My head buzzed the way it always did in the mornings like static hissing in the back of my skull. My vision blurred, the edges of the classroom bleeded into black as my eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Who knew a school desk could feel as soft as my bed back home?
Just as sleep was about to win, a shadow fell across my desk. Then—
THWACK!
The sound of a palm slammed against wood that cracked through the classroom like a gunshot. I jolted upright, my heart hammered, the echo was still rattling in my ears.
I blinked and I rubbed at my eyes with sluggish hands. When my vision cleared, I tilted my head upward and found the culprit staring down at me.
My best friend.
Gabriel adjusted his round glasses with his free hand, his medium-length, dark hair shifted as he pushed them up the bridge of his nose. He looked exactly like the kind of guy who'd slap someone awake in the middle of first period, serious and sharp which perpetually irritated me.
"Hey," he said flatly. "Don't start dozing off at the beginning of class."
"Huh—?" My brain lagged a step behind my mouth. Honestly, I didn't even want to process what was happening. I still just wanted to sleep.
Gabriel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose like the weight of my stupidity was dragging him into the grave. "Koa… you do know that if you went to bed earlier, you wouldn't be this tired during school hours?"
"Yeah, yeah. But it's whatever, Gabriel. I'll be fine," I mumbled and stretched against the chair, feigning nonchalance.
What I said was stubborn, and I knew it. Stubbornness was practically written into my DNA at this point. I could admit that in the quietness of my head, but never to him.
Gabriel rolled his eyes, the picture of long-suffering patience. He didn't even bother arguing further. His silence said it all: I don't even want to deal with you today.
Fair, I thought. I wouldn't want to deal with me either.
I slouched back, deeper in my chair, I let time crawl past like it had nothing better to do. Gabriel's sighs beside me grew heavier with every second. He didn't need to say anything, I could already feel the annoyance that was radiating off him like secondhand smoke.
Do I care?
No.
Because Gabriel always cared too much. About everything. About me. He's basically my mom in an alternate universe, complete with the lectures and disapproving stares.
A finger poked my shoulder. "Did you stay up late talking to Ophelia again?"
I lifted my head just enough to meet his eyes. Gabriel was staring at me like he'd already solved the crime and was just waiting for my confession. He wasn't going to let this go. Not until I cracked.
"…Yeah," I muttered. "I was helping her with her science project."
His reply came sharp and fast, like he'd been rehearsing it.
"Oh, the green chemistry project? The one where you explore the principles of sustainable—"
"Yeah, that one." I cut him off before he could unleash a full-on TED Talk. If I didn't, this man would've explained all twelve principles and how to apply them before the bell even rang.
I raised an eyebrow. "How did you know?"
Gabriel adjusted his glasses, like this was the most natural thing in the world. "It's a group project. We're in the same group. Ugh. I knew she needed help. I offered, but she brushed me off."
Of course she did. Gabriel had a bad habit of turning "group projects" into "Gabriel does everything while everyone else watched." If Ophelia had let him, he would've finished it alone in one night and written a thirty-page appendix for fun.
"I wonder why she said no…" I said dryly, biting back a grin.
The truth was, Ophelia had vented to me about it. She wasn't worried about the project itself. She was worried about Gabriel. About how being around him made her feel—like she wasn't smart enough, like she'd just slow him down. That's why she'd called me at ten at night, asking for help.
Yeah, the timing sucked. But better late than never.
"Speaking of Ophelia," Gabriel said as he glanced at the clock, "she's late. So are Albien, Alora, and Vivienne. It's already 9:10."
That… was weird.
Ophelia wasn't late. Ever. She was practically the human embodiment of a schedule. If Gabriel was a perfectionist, she was a time freak. For her not to show up on time—it didn't sit right.
I opened my mouth to respond, but Gabriel cut me off.
"Oh, right. I forgot to mention—Juniper's gone on a business trip. Five days. She'll be back Friday."
"What? Why didn't she tell me anything?!" My voice cut sharply.
