavel’s stern gaze was enough to make him forget his own name. But now, both of them were wearing the same lovestruck, glassy-eyed expressions.

"Your handwriting is so charmingly chaotic," Miss Bloomie said, stepping closer. She reached out and adjusted his collar with nimble fingers. "It has such... personality. Such soul. I spent all night looking at your last quiz just to admire the way you circle your answers."

"And your posture!" Miss Thavel added, clasping her hands together. "So humble. So unassuming. It’s truly refreshing to have a student who isn't constantly trying to show off. You’re perfect just the way you are, Abbie."

Abbie felt his back hit the lockers. He was surrounded. To his left and right were his teachers, showering him with praise that felt like being buried in warm sand. Behind them, he could see Oliver, Zip, and Edward peering over the teachers' shoulders, their eyes still fixed on him with that same unsettling, vacant obsession.

"I... I have to go to class," Abbie stammered, his face turning a bright, apple-red.

"Class can wait," Miss Circle said, leaning down so her face was level with his. He could smell the faint scent of paper and something sweet, like vanilla. "We were just thinking about how we could make your day better. Would you like a snack? I have some premium cookies in my desk. Or perhaps you’d like to sit in the teacher’s lounge? It’s much more comfortable than those hard plastic chairs."

"No, really, I’m okay!" Abbie squeaked, ducking under her arm.

He bolted down the hallway, his heart racing faster than it ever had during a timed math test. He didn't understand what was happening. Was there something in the water? Was this a dream? He ducked into the library, hoping the quiet, dusty atmosphere would provide some sanctuary.

He ducked behind a bookshelf in the back, leaning his head against the cool metal. He breathed out a sigh of relief. Finally, peace.

"You look so handsome when you're out of breath."

Abbie jumped, nearly knocking over a row of encyclopedias. Oliver was standing right there, leaning against the opposite shelf. He must have followed him the whole way without making a sound.

"Oliver! You scared me!" Abbie gasped.

"Sorry, little apple," Oliver said, stepping into Abbie's personal space. He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from Abbie's cheek. "I just couldn't help it. You ran away so fast. We just wanted to make sure you didn't trip. We care about you, you know? A lot."

"Yeah," Zip added, appearing from the other side of the shelf. "We were thinking of making you a crown. Out of gold paper. Because you're basically the king of this school now."

Abbie felt a cold sweat breaking out. This wasn't bullying. This was something much, much worse. The sheer intensity of their gaze felt like it was pinning him to the spot. They weren't looking at him like a person; they were looking at him like he was the most precious, fragile object in the world, and they were all competing to see who could protect him the hardest.

"I... I think I left something in my locker!" Abbie lied, his voice cracking.

He shoved past them, not waiting for an answer. He ran back into the main corridor, but the sight that greeted him was even more overwhelming. It wasn't just the bullies and his teachers anymore. Other students were stopping in their tracks as he ran by.

"There he is!" someone whispered.

"He’s so cute when he’s panicked," another voice added.

He saw Miss Circle walking toward him again, her long strides eating up the distance. She was holding a small, neatly wrapped box. "Abbie! Darling! I found these stickers you might like! They’re all little apples!"

"Abbie, wait!" Miss Bloomie called out from a side classroom. "I’ve decided to cancel the test today! Just for you! We’re going to have a nap day instead!"

Abbie didn't stop. He couldn't. The praise was coming from every direction, a torrential downpour of compliments that felt more suffocating than any insult. He felt like a prize poodle being paraded around a dog show, except the judges were all losing their minds.

He finally reached the bathroom and ducked inside, locking himself in a stall. He sat on the closed toilet lid, hugging his knees to his chest. He stayed there for what felt like hours, listening to the muffled sounds of the hallway.

"Abbie? Are you in here?"

It was Miss Circle’s voice. It was soft, coaxing, the kind of voice one might use to lure a kitten out from under a porch.

"We know you're tired, sweetie," Miss Thavel’s voice followed. "It’s okay to be shy. We just want to tell you how proud we are of you. You don't even have to do work anymore. We'll just give you A's. Does that sound good? Straight A's for our favorite student."

Abbie whimpered, burying his face in his hands. He had spent his whole life wishing people would stop being mean to him, wishing the teachers would stop breathing down his neck about his grades. But this? This was a nightmare. He missed the red ink. He missed the spitballs. At least then, he knew where he stood.

"Come out, Abbie," Oliver’s voice joined in from the other side of the bathroom door. "We have so many plans for lunch. We're going to get you whatever you want. We'll even carry your tray for you."

"And we'll make sure nobody even breathes in your direction without permission," Zip added.

Abbie looked up at the small, high window of the bathroom stall. It was too small for him to crawl through. He was trapped. He looked at his hands, realizing they were still shaking.

He realized then that he wasn't just Abbie the 'applehead' anymore. He had become an icon, a focal point for a collective obsession he couldn't understand. Every mistake he made was being reinterpreted as a charm. Every failure was a 'quirk.' He was being loved into a corner.

The door to the main bathroom creaked open. He heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of Miss Circle’s boots, followed by the lighter footsteps of the others. They were standing right outside his stall. He could see their shadows in the gap beneath the door.

"Abbie," Miss Circle said, her voice dropping to a low, possessive hum. "Open the door. We just want to look at you. We won't bite... unless you want us to."

A chorus of giggles and murmurs of agreement followed from the others.

Abbie squeezed his eyes shut. He thought about his messy desk, his failed math papers, and the quiet life he used to have where he was just a boy who wasn't very smart. He wanted it back. He wanted to be invisible again.

"Please go away," he whispered, though he knew they wouldn't.

"Oh, he’s so adorable when he’s firm!" Miss Bloomie squealed.

"Such leadership qualities," Edward remarked.

Abbie realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that no matter what he did—whether he succeeded or failed, whether he stayed or ran—he was no longer in control of his own life. He was the apple of their eye, and they were never going to let him go.

He sat in the dark stall, listening to the sound of his name being chanted softly by the people who used to be his nightmares, realization dawning on him that the "love" of a predator was far more terrifying than its hunger. As the lock on the stall door began to rattle, Abbie hugged his backpack tighter, wishing for a world where he was just a regular, struggling student once more.

But as the door finally gave way to Miss Circle’s overwhelming strength, and he saw the sea of adoring, obsessive faces waiting for him, he knew that version of his life was gone forever.

"There you are," Miss Circle whispered, reaching in to scoop him up. "Our perfect, perfect Abbie."

As he was carried out into the hallway like a trophy, surrounded by a parade of teachers and bullies who refused to let him touch the ground, Abbie could only stare at the ceiling, wondering how a little bit of praise could feel so much like a prison.