"Uh-huh teacher, can I go to the bathroom?!" Jackson asked while panicking and feeling the heat build up under his skin. His left hand clutched the desk so hard the wood splintered, sending tiny shards into his palm. The music pulsed louder—95 decibels now, easy—and he could feel Holt's thoughts bubbling up through his veins like carbonation in cheap soda.
The chemistry teacher, a werebat with bifocals thicker than Jackson's denial, waved him off without looking up at him.
Who would have thought that having the reputation of the perfect student had some perks after all?
And with that, he ran like the wind.
The bathroom door slammed shut behind Jackson with a reverberating *thunk* that echoed like a casket lid closing. He barely registered the flickering fluorescent lights before his knees hit the cold tile. The music's bassline pounded through the walls, each thump syncing with the fire licking up his ribs as it began to calm down.
The bathroom mirror reflected Jackson's face—pale, glasses slightly askew, sweat beading along his hairline—as he gripped the sink with both hands. The porcelain groaned under his fingers. Across the surface of his vision, black spots flickered like poorly spliced film frames.
*Breathe.*
He exhaled, watching the condensation bloom and fade against the glass.
*Werewolves of London* still pulsed through the walls, muffled but relentless. The bassline thudded against his sternum, each beat tapping directly into his nervous system like Morse code from the world's worst DJ.
And despite everything he said, it was, in fact, Holt.
But still, he could manage it now.
He just had to wait for the sing to be over.
The bathroom tiles blurred as Jackson pressed his forehead against the cool mirror, willing the music's rhythm to stop syncing with his pulse.
*Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.*
After about five minutes or so (he obviously couldn't really tell time in the bathroom), he realized even he couldn't make an excuse of why he was gone for so long if he stayed in here for much longer.
Even if really, really, really wanted to.
The bathroom door burst open before Jackson could finish counting the hexagonal tiles under his knees.
"Jackie! Are you alright man?" Deuce's voice cut through the bathroom acoustics like a chainsaw through cobwebs. Jackson flinched so hard his glasses nearly launched into the urinals. The gorgon's snakes hissed in unison, their tiny tongues flicking toward the singe marks smoking faintly from Jackson's sleeves.
Behind Deuce, Heath leaned against the doorway with his usual lack of spatial awareness, grinning like he'd just discovered fire for the first time. "Dude, did you just—wait." His grin faltered. "Are you *crying* in here?"
Jackson's reflection in the mirror did look suspiciously damp. He swiped at his face with the back of his hand, "I-it's fine, I gotta get back to class, you probably should be too, especially you Heath, I've known you long enough to know that you've got like, seventeen overdue assignments—"
"Duh," Heath interrupted, wagging his eyebrows—badly. "But unlike some people, I don't cry about it." He leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing state secrets. "Common Cuz, don't stonewall me now."
"I'm serious, you're worried over nothing guys, it's just some Normie stuff."
And before either of them could say anything else, he went back to class.
And later it was time for lunch again.
And Jackson was more than smart enough to know that Deuce and Heath would still have questions for him.
But... they wouldn't have questions for Holt.
He got out Holt's iCoffin before he could second-guess himself. The playlist title glared back at him: *"DR. JACKIE'S LAST RESORT"* in Holt's obnoxious neon font. Jackson's thumb hovered over the play button—the modern equivalent of Dr. Jekyll's infamous draught.
"You sure about this, Jackie?" Holt's voice slithered through his thoughts like ink in water, lazy and amused. "I mean, you won't have a chance to eat untill we get home—"
Jackson exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening around the iCoffin. "Just please shut up and help me not get interrogated by Deuce and Heath about why I was—" He waved vaguely at his still-damp sleeves. "—*a mess*." The cafeteria clamor crescendoed around him—some zombie dropping a tray, Manny Taur's booming laugh—but all Jackson heard was Holt's smirk curling through his skull like smoke.
Holt sighed into thier shared mind, "Fine Jackie... but I just know this isn't going to end well..."
But Jackson didn't even bother to pretend to care, he just hit olay on the iCoffin.
And blacked out in the bathroom stall.
-------
When Holt arrived in the cafeteria, the atmosphere in the cafeteria shifted instantly. It was like someone had turned the saturation up to 200%. He didn't sit; he stood on the bench, his orange yellow flame hair erupting with a flare that nearly scorched the "No Flying" sign on the ceiling.
"YO! GHOULS AND MANSTERS!" Holt bellowed, pumping a fist as he marched straight over to where Frankie, Clawdeen, Draculaura, Deuce, Clawd, and Heath were sitting. He slammed a hand onto the table, right next to Frankie's bolt-muffin.
"Whatcha talking about, crew? You look like you're planning a funeral! Let's get some life in here!"
Deuce looked up, adjusting his shades mid-bite into a worm-and-cheese sandwich as Holt plopped down between him and Frankie. "Hey DJ, it's just... Jackie," Deuce started, "You see, me and Heath—"
"*Jackie*?" Holt cut him off, now a bit nervous, "What's wrong with Jackie?" He leaned forward, his grin widening as Frankie's bolts sparked in response to his proximity.
"He was crying in the bathroom for some reason," Heath interrupted with a mouthful of maggot-loaf, oblivious to Holt's sudden stiffness. "Like, *full-on* human meltdown. Deuce tried giving him a pep talk, but Jackie kept muttering about 'needing to disappear' or whatever."
