Rain.
It wasn't gentle. It never was.
It slashed across the night sky like punishment, each drop pelting the alley walls with angry rhythm. Thunder rolled overhead, drowning out the thump of footsteps and the sound of someone—him—breathing raggedly.
Alisus Yan stumbled backward, shoulder hitting damp brick. His legs trembled. He clutched his stomach, but no pressure could stop the warm, sticky wetness spilling through his fingers.
Red.
It was everywhere.
Red on his white shirt. Red on the pavement. Red dripping from the gleaming edge of the knife in Kyllian Yang's hand.
The blade shook.
But Kyllian's eyes didn't.
Alisus laughed. Or tried to. It came out a gurgle. He leaned back against the wall, sliding down slowly as the strength drained from his limbs.
"W-why?" he rasped.
"You know why," Kyllian said.
His voice was sharp. Cold. As if the blood on his hands was detergent washing away something unclean.
Alisus's mouth opened, closed.
No, he didn't know.
He hadn't seen Iyan in weeks. He hadn't done anything—hadn't touched him, hadn't hurt him. Not recently. Maybe not ever. They were friends. Childhood friends. Dormmates. Practically glued together.
Yet here he was. Bleeding out in an alley behind campus buildings.
Alisus tilted his head to the side, rain soaking his face, mixing with the tears he refused to admit were falling.
Above him, Kyllian hesitated. His expression twisted—not in guilt, not in pity, but in judgment.
"You should've stayed away from him," Kyllian said quietly. "You corrupted everything you touched."
Alisus's vision blurred.
Iyan.
Where was Iyan?
Why wasn't he here?
Why did it feel like no one had ever been?
A bitter laugh bubbled in Alisus's throat again, only to choke on itself.
Cold.
So cold.
Was this what death felt like?
The pain receded. Like a tide pulling back. Numbness followed.
The last thing Alisus saw was Kyllian's figure turning away, blade slipping back into his coat.
The last thing he thought—
Iyan… I thought we were friends.
Darkness.
Endless.
Choking.
It stretched around him like a vacuum, pressing in on all sides. There was no floor, no ceiling. No sound but his own frantic breath.
Was this hell?
His body felt light—no pain, no blood—but something was wrong. He wasn't floating. He was simply nowhere.
Then, something moved.
A shimmer.
A book.
It floated toward him as if summoned. Bound in black leather, its edges were gilded like a holy artifact, and yet it radiated dread.
["Saving the Sunshine"]
He reached out instinctively and touched it.
The book opened.
Words bled across the air—not just ink, but moving scenes.
He saw a gentle boy with teary eyes. Kind, soft-spoken, always hurt by the world.
Iyan Zhou.
The protagonist.
He saw a tall, cold hero. Broad-shouldered. Righteous. Fierce when provoked.
Kyllian Yang.
The male lead.
And then… he saw himself.
Alisus Yan.
The antagonist. The controlling best friend. The dark stain on Iyan's innocence. The jealous manipulator. The one who mocked, humiliated, "bullied" Iyan.
He watched scene after scene.
How Iyan tried to smile, and how Alisus mocked it.
How Iyan cried alone, and Alisus walked away.
How Kyllian came to protect Iyan… and how that protection led to Alisus's death.
"No…"
He stepped back, clutching his head.
This wasn't him. This wasn't—
But it was.
It was the story. And he was the villain.
His death had been scripted. Justified.
He wasn't the hero. He was the obstacle.
Alisus clenched his teeth.
"No," he whispered. "Not again. Not this time."
Gasp!
Air flooded his lungs. Too much. Too fast.
He jerked upright in bed, sweat soaking his back, breath rasping against his ribs.
The pale glow of early morning crept through thin curtains.
Alisus blinked. Hard.
White sheets. A creaky bunk bed above him. The cheap wooden desk. The alarm clock ticking faintly. His cracked phone.
A familiar, musty-smelling room.