"She did this morning," Gabriel muttered, frustration bubbling in my chest. "But I guess you were too distracted in your own little world to notice."
I groaned and let my forehead drop against the desk with a dull thud. "Ugh…" The truth was—he wasn't wrong. I was always lost in my own world, drifting in and out of reality like it wasn't meant for me.
From where my head rested, I tilted slightly to catch the window to my right. The sky stretched wide and careless, clouds were dragging themselves lazily across its pale blue canvas. For a moment, I wished I could dissolve into that emptiness, away from Gabriel's sharp gaze.
It's because if there was one thing about Gabriel… It was that he could read me like an open book.
Gabriel wasn't the kind of person you could fool.
Sometimes, I wondered what his book would look like if I could read it the way he read me. Would it be an open diary of every thought he never spoke aloud? Or would it be a locked manuscript, pages blacked out where the truth should have been?
Gabriel came from a middle-class family, nothing extraordinary. My mother and him were best friends. But as a child, I couldn't understand why some random boy had to come live with us.
When he arrived, he was small—fragile even. Big, round eyes that carried strange colors I had never seen before: purple ringed with glints of orange and yellow. His hair was an unnatural shade of turquoise, soft and oddly unworldly. His presence, although quiet, carried a weight.
They told me his mother had left for Japan, working under my grandfather, and my own mother had taken him in out of kindness. I didn't think he would stay that long. But he did. Nearly a decade passed under the same roof. We grew up side by side.
I saw his highs, his lows. The cracks he tried to hide.
And yet… despite everything, it still felt like I was missing a part of him.
Something about Gabriel always slipped past me. A piece of him that couldn't be touched.
A part I couldn't explain, no matter how hard I tried but that's just how I felt with everyone.
The door creaked open, loud enough to make a few heads turn. Mr. Sullivan walked in with a stack of papers tucked neatly under one arm. His suit was crisp as always, his slicked-back hair catching the fluorescent light like it was part of his uniform.
I tried to stay awake, really, I did. But the steady shuffle of papers and the hum of morning chatter blurred into background noise. My eyelids grew heavier until I felt myself tilting, slipping again into that familiar haze.
"Is everything okay back there?"
Mr. Sullivan's voice cut through the fog like a blade. My stomach dropped. I didn't even have to look up to know his eyes were on me.
Before I could say anything, Gabriel, being Gabriel, answered for me. "Yes. He's just tired."
Mr. Sullivan didn't even blink. "So are we all. But most of us choose to sit vertically."
The chuckles that rippled through the class were daggers. My ears burned, my face hot as I scrambled upright, I pretended like I hadn't just been halfway to dreamland.
"Glad you could join us, Koa," Mr. Sullivan added, dry as dust.
Shock froze me for a second. Did he really just say that? I turned to glare at Gabriel, whose expression was way too calm for someone who just humiliated me in front of half the class.
"Why the hell would you say that?" I hissed under my breath.
Gabriel frowned and adjusted his glasses like the conversation bored him. "I told you to stop dozing off."
My frustration spiked. He had no idea how much his attitude could get under my skin. Honestly, Gabriel's entire existence gave me a headache sometimes.
Mr. Sullivan then talked, "Before you all head to first period, I have a few things to say—"
The words didn't survive long.
BANG.
The door slammed open with such force that the hinges rattled. Conversations stuttered to silence, heads turned, and the room's fragile sense of order collapsed in an instant.
"Sorry I'm late."
The owner of the voice didn't even look embarrassed.
Albien Larspur.
He was late again, as if the very concept of arriving on time offended him. The irony, of course, was that Albien lived close enough to the school that he could have rolled out of bed and still arrived before the bell. If punctuality was a subject, Albien would fail it every year and still laugh about it. He was indeed the opposite of Ophelia or his sister or anyone else in our group in that matter.
I blinked against the sound, my eyes suddenly wide open. It was as if my alarm clock had decided to follow me into class, shrill and impossible to ignore. Like every morning, I found myself wondering why Albien's chaos always had to double as my wake-up call.
