Another day passes in Kriste Sanctor.
The sun had clocked out by the time Kyrie got out of their shift. Working overtime in that school was just as fun as working there normally, being not at all. It was a lot less draining on their psyche having the campus be so silent, but it was still the same school, and there's not really much to salvage from that. They would've stayed longer considering the tasks they were given throughout the day, but they weren't interested in dying quite yet, so they decided against it. They'd probably be daydreaming through the workload to cope with working with five people who blend together in their head.
Most of the people there blended together in their head. The few who didn't were usually worse. The only names that linger are people they hate, or at least felt some form of animosity towards. Others are indistinct chatter and roadblocks in the hallway. It's not something they take pride in—why would they?—But at this point, that's what they are to everyone else.
At least the walk to their dormitory was calming. As calming as could be in such an urban environment, at least. All they know is that it's much better than being stuck in that echo chamber for eight more hours. The sounds of cars shooting past and the subtle, deep hums of the nearby buildings were an ambiance that they were familiar with by that point. The bright whites, warm yellows, and striking blues kept their eyes stimulated enough to not fall asleep in the middle of the sidewalk. The cold winds certainly didn't help, though.
They do miss their headphones. It broke on the way back—they're planning on getting a new one at the end of the week—and now they're stuck plodding down the noisy street without the usual punk rock blaring in their ears. It's not terrible, but it was only a matter of time before they got sick of the general commotion outside. Not even twelve hours in, and they felt like they'd been starved.
Temperature wasn't awful, too—luckily, the area wasn't that congested, so they could breathe without having to get a whiff of some random person's sweat while crushed by the heat. Instead, they got the lovely smell of incredibly bitter smoke. Just as bad, but at least it was windy. They could trust the nighttime to give them wind. A warmup to the dormitory, they suppose.
They reached the dormitory after a short walk. Kriste Sanctor wasn't too close to it, but it was close enough where a tricycle would be overdoing it. Stepping through the glass doors and taking a stroll through the oddly bohemian reception area, they felt the moderately cool temperature outside get replaced by a strong, frigid breeze emanating throughout the place. Stay too long, and they'd turn into frozen deli.
They rushed to the elevator, letting the vibrant, warm lighting get swapped over by a drab, bland box. Worst part of going home is sitting through this boring-ass cube. It was preferable to walking up several flights of stairs, though, so who were they to complain? They leaned on the wall behind them, latching onto the railings as the elevator continued to lift, struggling to keep themselves from flopping onto the floor like it was their bed.
The elevator doors opened to the familiar, lengthy hallway. Doors upon doors stretching down a dingy, empty, echoey hallway. And they thought they'd be finished with the walking. "Just a few more steps away," they grumbled. "Just a few more steps away, then I'll get my damn rest." It wasn't like this was their first time walking down—it's usually the last thing they see before sleeping in—but it was never something to look forward to, and much less so now that they didn't have anything else to put their attention into. At least when they get there, they could just immediately pass out.
Kyrie eventually stood in front of the door to their room—Room 315—and knocked. They tried twisting the knob, but that didn't work, so they stuffed their hands into their jacket as they awaited a response from, in all honesty, what they considered as their only true friend. It's no surprise that he's from the school next door.
"Nobody's home, sorry."
"Casper, come on."
"Alright, fine."
The door swung open, and there stood Casper, leaning on the doorframe. He couldn't get a word out before Kyrie pushed past him, tossing their stuff aside and flopping onto the bed, groaning. And there it was—the intense, brisk temperature of the walk-in freezer they called a dorm room. For a room so dull and dingy, they could see the frost building up around their room. Only a matter of time before they saw a blanket of snow on the floor.
Casper scoffed, walking towards a swivel chair by his desk. "Rough day at work?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.
Kyrie sighed, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah." They take off their jacket, tossing it aside as they lie on their bed. "When is it not?"
"Yeah, right," he replied, now sitting on the chair. He chuckled to himself, turning it to face Kyrie. "When's the last time you had an actual good not-shitty school day?"
