DARCY, DARCY.

1. your story to tell

1.

     Richard Vamir died almost a month ago and Clair still hadn't moved on.

     It was not entirely visible. You could only see it if you looked closely at the cracks, at the locker left untouched in the dormitory or the seat assigned to him in Moore's Design Strategy classes. And, if you dug deeper, you could see it in the idle chair sitting by the window in Samaira Sheikh's dormitory―the chair that had, in a sense,belonged to Richard. It was empty in a way that made it look like Samaira was almost expecting him to come back, talk about his day and sit down on the plush purple velvet covers to look out of the window while she sat on her desk completing the rest of her pre-mid projects in silence. It was like they were all expecting him to come back and quote pretentious poems, like they were all living their lives wasting every moment in memories.

     All except one.

     Han Kai Tuo had been the first one to arrive at the roof after getting the ominous message from Richard and he knew more than what was just there. He refused to believe Richard committed suicide, contrary to the popular belief among the townsfolk, and today was no exception. He sat on the edge of Samaira's bed, glaring at the white bedspread with lilac undertones. "This isn't right," he said, after a while.

     Dante, who was sprawled on the faux purple fur carpet playing catch all by himself, glanced up. "Kai―" he said with a tired sigh, "―let's just forget that happened okay. Please."

     Kai could not. He could not forget what had happened, he could not unsee it. It was engraved in his brain; branded on his skin. He knew Richard hadn't committed suicide, they all did―but saying even one word of it, just a word, would make them all the prime suspects, no matter what their alibis said.

     "We saw him, he was right there―"

     "Kai!" Samaira, who had been sitting on the desk quietly for a while, slapped the top hard enough for it to resound across the room. "Shut up. Shut up. We saw nothing. We came after he left."

     Kai opened his mouth to retort and shut it back, deciding to lie down on his back instead. He was still wearing his shoes, so he just lay there awkwardly with his feet on the ground and eyes on the whites of the ceiling while his mind floated somewhere else. That day when they'd reached the roof, they weren't alone. There was a man. Black hoodie. Black mask. He'd pushed Richard off. He'd sent them the text. He was the one who'd killed Richard. Kai's jaw flexed and tightened and he sat up again.

     "This isn't right," he repeated.

     "Well damn Sherlock," Dante said. "What do you want to do, then? Tell the police? We've kept quiet about it for a month and we are of legal age. We'll be doomed."

     "We need to do something, we can't just stay here wallowing knowing that our friend was murdered!"

     The silence that followed was terrible. Kai's head ached, and he felt clammy underneath his yellow hoodie. The floor-length mirror in the room's corner made the bags under his eyes look weary and tired and the small silver ear piercings look unnecessary. He ran a hand through the messy black strands of his hair and turned to look at Samaira.

     "You are the sensible one. Do you think this is right?"

     Samaira turned to face them after five hours of ignoring their existence. The look she gave him was tired, it made something inside him drop. They had all been so close and now there was nothing they could manage to tell each other, nothing they could manage to say. They were all dealing with Richard's death in different ways; Filippa had started smoking again and Dante quit the Basketball team, Samaira worked herself to the bone and Kai? He was just hanging in there, not fully there to the conclusion but enough to feel the empty worry in his heart.