From the front, Mr. Sullivan's jaw tightened. His expression was all too familiar, forehead creased, lips pressed thin, the same look of weary frustration he gave every week. If patience was a renewable resource, Albien had single-handedly exhausted Mr. Sullivan's supply.
"Albien Larspur." Mr. Sullivan's tone was clipped, rehearsed. "Knock before you enter. Don't disrupt my class like that."
The line was always the same. He could've recorded it and played it back like an automated response.
Albien lowered his head, the faintest flicker of guilt passing across his face. He muttered, "…my bad," voice low, as though quietness could soften the weight of his lateness.
But the thing about Albien was this: his guilt never stuck. It was the kind that lived on the surface, never deep enough to change him. He would be late again tomorrow, and the day after, and probably until the end of time.
Mr. Sullivan exhaled through his nose, as if each breath carried another year off his lifespan. His eyes had the same exhausted fire they'd had when he'd embarrassed me in front of the class last week. That same mixture of authority and spite.
"Just take your seat. Please."
Albien glanced toward me, then at Gabriel, like he was searching for solidarity. He found none. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he trudged down the aisle, every step a performance, before he finally slumped into the desk in front of Gabriel. His bag landed with a heavy thud, as if to remind us all of his existence.
Normally, this was where Albien's second ritual began: he would lean back in his chair to pester Gabriel with some half-hearted joke. But I could tell that even Albien wasn't that reckless enough to provoke Mr.Sullivan twice in under a minute.
For a moment, there was silence. Blessed, fragile silence.
Then Albien leaned back, a grin tugged at his mouth.
"So…" His voice carried across the room, far too loud for someone who had just been scolded. "What'd I miss?!"
I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. He really couldn't help himself.
Gabriel, who was halfway through adjusting his glasses, didn't even look up. His voice came out flat. "Don't be so loud. You just got in trouble."
"Right, right." Albien gave a mock salute, a grin still plastered on his face. "That's my bad."
Of course, it was always his bad.
I found myself watching him, caught between irritation and amusement. Albien was chaos wrapped in a human shell. The kind of person who could walk into a funeral and accidentally make the priest forget his lines. Somehow… people forgave him for it. Maybe it was the grin. Maybe it was because everyone knew he didn't mean harm.
But still. For someone like me, who always seemed tangled in my own head, it was hard not to envy the way Albien drifted, untouchable, like rules and expectations simply slid past him..
Gabriel spoke first, his tone clipped.
"So why were you late?"
Albien laughed lightly, trying to shake off the question.
"Lost track of time… maybe overslept."
He smiled, but Gabriel didn't even blink. His reply landed like a stone.
"I'm not surprised."
Albien frowned and turned back toward him.
"What do you mean by that?"
Gabriel's answer came sharp, unhesitating.
"It's because you waste the night playing those damn video games with Kiko."
Albien's grin faltered, guilt flickering across his face before he dropped his gaze.
"Right…" he muttered, his voice small. Then, as if to shift the weight, his eyes slid toward me. But little did he know Gabriel had scolded me for the same thing not long ago. The irony made it harder to look at him without smirking.
"What about you, Koa?" Albien asked, almost defensively. "You looked like you slept fine."
That was the furthest thing from the truth. I hadn't slept at all. My body still ached with exhaustion, and my hair—it must have looked like a bird's nest.
"Nothing much… just tired of sitting next to this one."
The words came out sharper than I expected, but for once, I wanted to bother Gabriel. Maybe if I poked at him, I'd feel less worn down myself.
Gabriel's head turned, his brow arched as though I'd committed some grave offense.
"What do you mean by that?"
The way he said it nearly made me laugh out loud.
I shrugged it off, as I redirected.
"Anyway, what about you, Albien? Didn't Alora and Vivienne say they were coming in late?"
"Oh, right. They had a group project. Alora got the deadline wrong again, thought it was Wednesday. Vivienne had to help her fix the entire thing last night." Albien casually responded.
"That explains a lot," Gabriel added, voice dry. "I could barely understand Alora's message."
