Well lay on the bathroom floor, smiling up at Rain in a way that felt wrong even to himself.
Rain sat beside him, face cold and unreadable, though her eyes carried quiet confusion. She said nothing.
The silence pressed harder than the pain in his nose.
"So," Well said, holding the bloodied bridge carefully, "why are you here?"
Near his hand, a half-crushed cockroach dragged itself across the tiles. Its remaining legs scraped weakly as it tried to escape the presence of the two towering giants above it.
"The principal asked me to apologize," Rain said flatly, "and to show you around."
"Apologize for what?"
Her eyes tilted slightly.
"For my question."
Well let out a soft laugh and watched the cockroach struggle toward the wall.
"Well," he muttered, "you already apologized with a punch."
Rain's lips twitched. A brief, accidental laugh escaped before she caught herself.
"Well, you did try to grab me," she said. "And you kept calling me by some strange name like a lunatic. I'm not sorry about that."
The smile on Well's face — half pathetic, half sarcastic — drained into something empty.
"How come no one else came in?" he asked quietly.
The cockroach paused, trembling, catching what little breath it had left.
"This bathroom's abandoned," Rain said. "Teachers and students avoid it. A girl committed suicide here last year."
Silence.
Well's eyes darkened as he watched the insect.
"So," Rain continued, "what are you on? And should I take you to the nurse?"
Well's gaze flickered toward the crumpled napkin shoved into the trash.
His left eye twitched.
"It's not a big deal," he said. "And if we go to the nurse, they'll ask questions. We'd probably both get expelled."
He sounded logical.
But expulsion wasn't what scared him.
His father was.
"You're not answering the first question," Rain said.
She finally noticed the cockroach.
Well exhaled slowly.
"On the bus," he said, "a famous rapper and a new friend gave me a weird cigarette. All black. Reckless-looking. I didn't think much of it."
Rain stood.
"A new friend?" she asked. "What's his name?"
She raised her foot.
The cockroach sensed the shadow and tried to run. Its legs failed.
Rain's heel came down—
—and crushed Well's hand instead.
"What the hell are you doing?" she snapped. "It's just a bug. It's already dying. What's the point of saving it?"
Well laughed through the pain. His palm throbbed as he lifted the cockroach gently.
"But it didn't want to die yet," he said, smiling faintly.
Rain stared at him.
Is he even sane?
Well carried the insect to a safer corner and set it down carefully.
They left it there.
The cockroach trembled.
I'm alive, it thought.
A spider crept silently across the tiles.
It fed.
It didn't matter after all.
—
Meanwhile—
Aizak swam through a red sea.
Thick. Sticky. Familiar.
White shapes brushed against his legs beneath the surface as the liquid rose higher.
I have to find a way out, he thought. Before I drown in this.
The red climbed to his chest. Waves formed, dragging him back.
When it reached his throat, liquid rushed into his mouth.
That's when he understood.
This wasn't water.
It was blood.
Panic detonated in his chest. He thrashed, choking, forcing himself upward.
For now.
Then he saw it.
Land.
Glowing white.
Finally.
He swam toward it with everything he had.
Just as his fingers reached the shore, something seized his legs and dragged him down.
The white shapes weren't driftwood.
They were bones.
Broken skeletons wrapped around him, pulling him deeper.
"Join us," they whispered.
He screamed underwater.
And drowned.
—
Aizak opened his eyes.
White ceiling.
White walls.
Machines humming.
His arms restrained.
"I'm not dead?" he whispered.