"I can't remember that far back, Cas," they replied, scoffing humourlessly. They already felt tiredness set in as they remained splayed on the bed, with their body, despite all odds, slowly sinking into the tough mattress.
"Well, I expected as much," Casper said, crossing his legs. He leaned back on the chair. "It's Kriste Sanctor."
Kyrie chuckled. "It is Kriste Sanctor."
Kyrie sighed, slowly fading out of the real world as they mindlessly stared at the ceiling. There wasn't much to see, but they just let themselves go as they stared. "I really don't want to go back tomorrow," they said, their throat feeling like it was lying on itself. "I want to take a break, but the school isn't gonna let me. It has a chokehold on me, or something like that." They sighed. "I don't know. Feels like a contract I can't break."
Casper shrugged. "I mean, you enrolled, and it's a little early to drop out." He tapped his fingers on the armrests, the sounds of his nails clicking on the plastic. "You'll just have to live with it. There's not a lot about the school that's to like—well, outside of the buildings and a couple of the students," he said. "Otherwise, you're surrounded by people that you like for a few days, then get sick of."
"I guess that's fair," Kyrie replied, longingly staring at the window, sounding defeated. "Sometimes, though, I can't help but wish I were in a better school. Kriste Sanctor gets dull after a while."
Casper chuckled. "Well, you ever thought about—"
"Yes, I know you want me to switch to Valderrama," they interrupted, staring at Casper. "It's pretty late into the school year for that, man, I can't do that." They sit back up, turning to face him. "Plus, that place is basically the epicenter for hauntings."
He stared at Kyrie incredulously, a quiet snicker building up from below his throat. "It's a joke, Ree."
Kyrie pauses for a moment, eyes staring blankly. After a while, they realized that the joke was, in fact, a joke. "Oh..." they yawn, eyes remaining blank, though with a glimmer of amazement. Casper couldn't help but laugh harder.
"I forgot you didn't understand jokes!" he said, trying to restrain his cackling.
Kyrie sighed. "Leave me alone, Casper, I'm neurodivergent."
"Oh, I couldn't have guessed!"
Kyrie groaned. "Shut up."
Casper spun around his chair, the squeaks and shuffling making Kyrie's skin crawl. "Seriously, though, you're just gonna have to brave this for a couple more months, and you'll live," he sighed, stretching his arms above his head. "I did, and I freed myself." Casper paused, glancing aside. "Well, to a haunted school, sure, but it's better than real, physical danger."
"I guess you're right," Kyrie yawned, barely being able to suppress their exhaustion. They put their hand on their forehead as they spoke, lidded eyes still locked on the window longingly. "I guess I can live through more shifts," they said, yawning between each word. They chuckled. "Wish I got paid, though."
Casper chuckled, sighing. "You should get some rest. You look like you need it more than usual. Plus, still got some stuff to work on," he said, foot lying on the floor and stopping the swiveling chair. "I'll follow soon enough. Can turn off the lights if you need to."
"No, you'll hurt your eyes," Kyrie slurred.
"Nah, nah. I'll be fine."
"If you say so," Kyrie murmured, before fully closing their eyes. They turn to lean sideways on their barely-comfortable bed, letting themselves drift off to sleep. Their limbs went slack, and the eigengrau warmly embraced them. Tomorrow is another day, and even against rapid thoughts beating against their skull, they're sleeping regardless. They'll have to worry about working themselves to death another day.
It barely took them a minute before they were knocked out cold. They'd forgotten that they were still wearing an old, soaked uniform, with a jacket slowly untying itself around their waist. They weren't even sure they took their shoes off. No point in trying anyway, and it wasn't like Casper stopped them. Was it repulsive? Maybe, but it wasn't like anyone else saw. They doubted that Casper could care more than he always did.
Eventually, they felt the sun bleeding through the window blinds and onto their eyes. Morning. And before their alarm. At least they'll be early, but they aren't exactly gonna get any extra credit. They slowly sat up, the creaking of their bed tapping on their nerves like hammers on piano keys. They gritted their teeth as they sat straight, looking absentmindedly around the warm, dark interior of the room. They breathe in, taking in the soon-to-be-yearned comfort of the air, sighing. Another day.