Albien scoffed, incredulous.
"Seriously?"
But Gabriel was right. I'd seen that message too. It looked like Alora was running while typing, letters tripped over each other like she'd tossed her phone down a staircase.
"I goifnrb to bes laT to coass."
What sane person could make sense of that?
Vivienne's reply had been even worse—just one word: same.
Gabriel pulled out his phone then, his casual mask slipping.
"I actually have to present a project with Ophelia today," he said. "But she hasn't texted me. Not once. Nothing in the group chat either."
The way his fingers tightened around the phone told me everything I needed to know. His eyes were locked on the screen, his jaw clenched.
He didn't have to say it.
If Ophelia wasn't here by third period, Gabriel was going to lose it.
Mr. Sullivan cleared his throat, his eyes sweeping the room like he was hunting for a culprit which reminded me he was still in the room with us.
"Are you guys done yapping back there?"
A tight knot formed in my chest. He might have been my homeroom teacher, but it always felt like he had it out for me. Even the simplest check-ins came with that quiet judgment, that unspoken reminder that I was always one misstep away from his disapproval. Meanwhile, Gabriel sat there, calm as ever, he radiated that effortless charm that made him Mr. Sullivan's favorite. Of course he was, he had the kind of composure that could turn a teacher's irritation into admiration.
"Yes, sorry, Mr. Sullivan," Gabriel said smoothly, offering a polite and practiced smile. Mr. Sullivan adjusted his glasses, pulled out a stack of papers, and let his gaze linger over Gabriel for just a second too long before he addressed the class again. "Right, as I was saying before, there are a few—"
Then, the sharp trill of a phone cut through the room, it rang insistently. It was almost aggressive, like it wanted to knock Mr. Sullivan off balance. I couldn't help but smirk. He had mocked me earlier for sitting like a shrimp, and yes, I knew my posture was terrible. I should have had better control over it after all the hours I spent at the piano, but at that moment, I didn't feel bad at all.
The pause gave me even more time to slump against my desk one last time. I sank into that lazy sprawl I usually reserved for home, which obviously I couldn't do this time. Albien, leaning casually in his chair behind me, chuckled under his breath.
"I kinda feel bad. Him getting interrupted is… satisfying to me."
Gabriel's gaze snapped toward him, sharp and irritated.
"Can you shut up? He's been trying to give these announcements for a while, and you had to barge in, like always, and interrupt the class. Unlike you, I actually want to learn."
Albien smirked, he shrugged with an exaggerated innocence, his eyes glinted with mischief.
"Don't be like that. I know you love meee~!"
I felt a twitch of amusement despite myself. Albien thrived on this chaos, always pushing buttons, but Gabriel was just as predictable, annoyed, precise, utterly unwilling to let things slide. Somewhere in the middle of all that, I sat, half-entertained, half-exasperated, wondering why I had ever thought school was supposed to be boring.
Meanwhile, Mr. Sullivan struggled to maintain authority. The phone continued to ring, he jostled his stack of papers, and for a moment his usually commanding presence faltered. I could practically hear him calculating which student to scold first. Gabriel's frown deepened, his jaw tightened as he returned his attention to the teacher, while Albien leaned back with a self-satisfied grin, clearly enjoying the tension he'd stirred.
I slouched further into my desk as I watched it all unfold. Part of me wanted to roll my eyes, part of me wanted to laugh, and another part just marveled at how perfectly chaotic the classroom always seemed to be when Gabriel and Albien were in the same space. It was like watching fire and ice dance, Gabriel the cool, controlled center of gravity. Then Albien the unpredictable spark, and me, caught somewhere in the middle, unable to look away.
Mr. Sullivan set the phone down and his expression hardened, the easy look he usually wore vanishing. His shoes clicked against the tile as he walked toward me, each step echoing louder than the last. My first thought was ridiculous but sharp—is he mad that I tried to sleep at my desk? The tension around him felt heavy enough to crush the air out of the room. I looked up at him, pulse quickening without knowing why.