Holt's grin froze—too wide, too sharp—before he forced a laugh that crackled like burning newspaper. "I'm sure if you just let him cool off—" His fingers tapped a frenetic beat against the table, sparks dancing between his knuckles as Frankie's eyebrows crept upward.
"Seriously, though." Clawdeen leaned in, her claws clicking against her soda can. "Jackie's been acting so wierd lately, even for a normie." She shot Holt a pointed look—like she *knew* something was off, but couldn't quite claw her way to the truth. Holt's grin didn't budge, but his flames flickered just a shade darker.
"I'll uh, go see if I can find him then!" He half screamed as he shot up from the table, knocking over Heath's soda. The sticky purple liquid spread across the table like a crime scene, and Holt didn't stick around to see the fallout.
Holt's boots squeaked against the cafeteria tiles as he bolted for the exit, flames licking at his sleeves. He could hear Frankie calling after him, but the pulse pounding in his ears drowned her out.
He ducked into the first empty classroom he could find, slamming the door behind him. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as he pressed his back against the door, breathing hard.
"This is bad," Holt muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Jackson wasn't supposed to be breaking down in public. That wasn't part of the deal. Jackson was the careful one, the quiet one—the one who kept them out of trouble. If Jackson was cracking under the pressure, what did that mean for *him*?
-------
"So... that was like... totally weird right?" Clawd's claws tapped against the table, his eyes darting between the cafeteria door Holt had just bolted through and the rest of the group. Frankie's bolts crackled nervously as she wiped Holt's spilled soda off her bolt-muffin wrapper.
Draculaura twirled a strand of pink hair around her finger, fangs nibbling her lower lip. "Okay, but hear me out—what if Jackie and DJ are *dating*?"
The table went silent. Even Heath paused mid-bite, a maggot dangling from his teeth.
"Ghoul, *what*?" Deuce hissed, his snakes rearing back in unison.
"No no no, think about it!" Draculaura leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They're *never* seen together. DJ runs off every time Jackie's mentioned. Jackie acts like he's got a curse whenever music plays—" She gasped, clapping her hands. "OhmyRa it *is* a curse! Like in *Twilight Mausoleum* where the werewolf couldn't be near his vampire boyfriend because—"
"—because he might *eat* him?" Heath interrupted, grinning as the dangling maggot finally plopped back into his mouth. "Cuz I'd ship that."
Frankie's neck bolts sparked pink. "That's not— Draculaura, that's literally *not* how vampire/werewolf lore works—"
Clawdeen slammed her soda can down, ears perking up. "Wait. Wait. Y'all *haven't* noticed?" She gestured wildly between where Holt had been sitting and the general direction of the boys' bathroom. "DJ *always* shows up right after Jackie disappears. Always. Like *clockwork*. And Jackie's got those *super* suspicious 'I just got kissed' vibes whenever he comes back." She wiggled her eyebrows. "The math is mathing, my dudes."
Deuce's sunglasses slid down his nose. "...Okay but why would Jackie date *DJ*? No offense to the guy, but he's like... a walking fire hazard."
"Opposites attract, babe," Clawdeen purred, elbowing Frankie. "You *know* Jackie's got that repressed-normie-meets-chaotic-gremlin thing going on. It's classic romance!"
Frankie's stitching flushed green. She opened her mouth—then froze as realization struck. "...Oh. Oh *no*." She grabbed Draculaura's arm. "Draculaura. Did you end up finding out where Holt lives?"
Draculaura blinked. "Uh, no? But I did see Holt come out of Jackie's house right before the party, it seemed like he didn't want everyone to know he was ever there."
Frankie's bolts crackled violently, sending a tiny pink lightning bolt zigzagging across the cafeteria table. "*Oh my transistors*," she whispered, clutching her notebook like it contained the secrets of the universe. Which, in a way, it did—she'd just scribbled *JACKIE + DJ = ???* in shaky green ink three times.
Clawdeen's claws tapped an excited rhythm against the table. "Ghouls, we are *so* bad at detective work. This is literally *The Strange Case of DJ Hyde and Jackie Jekyll*." She leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Think about it—Jackie's all quiet and *'please don't look at me'*, then *boom*, DJ appears like someone lit him on fire—which, fair, he *is* on fire—but they're *never* in the same room!"
Deuce's snakes hissed in unison as he adjusted his shades. "Okay, but why would neither of them tell us?"
Clawdeen's claws drummed against the table, her golden eyes gleaming with mischief. "Uh, *hello*? Secret romance *duh*! What if they think we won't accept a Normie dating a Monster?" She gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Ghoul, we *literally* have vampire-normie couples! This is *Monster High*, not *Prejudice Prep*!"
Frankie's bolts flickered pink as she scribbled furiously in her notebook, her stitching tightening with realization. "But... but Jackie *does* get all weird when DJ's mentioned. And DJ *always* knows things Jackie shouldn't—like that time he *somehow* knew my favorite song was *'Zombie Love Bite'* before I ever told Jackie!" She slammed her notebook shut, sending a tiny green spark zipping across the table. "It's *textbook* forbidden romance! Like in *Twilight Mausoleum: New Moon*—"
"—Except *way* hotter," Heath interrupted, grinning as he tossed a maggot into the air and caught it in his mouth. "Cuz, y'know. *Fire*."
And so they all in agreement now.