[ He doesn't seem fazed at all, hearing about what happened— he's heard it all before, surely, from multiple sources as even though his door has remained closed for the majority of the school year thus far, it was never empty. But he frowns as appropriate, nods his head at that admittance of anxiety, and though he places the pretzel stick in his mouth, he merely holds it there as one would a cigarette because he at least has the presence of mind not to crunch loudly when he's being confided in.

He crunches after, though, before answering. ]

School is only as dangerous as you allow it to be. People are the ones who are truly dangerous— volatile, unpredictable— and, in those episodes, terribly in need of guidance. That's where I step in.

[ For murder counseling. ]

You're not worried of dying?