Kyrie stood up, stretching their arms as their eyes darted for all they needed. None were set for them, as expected. The most notable thing they saw was Casper's laptop still on his desk, and the owner of said laptop fast asleep as if he were hung over. They had to change the long, mind-numbingly dull way for today. It wasn't like they didn't expect it, but preparations would've been nice. Oh well.
By the time Kyrie's alarm blared, they'd finished showering and putting on their school attire. They were still very clearly unkempt, and there was nothing they could do to mask their greyed eyes and slacked limbs, but there wouldn't be a soul who'd notice their haggard appearance. It wasn't unusual for Kriste Sanctor, though—the closest they'd get to ghouls were students with all coffee and no actual sleep (that being a majority of the students).
They looked at themselves in the mirror. Absolutely horrendous. Will do.
Slinging their bag to their back, reaching out for headphones that don't even work anymore, and putting on a beanie they know they'll be told to take off when they get there, they step outside. They were ready to do the same song and dance as they usually did—walk to school, clock in, drone, go back home, crash out. Rinse and repeat, it got old before they even started. Would end up worse now, considering their lack of distractions—now it's just them and their messy, messy thoughts.
And it ended up being as horrible as they expected.
The work day barely had anything going on for them. Same old, same old. The issue was their inability to snuff things out this time. Indistinct chatter became ear-piercing chaos, and the sounds of their colleagues kicking and screaming like they were ten grades below their age didn't ease their distress. They hadn't realized how dependent they had become on their headphones until that very moment, and they nearly broke down. How the hell do people tolerate this? One more hour in this school without their trusty mufflers, they'd combust in their seat.
The library was their promised land. A safe haven for people so easily agitated, such as themselves. It was still difficult not to crash and/or pass out in there, but it was a weight off their shoulders (and their braincells), even if it wouldn't last very long. They couldn't relish in the savory relief of that air-conditioned heaven, though, because they had a mere hour (usually less than that) before they'd get thrown back into the fray. And when they did, the few moments of respite they did get were quickly shown to be in vain. Work is a slow-setting poison, but you feel it every step of the way.
And when they were finally free for the day, stepping out into the cold-yet-comforting highway, Kyrie finally felt like themselves again. For a place more public than the school, they certainly didn't feel like hiding who they were anymore. The walk was still dull compared to how it usually was, but there was still the inherent pleasant aura that the highway had, even against the garish lighting and the stench of smoke. Kyrie knew that their destination would ease the stress of the day, though, even if for a while, so they couldn't hate the walk home.
When they went through the same routine again—enter through the glass doors, feel the embrace of the frigid air, take the dingy elevator up—they were fully prepared to do the same thing as last night. Walk in, have a short chat with Casper, flop into bed and go to sleep. No effort needed, no effort necessary.
But they couldn't yet. There was something waiting for them, just by the door.
On the welcome mat just in front of their door, they see a cardboard box. Took nearly the entire day, but something's finally made things interesting. Kyrie picked up the box and inspected it, checking every corner. It was light on their hands, and it felt like the majority of the box was air. Something was inside it, sure, but it wasn't anything that needed this big of a box. No addressee, no return address, no logos or stickers—there was nothing on that box other than a piece of paper taped on the top. It was sketchy, but whatever was inside, it was too small to be any danger. Plus, who in their right mind would want to kill them?
The first thing Kyrie did was take the paper and unfold it. They hoped it'd give them more background to this strangely enigmatic package.
"I know you're stressed. This'll help you. Call it a courtesy.
- R. P."
Unfortunately for Kyrie, all that note did was confuse them more. They felt less confident that the contents of the package were anything safe, but it was so small, it couldn't have been a threat, right? They wanted to make sure, but they kept staring at the box, dumbfounded, standing in front of the door, as if that would've helped. They could assume it was theirs, but as they looked up towards the door, they grew unsure of that. There wasn't exactly any name-of-receiver written anywhere.
