The biology classroom was too bright.
Rows of metal desks gleamed under the fluorescent lights, each one lined with sharp edges and silent judgment. Lance took the second seat from the back, as Reese always did. It wasn't a strategic position—just a sign of disinterest. That was the character, after all. Someone who lived without care, who mistook detachment for dominance. Lance stared at the scratched tabletop and tried to remember how Reese acted here.
Arrogant. Distracted. A loud voice in quiet spaces.
He didn't feel like that now.
Around him, students filtered in. Backpacks dropped. Chairs scraped. Laughter rippled through the air like surface noise on a recording. But it wasn't real to him—not anymore. It was as if he were watching puppets move in a show he used to direct.
And then Kai entered.
He didn't walk like a protagonist. There was no cinematic music, no spotlight. Just simple, quiet steps, and a shoulder-slung bag. But the room changed around him. Subtly. Students looked. Conversations paused. Even the teacher, setting up a projector, glanced his way.
Kai sat directly in front of Lance.
That wasn't in the story.
He had always sat by the window, two rows forward, alone. Lance felt it in his gut—something was already off-script.
Kai turned just slightly, enough for Lance to see the profile of his face. No words yet. Just a flicker of the eyes, a pause long enough to mean something. Then he looked away.
The teacher—Dr. Helmond—called the class to order. A lesson began. Photosynthesis. Cellular respiration. The structure of mitochondria.
Lance didn't hear a word of it.
He was watching Kai's back like it might twist around and accuse him.
This was the boy he had written with such care. His trauma, his quiet intelligence, the slow-burn rage under his skin. The boy who found his cat—Astra—stuffed into a locker, dead and mangled. A cruel plot device, meant to give Kai his reason. His revenge.
Reese did it.
Or rather—he had written Reese to do it.
But now he was Reese.
The thought made him nauseous.
The bell rang like a judge's gavel. Students packed their bags, chairs scraped again, and the flow of bodies moved toward the hallway.
Lance stood too quickly. His knee knocked the desk. A few students glanced. He mumbled an apology, caught himself—Reese wouldn't apologize. He turned stiffly, grabbing his bag and heading out.
But Kai was already there.
Leaning casually against the doorway, backpack slung loose, arms crossed.
"You're quieter today," Kai said.
His voice was even. No accusation. No threat. Just…observation.
Lance hesitated.
He wanted to say something clever. Something that would match Reese's usual tone—mocking, dismissive. But he couldn't find it. His mind was a fog of guilt and disbelief.
"I didn't sleep well," he said.
Kai's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes shifted. A kind of soft calculation. He pushed off the doorway and walked beside Lance as they entered the hallway.
"That's new," Kai said. "You don't usually admit things like that."
Lance forced a chuckle. "Maybe I hit my head."
Kai stopped walking. "Did you?"
Lance turned. "What?"
"Hit your head," Kai repeated, slower. "You're walking like you're not sure how to use your legs."
A pause hung between them. Lance looked around. Students were moving past them like river current. None stopped. No one noticed this moment.
"I'm fine," Lance said, and kept walking.
Kai didn't follow.
***
The cafeteria was louder than he remembered writing it.
Trays clattered. Conversations bounced off every wall. It smelled like grease and overcooked meat. Lance walked through the maze of tables, unsure where to go. Reese's usual table was at the center—surrounded by two football players, a girl with too much lip gloss, and a senior who sold fake IDs out of his locker.
They looked up as he approached.
"Yo, Reese!" one of them said—Branley, the linebacker. "You ditching math again or did they finally suspend you?"
Lance sat stiffly, giving a noncommittal shrug. "Told them I was allergic to numbers."
The table laughed.
It sounded hollow.
Across the cafeteria, at the farthest corner, Kai sat alone. As always. As written.
But he was watching again.
Lance felt the weight of it.
Every movement, every laugh—Kai's eyes tracked it all. Like a scientist examining something under glass. Lance's stomach turned.
He stood.
"Bathroom," he muttered.
No one asked why. Reese didn't need permission.
He moved quickly, past tables, past lockers, past the vending machines near the west hallway. When he reached the empty corridor, he leaned against the wall and exhaled. His hands were shaking.
This wasn't sustainable.
He had written a revenge story. A straight line. Kai uncovers the truth. Reese gets his comeuppance. Justice is served. But now, he was the villain.
And Kai?
Kai wasn't just smart. He was dangerous. Because underneath that quiet stare was someone who had nothing to lose.
Lance had given him that.
***
Later that night, Lance sat at Reese's desk in his too-clean bedroom.
Everything was symmetrical. Shelves organized by height and color. A king-sized bed with untouched sheets. A desk lamp that cast perfect, sterile light on the surface below.
He pulled open the laptop.
It was the same model he owned. In his real life.
He typed in the password. It worked.
Inside were folders. Homework. Bank records. A few short essays on economic theory. One document stood out.
"The Hollow Script.docx"
He clicked it.
It wasn't a story.
It was a journal.
Reese's journal.
The entries were sparse. Cold. Fragments of thought:
> Jan 12 – Don't let them see you flinch. That's all they want.
> Feb 3 – Elric wants me to intern. I'd rather set the building on fire.
> Feb 19 – Kai's cat is always in the way. Always watching me. Creepy thing.
> Feb 20 – I didn't mean to slam the locker shut. Not that hard. Not hard enough to—
Lance stopped reading.
He backed away from the desk.
His mouth felt dry. His hands trembled.
Reese wasn't a one-dimensional villain.
He was breaking.
Just like Lance.