Higher

(-50 -60)

It's been a few months since Len had ended up on a bed in the morgue, his illness taking the better of him. Remembering that night made me feel guilt, more than anything, both for thinking of Rin as a bad person and for not having watched her little brother more closely. If only I had paid more attention to the pallid hue of his skin as we stalked the streets that time, then maybe it could have been better. Maybe he wouldn't have fallen head-first into the asphalt and broken his head just before a truck turned his body into mush.

But do I really care?

Wait, no, I do. I do care. I do.

What kind of passing thought was that, that made me think being in empathy was not a sentiment of my own? It was absolute folly, and the fact that something as abominable as a lack of compassion crossed my mind... It was pure horror. I never wished to speak or hear of it again, but whenever I would look at Oliver's glinting, dead eyes, I would be forced to recall. The image of blood puddling beneath my feet as I see but cease to feel myself bleed will insistently push itself into the recesses of my brain. I would involuntarily remember the way his scent seemed to rub off on me, the way my eyes seemed to look less and less alive with every glance at the mirror each day. Just like his single, exposed eye, that should have been better gone.

If I would not have seen that hollow window to his even more complex soul, I would not be mulling over things I never thought I would come across. Right this moment, I regret meeting his gaze, which at first I had only thought to be indifferent. I didn't want to raise my head further to look at his iris, as it seemed to be staring down at me callously, degrading my self-esteem without having to launch words at me. But I did, and now the way I define monstrosities has greatly shifted.

It finally clicked into place during the incident with Len, when I felt he was attacking our vulnerabilities in his gyrating thoughts. The spiral staircase that led to this kind of agony began to invite me, and I stepped in without hesitation. Now the trap door refuses to open from the inside, leaving me with no other choice but to continue further down.

* * *

Oliver and I sat on the floor, our backs to the wall that separated the stairs from the rest of the rooftop. I was playing with the plastic wrapper of the pastry I had just consumed for lunch, and he was breathing evenly, as if he were in a state of sleep. I rubbed my forefinger and thumb together, as if to scrape off the nonexistent dirt that began to build up. Just as I was about to ask him if he was actually asleep, my ears picked up sounds from the other side of the concrete. Faint shuffling noises, accompanied by soft padding, both getting louder everytime. I had discerned that those were footsteps, and footsteps they turned out to be.

The door creaked open, and another one of my friends stepped out. He had pale hair, and he was wearing the school's prescribed uniform in a very informal way wherein he had the blazer tied around his thin waist that looked like it could snap at a simple imbalance. I smiled and called out to him. Oliver moved a little more to the right, and Piko, the new addition to this merry pair of knaves, seated himself between us. His face was most unchanged, but the expression he wore was something that did not usually stick to him. It was an all-new mask I was seeing, and, curiosity getting the better of me, I inquired him about it. He simply nodded me off, silent as a slumbering cat for a little more than three or so minutes. It was then that he gave in to the relief and pressure of confession, his red-faced demeanor giving the whole plot away.

"I— you see, this girl from my class kinda broke up with me. It was an embarrassment, you know?" Oliver nodded at this point, and strangely, his eye reflected a little bit of light. Even the slightest glimmer of trying to understand a different species — the way you would look at your dog when he barks, whimpers, or stands infront of you, waiting for anything that might help you come to terms with his habits — was a huge step for this kind of image in the fleeting hands of time. It was so great a leap that I shivered from my head to the tips of my feet, icy-cold fingers enclosing me like you would protect a lory.

All throughout the recounting of events, I had stayed silent, not daring to disturb Piko's morose elaboration of his... undesirable predicament. His usual hijinks involved pranks and paintball guns, but the person I saw this time as he hugged his knees and never made eye contact was a person trying to reach a point of maturity. So I gave him a chance, a well-deserved counseling.

The bell rang, but we didn't even care. We talked, we grieved and laughed at our silly antics, made banter without getting to a situation of pure brawl and folly. We finally settled down, and he switched concepts again, talked to me and the blonde in all seriousness.

"I don't know what to do. Should I reconcile with Aria, or should we remain bitter towards each other?"

If it were me, I would think it best to not get involved with such adult things in the first place. I would tell him that, but that is outright rude, considering his situation. Firstly, you must never get on anyone's bad side if you want to stay out of trouble. You must only tell them what they want to hear, perform what they wish to witness, and describe the color red in a way that fits their tastes. A primary rule in handling human beings, it is a privilege to be able to work with anyone who knows anything about the concept of respect.

"I don't know. Maybe you wanna think about it further. Like, are you sure you took the relationship seriously, so seriously that you would not wake up if you ended it now? Or did you simply act upon piles of frivolity, accepting the responsibility of getting a girl just because you think you're at the right age?"

Silence lingered between the three of us for a while. Whether my companions were mocking me mentally for my almost-mature piece of advice, or if they were contemplating on their decisions — I couldn't make sure for Oliver at all, as usual — I didn't know. When Piko finally spoke with a nervous laugh, it alleviated the nervousness I didn't know I was feeling, as there was the critical line that separated one's words from leading another person to either success or utter destruction. And I didn't want to have such a lasting, awful impression on anyone at all, if anyone would remember me in all my clandestinity.

"Man," he scratched the back of his neck, as if to make sure his head was still in place. "I'm bad at this."
I could understand the gesture very well; all decisions were a battle, and in a like situation you had the greatest tendency to get your head sliced off cleanly.

"But really. I need to get it together."
"Don't worry, man. We're bad at this as well, and that does seem like a good idea." the boy with the bandages added from the other side, a small chuckle coming from behind his pale lips. I looked at him. He kept his gaze on Piko. It didn't necessarily mean he was maintaining eye contact with the former; he might have been staring at his forehead, his neck, his ear — anything to keep him from feeling giddy about actually showing the faintest glimmer of geniuine emotion. I had no idea whether or not he knew I was watching him, and was doing this on purpose, faking honesty — no matter how ironic — just to make me believe he was finally humane. He might simply have gotten better at his pretentious stunts, now capable of bringing light to his eyes no matter how slight. It might also be a form of improvement on his side, or a deterioration on my part, neglecting the least of the factors that would point out to how he was playing this moment out in his head. To be frank, I had gotten confused as well, but unlike my previous encounters with his scarily empty benevolence in regards to emotions, I now cared less and less.

To me, I was just playing the part of Fukase, and I haven't been trying all that hard to 'understand' him all too recently.

Piko squeezed both my and Oliver's shoulders, reassuring us about his newfound gratefulness.
"Thanks for listening, Oliver, Fukase. I'm really glad to have friends like the two of you."
He left with a smile, one that would have warmed my heart were I to live in the past. That afternoon the three of us met up at the school gates, hung out like the good friends we were. It was the most fun I've had in a long time, and when the time came for us to part ways, it was only I who had to go to a separate way before anyone. I rode the train, the two of them seeing me off as if I were a relative that they would not be seeing for a long time. That might have served a little bit true, for our relationship was close to that of brothers, and who knows what kind of circumstances would hit me at the speed of this vehicle in the near future?

I looked away from them when I could no longer see their small figures in the distance. I sat down on the half-empty seat, resting my head on the glass window. I closed my eyes, not expecting them to open again, nor was I hoping to have the light reflect off my retinas once more.