Before long, Kyrie snapped out of their trance. Only now did their exhaustion fall back onto them like a carpet of snow. They placed their hand on the door's handle and turned it, swinging it open. They were surprised to find the room empty—Casper wasn't on the swivel chair, and none of his stuff was inside. He did have a club rally to prepare for, so they could cut him some slack, but it seemed pretty late. They didn't have much of a reason to wonder, though, and they couldn't afford to stand up for any longer, so they threw themselves onto their bed, sitting up.
They took it inside and tore it apart like a feral cat to an innocent pillow. Expecting scraps to fly out like stuffing and cotton, they were surprised to find a nearly empty box, with only a single item inside. It was a red case of wireless earphones. How thoughtful...? They thought they'd get easy answers to these evergreen questions, but this only sprouted more. Whoever this R.P. was, they knew they needed new ones... but they didn't know anyone with those initials.
Kyrie inspected the earphone case. It was a harsh crimson red. There were no labels or logos around it—none that they recognized, anyway—all that they saw was a closed-eye symbol. It made them think of hieroglyphics. And that was all there was on it. Even opening the case, they didn't see anything else. It just looked like a normal set of wireless earphones—maybe a bootleg, but it doesn't feel like one. Even if it was, they'd take anything for now.
They took a shower and changed before they decided to take it for a spin. They couldn't get it out of their head. Even though Casper had been gone for longer than usual, the only thing they could think of was that set of earphones. Something was alluring about that set of earphones. It could've been the mystery of its source, what brand it was, that closed eye symbol, "R.P."... there was so much about them that kept them tied around its finger. It was as if it was calling for them. Beckoning them to put them on and try them.
And they tried them on.
It fit perfectly—much better than the usual earphones they wore. It connected before they were even able to stuff it in their ears, though that wasn't much of a complaint. They lay down on their bed, the coarse bedsheets and brick pillow feeling like clouds as they sank deeper into it. Their music had never felt so clear. Never so calming. It felt euphoric listening to this song. They may not have remembered it feeling this good, but it was hard to complain about such an improvement. Limbs went slack and eyes slowly shut, a smile lingering in their face. They felt relaxed for once.
It was to a point where they slept better than they ever had.
They didn't wake up in the apartment, though. They woke up in an unfamiliar place. The sounds of their air-conditioner humming had faded, and the contrast from their dingy apartment struck them like a needle to the temple. They had woken up in a pure void. At least, that was what they saw first. Standing up from a surface they couldn't see, they heard the sounds of indistinct chatter—the pleasant, ambient kind—fade in as they found where they were in front of.
"Kalayaan High", said the sign they were next to. A path stretched towards a building in the distance, and the name repeated over the doors towards the school. This was their first time seeing this school, or hearing about it, but it felt like they'd studied here all their life. Students surrounded the school, but it looked normal. They didn't have that distinct feeling that conflicts were brewing between students—it felt... nice. The colors were vibrant and pleasing, the ambiance wasn't obtrusive or overwhelming, and the school made them feel warm—a kind of warm they had never felt in Kriste Sanctor. The last time they felt this was when they were in elementary school. And they'd missed this feeling.
"Admiring the view, buddy?"
A tap on their shoulder and an unexpected greeting brought them to their senses. They flinched, turning to face whoever tapped their shoulder. They saw a face they weren't familiar with, but one that didn't scare them as much as they thought. Their smile felt genuine, and their gaze didn't feel sharp on their temples. It felt real. They couldn't see any malice. Even acknowledging the fact that this person knew their name already, they didn't feel scared. It just felt right.
"Uhm... yeah, it looks nice," Kyrie said, unsure of what to say. They couldn't maintain eye contact with the stranger. Even against their warm exterior, they couldn't risk looking like a dweeb. "Though I'm not sure where I am." They looked around the campus. It seemed so foreign, yet so familiar. They glanced at the stranger. "Or who I'm talking to, actually."