"They want you at the office," he said.
My eyes widened. The office? The question rang in my head, but no answer came. A dozen possibilities flickered through my mind—maybe my mom had left a message, maybe I'd forgotten something, maybe someone had found my missing headphones. I forced myself to stay composed.
"Oh… okay," I said quietly.
I pushed my chair back into place and slung my backpack over my shoulder. Mr. Sullivan had already turned toward the door, his stride brisk. I followed him, but stopped when I felt a hand close around my wrist.
It was Gabriel. His grip wasn't rough, but there was an edge of desperation in it, as if he thought I might disappear if he let go. I looked down at him.
"Text me, okay?" he said.
His expression said far more than the words. In that moment my thoughts began to spiral backward, everything I'd been trying not to think about rushed back at once. One thing about Gabriel, I'd always known he could sense things before they happened. Something in his eyes told me he felt it too.
Now I was really nervous. What the hell was I supposed to think after the look he gave me? We made it halfway down the hall, almost to the office, but my head wouldn't stop spinning. Thoughts kept piling up, it circled faster and faster, and my hands were only getting sweatier with every tick of the clock.
I was genuinely nervous, like stomach-in-knots, throat-locked nervous and I think what really set me off was Gabriel saying, "Text me." Text him about what?! What was I even supposed to say? The more I thought about it, the more it messed with me. And yeah, maybe I should've appreciated the fact he was, what, worried about me? But instead it just sent me spiraling like crazy.
I reached the office, and this time Mr. Sullivan looked at me.
"Just take a seat. They'll call you right up."
I nodded, though in reality I wanted to run. My chest felt tight, my legs restless. I couldn't understand why I was still spiraling so badly. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was something minor. Maybe I was just overthinking again and blowing things out of proportion, like I always did.
I lowered myself into the chair, setting my backpack beside my leg. My right knee bounced uncontrollably, the sound of my shoe tapping against the tile echoing too loudly in the quiet room. Every second stretched longer than the last.
Then, my phone vibrated.
I dug it out of my pocket with hands that weren't as steady as I wanted them to be. A message lit up the screen.
Gabriel:Is everything okay?
I started to type back—I don't know—when the sound of a door opening snapped my head up.
The principal's door creaked wide. She stepped out with that same calm, practiced smile she always wore, a smile that never failed to put people at ease. Except right now, it didn't. Something about it felt off, like it wasn't meant for me at all.
Her eyes scanned the waiting area as though I wasn't even there. Then they landed on me.
"Koa Takashi?"
My heart lurched.
Her tone was gentle, but it was too careful, too measured. I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor, Gabriel's message still glowed, unanswered in my hand.
"Oh, great, you're here! Come inside, sweetheart," she said warmly as she stood by the door as if she'd been waiting for me. The way she stood there holding the door, her calm smile never wavering, felt almost too careful, as if she were hiding something behind it.
"Just head inside, sweetheart. I'll be in with you shortly," she said, her smile soft but her eyes unreadable.
I didn't understand what she meant until she swung open a narrow door at the back of the office. Behind it stretched a shadowed room lit only by a single, wide window.
There was someone sitting by that window.
A woman.
Her hair was a dark rouge, the kind that drank in the light and refused to give it back. A pair of squared glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, catching a dull, cold gleam from the gray daylight. Her eyes, olive green, sharp and deep, found me at once, like they had been waiting for me to walk in. A mug of coffee sat untouched beside her elbow, steam curled in the stillness, as if even the air here was holding its breath.
Her posture was effortless, composed, yet something about it made the room feel smaller, the shadows felt heavier. I caught a glimpse of a photo frame on the edge of her desk, Ophlia's photo, and beneath it, a stack of files and loose papers, each one marked with the same neat, precise handwriting.
She didn't speak. She just looked at me, no, she studied me, her stare dared me to step closer, daring me to ask why I was here.
For a moment, I felt like prey standing in front of something that hadn't yet decided whether to strike.
That was when I knew something was wrong and whatever it was, I wasn't ready for it.