Dorm Room 306.
His heart skipped.
He was… back?
He clutched the blankets, breathing in the faint detergent scent. A school ID card peeked out from the desk drawer—his name, his photo, his student number.
Alisus Yan.
Age 20.
This was second year.
The year before everything fell apart.
The year before he died.
The door creaked open.
Soft footsteps. Familiar.
A voice: "Alisus?"
He froze.
Iyan Zhou.
Still 19.
Still wide-eyed and soft.
His black hair was slightly damp. He was holding two cups of bubble tea in a tray, and his sweater sleeves were too long, like always.
"I got your favorite. No sugar, less ice," Iyan said cheerfully.
Alisus stared at him.
This wasn't a hallucination.
This was real.
The air around him felt too heavy. His heartbeat thundered.
"You're awake early today," Iyan said, walking closer with a smile. "You okay? You look pale."
Alisus opened his mouth. His throat felt raw.
He nodded. "Bad dream."
Iyan set the cups down and perched on the edge of Alisus's bed. "Wanna talk about it?"
Alisus looked away. "No."
A brief silence.
Iyan glanced at him, fidgeting. "If it was about the midterms, I can help you study."
Alisus exhaled slowly. "It wasn't that."
Iyan tilted his head. "Then…?"
Alisus looked at him—really looked at him.
This gentle face. The kindness. The soft concern.
It was genuine.
Or it looked genuine.
But the book in the void haunted his thoughts.
He was the villain. Iyan was the center of the story. The world would protect Iyan. And Alisus?
He'd be discarded again.
He couldn't go through that again.
He couldn't die again.
"I want to request a dorm transfer," Alisus said quietly.
The words hung in the air like knives.
Iyan blinked.
Then again.
"…What?"
"I just…" Alisus rubbed his chest. "I think I need some space. Some independence. I want to avoid falling into… bad patterns."
"You mean with me?"
The softness in Iyan's tone didn't fade.
But it tilted.
Like something delicate… straining.
Alisus nodded. "I think it's for the best."
A beat of silence.
Then Iyan smiled.
It was small. Almost trembling.
"…Did I do something wrong?"
"No."
"Then why are you pushing me away?"
Alisus swallowed. "It's not about you. It's about me."
"You said we're best friends."
Alisus flinched.
"We are," he said quickly.
"Then why does it feel like you're afraid of me now?"
Iyan's voice cracked just a little. Enough to stab.
"I'm not afraid," Alisus whispered.
"I'll be quiet," Iyan said. "I won't bother you. You can study late, you can use the desk, I won't even talk unless you want me to—just don't transfer."
Alisus's chest tightened.
He hadn't expected this.
Not resistance. Not emotion.
Iyan looked like he was on the verge of tears. And the worst part?
Alisus believed it.
Or wanted to.
Iyan reached out and touched his hand gently.
"You're the only person I talk to," he murmured. "If you leave, I'll be completely alone."
The touch wasn't threatening.
It was comforting.
Reassuring.
Clinging.
Alisus didn't pull away.
"…I'll think about it," he said.
Immediately, Iyan lit up.
"Really? Okay! One week. Just one week, okay?" His voice brightened like sunshine piercing clouds. "We'll make it work."
Alisus nodded, even as something heavy settled in his gut.
Iyan stood and returned with the bubble tea. "Here. I didn't shake it yet. You like it less foamy, right?"
Alisus stared at the cup in his hands.
Warm.
Sweet.
Kind.
He took a sip.
But something was wrong.
Not with the drink.
With the way his fingers trembled.
That night, Alisus lay in bed, eyes wide open.
Above him, the top bunk creaked softly as Iyan shifted in his sleep.
Alisus tried not to think.
But he did.
Kyllian killed me.
Iyan wasn't there.
But what if…?
He shut his eyes.
He had decided to avoid the story.
He had decided to escape fate.
But fate had already found him.
In the next bed.