"Well, you're in Kalayaan High," said the person. From their green jacket, they took out a hand, combing their dirty-blonde hair aside and holding it out in front of Kyrie. They looked at it, confused, but the person maintained that soft smile. "My name's Brynn," they said. Kyrie hesitated for a moment before taking Brynn's hand. "Welcome to the school! You'll be a lot better off here."
"I'd hope so," Kyrie said. They sighed. "Not much can compare to that place." They were comfortable enough to speak their thoughts here, and they've only been here for a few minutes. This was new for them.
Brynn chuckled, patting them on the shoulder. "I get you, man." They began walking, bringing Kyrie in tow. "Come on, let's get in. Class is going to start soon, you know?"
Immediately, Kyrie picked up their pace, their stroll turning into a panicked jog. Brynn stopped them before they could make any mileage, though. They tried to keep running, but Brynn continued to reassure them. "Whoa, take it easy, Kyrie." They once again patted Kyrie on the back, pulling them back towards them. "I wouldn't worry about being late here."
"Are you sure?" Kyrie asked, still worried for what their classmates would think.
"Of course I'm sure," Brynn replied, still smiling. "I know it's weird for a first-timer, but with me, you'll ease up. Things are better here."
Kyrie was still apprehensive, but they felt comfortable with Brynn around. They felt... free. They kept that soft smile on their face, one that communicated warmth to Kyrie, as they slowly brought them to their classroom. The school wasn't as big as Kriste Sanctor—it was humble, and it didn't overwhelm in its size. The air was calm and cool, and it was peaceful. They weren't sure if culture shock was a good description, but it felt right to call it that, especially after the chaos that they'd grown begrudgingly accustomed to.
They didn't take notice of the name, but it wasn't important. As they stepped in, they saw the students they'd find themselves with in this school. When they expected soft stares or a lack of acknowledgement, a lot of the students there seemed oddly nice to them. Said hi, showed them the ropes—they all just seemed like nice people. People whom they weren't afraid of. People they could trust. It was so much better than they were used to—they'd feel culture shock, but they adjusted so quickly.
They could only enjoy it for so long, though. As Kyrie grew accustomed to the people of Kalayaan High—their quirks and traits they inhabited enough to ward off any private school staff—they slowly lost grip on reality. It had always been in the back of their mind, but that image of the drab dorm room blurred as they slowly got used to the glossy textures and bright colors that whispered optimism. They wanted to cling onto it so desperately—anything to avoid whatever the real world had for them. They just wanted to stay there, just for a little longer. They'd gotten so immersed in this scenic, idealized version of a school that they began to forget...
...but fate had to remind them of the truth.
It was inevitable, but Kyrie felt that rush of serotonin dissipate instantly as they woke up from their deep slumber. The sun had risen and bled through the blinds, a streak of light painted over their eyes. The room was bitter and frigid, and the clock had just struck noon. They sat up, slowly processing their reality, their head heavier than tungsten and limbs as slack as a rope. Their stomach stung and their head ached as if pressed between metal. They looked at the calendar. Wednesday.
And then they realized—it struck noon?!
Without a second thought, Kyrie lurched out of bed, putting themselves together much quicker than yesterday, even more so compared to what they were used to. They barely took a shower. Scoured through their closet like they were a cat to a laser pointer. Grabbed everything they needed and slid into them. Sleeveless, slacks, socks, shoes, polo shirt, done. Sprayed enough cologne to prevent a drought. Swiped everything they needed—and their earphones—and dashed past the door. The world spun, but they needed to outrun it.
Waiting for the elevator would've taken too much time. They dashed down the staircase. Ran past the glass doors of the dormitory. Couldn't take in the urban aura or the fresh air. The vivid sights were unnecessary junk in their mind. Didn't process it. Just kept running. Sidewalk after sidewalk, crossing after crossing—they had no room to pause, not when they're this late to school. A single half-day maybe wouldn't have been so bad. But doing an hour or two of community service would've been worse.
