He was quiet.
That was the first thing you notice about the boy. And he liked to draw. He did it constantly. Painted, drew...
You slowly became friends over time. You even started developing a bit of a crush on him, your only friend. You were his only friend too.
But he drawing and painting tore you apart from eachother sometimes. It made you argue.
And, it seemed like, every time he got angry, some student on canvas was found in their dorm with large smiley faces painted in their own blood, them brutally murdered, used as paint or art utensils to paint their walls with.
You saw the connection. You saw how the puzzle pieces fell into place. You even helped him wash his bloody clothes.
Maybe you didn't point it out to Helen because you were such good friends, or because he was so much younger than others in your grade - just like you were.
But, you didn't try to stop him, didn't point it out to him, mostly, though you wouldn't admit it, because you had a crush on him, his messy black hair, pale skin and pretty features. You loved his soft laugh. He would only laugh around you.
And, you always stuck up for him when he was teased for drawing or for his name.
But, you never pointed out the red smiley face you'd found inside of his journal when he had left to use the restroom and had left his stuff lay...