Kun sat next to Sai by the window seat in homeroom, the sunlight casting fractured lines across his desk. Outside, a crow cawed and flapped lazily past the second-floor window.
He kept telling himself—it was just a nightmare. Everything had been. The worms.
The mirrors. The cold breath in his ear. Just stress. Mental collapse. An episode.
And Sai... Sai was real.
A real person.
He had to be.
At the front of the room, the teacher's voice droned on, something about quadratic systems and curve intersections. Kun wasn't listening.
His pencil scratched gently across his notebook.
Drip, drip—he drew uneven droplets falling from a ceiling.
Then a mirror, cracked, splitting his own reflection in two.
He hesitated—then added a juice can with long, dark worms writhing inside. He stared at it too long. His hand trembled faintly.
A part of him knew it wasn't normal to remember these things. Not with this clarity. Not with this unease that clung even when the nightmare was over.
Below the drawings, he scribbled:
"Were those just nightmares?"
It lingered on the page, like a question not meant to be answered.
He was so deep in thought, he didn't notice Sai watching from the corner of his eye—smiling softly, head tilted like he found something endearing in the quiet unraveling.
Then—
"Sai-kun," the teacher called. "Let's see if your perfect attendance includes your math comprehension. Can you solve this?"
She scribbled a mess of numbers across the board:
(x² + 5x + 6)(x − 2) = ?
"Factor it completely, then expand."
Kun blinked out of his thoughts and glanced at the problem.
Even he squinted. Ew. Gross.
He leaned toward Sai with mild concern. There's no way he'll solve that without—
But Sai stood up calmly, tapping his pencil to his chin.
"Hm... Let's see," he said aloud. "First, factor the quadratic: x² + 5x + 6 becomes (x + 2)(x + 3). Then multiply the entire expression: (x + 2)(x + 3)(x − 2). That expands into a cubic equation. The full expression is x³ + 3x² − 4x − 12."
The room fell into silence.
Even the teacher blinked.
"Well… that's correct."
Kun turned and stared at him, astonished.
Sai sat back down with a soft chuckle. "Math is just like people. Break them down right, and you'll know what they're hiding."
Kun felt his face flush, his ears turning warm. He quickly looked away, muttering something under his breath.
Sai leaned toward him just slightly and whispered, "Was that admiration in your eyes, Kun-kun?"
Kun didn't answer. But the red in his cheeks deepened.
Lunch Time.
Kun sat alone in the cafeteria, elbow propped on the table, poking at the rice in his bento without much motivation. The room buzzed around him—cliques reunited, conversations overlapped, someone shouted about fried shrimp.
But Kun?
He felt like glass again.
One month was long enough to fade from memory. He wasn't hated, just… invisible.
Just like in Tokyo.
He sighed softly. Picked at a carrot.
Then a tray slid next to him.
Sai plopped down and nudged his shoulder with his own.
"You're eating without me?" Sai pouted, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. "Kun, you wound me."
Kun blinked in surprise. "I—uh… sorry. I just… didn't think you'd—"
Sai reached out and ruffled his hair gently. "What? That I'd leave you alone? That's harsh. I thought we were friends."
Kun looked down at his untouched food. "We are. I think. I mean—yeah. We are. It's just…"
What do you even say?
'Hey, remember when you haunted me, Scared the death of me, and nearly killed me in the shower?'
"...You're really popular now," Kun mumbled. It came out smaller than he meant.
Sai raised a brow. "Oh?" He leaned closer. "You sound like a psycho boyfriend."
Kun's eye twitched. "I'm not your boyfriend."
"Aw," Sai sighed theatrically. "So quick to reject me."
Then, smoothly, he placed a grape juice can on Kun's tray.
Click.
Kun's blood ran cold.
His eyes locked on it.
Suddenly—he saw them again. Worms. Wriggling just under the surface. Coiling and swimming in the sweet purple void.
His chest tightened.
"Kun?" Sai's voice was quieter now. "You're trembling."
Kun's hands began to shake.
His breath quickened. Vision doubling. Tripling.
His ears rang with laughter. Distant and cruel. Familiar.
He's a freak
He deserves it
Look at his face, ugh—
His chest heaved.
And then—he snapped.
Kun reached for the can and threw it across the room.
CLANG.
The cafeteria silenced instantly.
All eyes turned to him.
Kun stood there, eyes wide, gasping. His hands clutched his head. His nails dug into his scalp.
The laughter was back.
"He's losing it again."
"Didn't he come back from the hospital?"
"Weirdo freak."
He couldn't hear reality anymore.
Until—
A lullaby.