Before long, they reached the school. Rushed through the gates as fast as they could. Roadblocks bubbled anger, but they had to keep it buried. That warmth they felt had never been so appetizing until now. They had to get used to the bitter cold again. They looked around the school for a moment. People outside, people they recognized. It's already lunch break. They're everywhere now.
Kyrie took a deep breath. Then they ran up the staircase. Passed by several students. First set. Then the next. Then the next. Legs are getting tired, but they keep going. Nobody to greet, thankfully. Can still feel eyes hovering over them, though. Not like it's anything new. Whatever. They walked up the next. Then the last.
Kyrie stumbled onto the railing, their head spinning. They took a deep breath, taking in the fresh air. It was fresher than the road, but not enough for them to want to stay here longer than necessary. They could have done this after reaching their classroom, but they didn't feel like entering that echo chamber just yet. Sure, they may be late, but they'd be a dead man soon enough, so why not enjoy what they can now? Their classroom is close by, anyway.
After taking a breather, they stepped off the railing and began walking down the hallway. The figures of fellow students that surrounded them as they walked molded into beige blobs, their conversations turning into indistinct and irrelevant noise. Every other classroom and every other sight blurred. There was only their classroom, and it was all that mattered then. Everything else was just a roadblock.
Kyrie eventually made it to their classroom. They didn't have the energy or the interest to interact with colleagues—they'd be doing enough of that later on anyway. They fell into their seat by the window, hung their bag on a hook on their table, took out their headphones, and slept—or tried to. They'd never not felt like they were in the weeds, but now it felt like they were drowning in it. The thought of talking to the prefect kept lingering over their head as they kept their eyes shut tight—too tight for comfort.
Though after a while of sleeping and deliberately ignoring questions, everything began to fade. The noise of the cacophony bleeding through the earphones started to disappear, as well as the noises of people trying to approach. Their hand, still resting on their desk, felt like it was slowly fading. Not even the thought of being sanctioned hung over them for too long. They couldn't be sure, but they could see a white light slowly enter their vision.
"Kyrie, dude, wake up," a classmate said.
They opened their eyes and sat straight, looking around. Everybody was standing up, looking at them. They couldn't read their eyes, but they could barely focus on them anyway. Their seatmate was crouched to their level, one of their earphones in their hand. Past the doorframe, they saw their teacher talking to someone outside. That someone, they could recognize. The height. The clothes. The glasses. Those eyes. Their heart had already sunk far deep, but the sight of her practically tore it out of their chest.
Their seatmate took a deep breath, their face strained. It was as if they were as worried as they were. "Kyrie, Ms. Lacapriyo's looking for you."
It was inevitable, but it didn't make it easy. Madam Kapre. They're dead.
They stood up, trudging their way towards the door, where their teacher and Ms. Lacapriyo had been talking. They stared at the two of them, trying to hide the unfaltering dread that bubbled. Their heart rate skyrocketed and their palms grew sweaty, but they kept that deadpan, almost emotionless expression. It was like trying to look more intimidating to fend off a bear. Ms. Lacapriyo was smarter than that.
"Hello, Ms. Agotado." She turned to face Kyrie, her signature piercing expression staring at them, digging daggers into wherever they would bleed the most. Wasn't helped by how she referred to them as. Their teacher stepped back into the classroom, leaving them alone with Ms. Lacapriyo, and the rest of the school disappeared. It was just those two in the fires of Hell now.
They sucked in a breath. "Good afternoon, ma'am."
"We have a lot to talk about."
Kyrie remained silent. She turned around, taking a breath, and marched toward the staircase. She seemed so coordinated. So militaristic. No wonder people were afraid of Madam Kapre. Didn't help that they heard a prayer as they walked—it was as if it were an omen for what'd happen next. "Follow me."
Ms. Lacapriyo walked down the stairs, and Kyrie followed suit, the world closing in on them as their surroundings faded into nothingness. The march was dreadful—a silent, almost solemn atmosphere encompassing the empty halls they were enclosed in, once full of energy and signs of life, now blank—as if they were trudging through a no man's land.
