Well's heart dropped cold.
His hands trembled. His legs went numb. His lower half was exposed to no one but himself — and in that fragile moment, the vulnerability felt like proof that he was still alive.
"W–who's there?" he asked.
His head spun. Vision blurred. Fighting the dizziness, he wiped away the mess he'd made, shoving the stained napkins into the trash before whoever stood outside could suspect anything.
"Is everything alright?" the voice asked.
The sound struck him.
Painfully familiar.
"Noor?" Well whispered, sweat pouring down his face.
His hands froze mid-motion.
"I might be, brother," the voice replied.
His shaking worsened as he pulled his pants up, fingers clumsy.
"I'll ask again," the knocker said. "Are you alright?"
"I don't know," Well answered, unlocking the door. "Are you really her?"
The door creaked open.
A small figure stood before him — about fifteen. Blond hair. Pitch-black eyes.
Life rushed back into Well's hollow stare. Tears spilled freely as a crooked smile tore across his face — desperate, unbearable.
She smiled back.
"Hello, big brother."
"Where were you?" he breathed. "I needed you. I searched everywhere. I even dug your grave… and still I couldn't find your smile."
Noor opened her arms.
"How numb of you," she said softly. "Won't you hug your lost sister?"
Well stepped forward.
Laughter ripped through the moment.
Behind her stood the dark figure — his father — watching, smirking, existing and not existing all at once.
Well ignored him and rushed toward Noor.
The embrace never came.
Pain exploded across his face.
A fist shattered his nose, sending him crashing onto the filthy bathroom floor.
Darkness swallowed him.
"I'm not your damn sister!" the voice snarled. "Are you high or something?"
Well gasped.
The hallway was empty.
No father.
No sister.
Only Rain stood over him — blue eyes steady, unreadable.
He clutched his nose, but the pain wasn't there.
It sat deeper.
In his chest.
He wished the illusion had been real.
He wished it desperately.
"Are you listening?" Rain asked.
Well laughed weakly as the edges of the world blurred.
"I'm sorry — for both of you," he murmured as blood pooled beneath him. "No… all three of you."
"What the hell do you mean, all three of us?" Rain demanded.
Everything went dark.
—
He was back in his old school.
He straddled a boy his age — twice his size — driving a wooden pencil into the boy's eye.
His smile was wide. Wet. Wrong.
He kept thrusting.
Ignored the screaming. The hands pulling him away. The chaos.
His world narrowed to the ruined eye — no longer an eye, only a swollen mass of red.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Well?" the dark figure asked.
A mirror appeared in his hands.
"Look closely."
Well stared.
His father's face stared back.
"No!" Well screamed, shaking violently. Tears blurred everything.
The world fractured, splintering like glass.
"What's wrong, Will?" the dark figure mocked. "You don't like honesty?"
"That's not me!" Well shouted. "Shut up!"
"And yet," the figure said calmly, "you're still holding the pencil. You're still sitting on him."
Well dropped it and grabbed the boy's shoulders.
"Wake up!"
"I'm sorry!"
"It was a mistake — I swear!"
"It's useless," the dark figure said. "He's dead."
Blood spread beneath them.
"Wake up!"
The voice shifted.
"Wake up."
Rain.
Well jolted awake.
Bathroom floor.
Rain's face above him.
"My anchor," he whispered.