Soft and slow, a hum. Familiar. It slipped past the noise.
Warm arms wrapped around him.
Sai gently removed Kun's hands from his ears.
And pulled him close.
Kun's breath hitched.
His body, tense and trembling, slowly slackened.
His head slumped against Sai's shoulder. The noise faded. His heartbeat slowed.
Sai whispered against his ear.
"It's alright. I told you, I'll keep you safe."
The cafeteria resumed its noise.
But Kun didn't hear it.
He was floating in that soft lullaby, still shaking, but wrapped in something warm and terrifyingly comforting.
---
Kun didn't know how long he'd stayed like that.
Time blurred. The harsh white lights of the cafeteria dulled at the edges. The noise, the judgmental stares, the cold metal tables—all of it melted away under the warmth of Sai's arms and that haunting, almost motherly lullaby.
"♪ Hush now… hush now… it's not your fault… ♪"
Kun's eyes fluttered closed.
Everything in him wanted to pull away.
But everything else told him to stay. Just for a bit longer.
He clung to Sai's uniform like it was the last real thing he could hold.
Some teacher must've come by. Kun heard muffled voices. Heard the words "stress," "trauma," and "outburst," thrown around like clinical darts trying to name what had no shape.
But Sai didn't move.
Didn't let go.
Didn't even seem to notice the teachers or students glancing at them, whispering.
Only when the nurse came and gently placed a hand on Kun's back did Sai finally release him.
"I'll walk him," Sai said calmly. "He trusts me."
The nurse hesitated—but Kun weakly nodded.
And so they walked.
Nurse's Office.
Kun sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up to his chest. His hands gripped his cardigan sleeves, knuckles white. His breathing was mostly calm now, though he was pale and distant.
Sai sat on the little stool beside the bed, head propped in his hand.
He had been watching Kun for some time in silence.
Not like someone worried.
More like someone studying.
"Why grape juice?" Sai finally asked.
Kun looked up.
His voice was small. "I… don't know. That day… the worms. I just saw them in the can. That's when I knew I wasn't okay."
Sai tilted his head. "But they weren't real, right?"
Kun didn't answer.
Sai leaned forward. "You trust me, don't you?"
"… I want to."
"Then believe me when I say…" His fingers reached out and tucked a loose strand of Kun's hair behind his ear. "There were no worms. Just juice."
"But my hands…" Kun muttered. "My mouth, it was full of—"
Sai placed a single finger to Kun's lips. "Shhh."
And then he smiled.
So gently.
So tenderly.
"Let the bad dreams go back where they came from."
Kun's eyes fluttered again, like he wanted to believe that.
Sai leaned closer. "You've had it hard. I understand. That's why I'm here now, okay?"
"…Why are you here?" Kun asked softly. "Why now? You… weren't there when I was in the hospital."
Sai's expression flickered for just a second.
Then that warm smile returned. "Because you needed rest. But now you need me."
Kun turned his face away.
"…I'm scared," he said, barely audible. "I don't know what's real anymore."
"I'm real," Sai whispered.
Kun clenched his fists. "Are you?"
Sai didn't answer.
He simply stood.
Walked slowly over to the window, looking out at the schoolyard where students were laughing, walking, being normal.
"You know, Kun," Sai said. "Even if the world forgets you… even if you disappear tomorrow… I'll still remember you."
His back was to Kun now. His voice softened, strange and melodic.
"Even if you're erased from every classroom photo.
Even if your name falls out of every mouth.
I will still be here."
Kun's breath caught in his throat.
That voice wasn't sweet anymore.
It was lonely. Maddeningly lonely.
And beneath the lullaby warmth—there was hunger.
Desperation.
Possession.
Sai turned back around. "So, will you remember me too?"
"… I never forgot," Kun whispered. "Even when I wanted to."
Sai's smile twitched.
He walked back. Reached into his pocket—and pulled out a tiny folded paper crane.
It was made from Kun's doodle page. The one with the dripping water and the worms.
"I made this," Sai said softly, placing it on Kun's lap. "So you won't forget."
Kun stared at it.
The memory of his scribbled fear, now gently folded into something beautiful.
Something helpless.
Something owned.
Later that day.
Kun left early, citing "exhaustion."
His mother picked him up in front of the school. Her brows were furrowed with concern.
She touched his cheek. "You look pale."
"I'm fine," Kun said automatically.
She didn't believe him.
But she drove anyway.
In the backseat, Kun gripped the paper crane in his pocket.
He didn't tell her about the breakdown.
Or about Sai's voice. His hands. That lullaby.
That would be admitting that maybe…
Maybe it hadn't been a nightmare after all.