Such dramatic flair for a trek to a prefect of discipline, but with Ms. Lacapriyo's notoriety, they didn't know what else to feel.
Eventually, they were brought into the Prefect of Discipline. A piercing chill washed over them as they went through the doorframe—it was a harsh contrast to the classrooms they'd grown accustomed to. The silence was deafening, and it tightened their throat. That may also have been the room's alkaline, almost clinical smell. They sat down on the couch against Ms. Lacapriyo's desk—scratched and beaten up. She approached and sat on her pristine office chair, posture completely straight. Almost robotic.
She had yet to utter a word since she first laid eyes on Kyrie, but the eye contact she maintained told them all they needed to know. It wasn't like they wanted to initiate a conversation, not with her. They remained still, their emotionless expression a mask for the fear that crawled under their skin. The tense aura wrapped around their neck.
After a while of silence, she spoke.
"So, I'm sure you're aware of why you're here," she said. Her glasses did nothing to shield them from her sharp gaze.
Kyrie took a breath. "Yes."
"Then do tell me what you did?"
Kyrie adjusted in their seat. They couldn't get the words out properly, much less look her in the eye, not properly. "I was late," they said, voice attempting to match Ms. Lacapriyo's monotone. "Very late. I arrived during lunchtime."
"Mhm," she murmured. She cocked her head, eyebrows raised. "Do you have any explanation for this? An excuse letter, maybe?"
Kyrie sighed. "No."
"Doctor's report?"
"No."
"Anything at all, outside of word of mouth?"
Kyrie paused, her eyes looking at the tiled floors. They were frozen in their seat, unable to lift their head back up. Her piercing gaze lacerated their skin. Their eyes twitched. "No."
"Why were you absent, then?"
"I overslept."
They were silent for a moment. "You overslept?"
"Yes. I don't know what else—"
"You can stop there," she said. "That's all that's necessary to say."
She leaned onto her chair, the creaks of the hinges breaking the silence and the humbuzz. Her head limped backward onto the headrest, the cold discontentment radiating out of her stare. Kyrie caught a glimpse of it, gaze wandering around the room, and as soon as they saw her eyes, they were paralyzed. They'd never longed for a dream this much.
Ms. Lacapriyo opened a drawer in her desk and took out a piece of paper. She took a pen from a penholder, taking off the cap with a strange precision to it. It was smooth, fluid—she must've done this many times now. She wrote something down on the paper. Kyrie wanted to do or say something, but they felt chained.
When she finished writing, Ms. Lacapriyo slid the paper towards Kyrie, who promptly took a look. Her eyes pointed towards them. Their arms were freezing cold, and their stone-faced expression began to show cracks. "Fill it in," she said. "Just where the checks are." Ms. Lacapriyo remained eerily still, and Kyrie couldn't bear to look.
They filled in everything they needed to. Name, section, name of teacher, offense, pledge, all that. They'd droned through it and stuck with what they knew would appeal to the higher-ups. It did not reflect how they felt about the school or the prefect, but if they wrote about how much they hated the school and how unwelcome they felt, they'd probably get some more minutes tacked onto the inevitable amount of community service they'd undergo.
Eventually, they passed it back to Ms. Lacapriyo. She read through it, her rigid stance remaining the same, as they rapidly tapped on the table. Heart wouldn't stay stable. Just kept speeding up. Nothing could ease that worry of theirs, or make them stop twitching their fingers.
She puts the paper into another drawer, clearing out her desk. "That will be all. The penalty for being absent without any doctor's notice or excuse letter equals two hours of community service. I appreciate the honesty, but you won't get any benefit from that." She looked at Kyrie. "You're scheduled for later dismissal, at the Storage Room." Kyrie nodded.
Ms. Lacapriyo glared at them. "You may leave, Kyrie. I hope to see you there."
And Kyrie stepped out of the prefect. They walked up the staircase, still shivering from the cold. The silence was deafening. Their mind was basically blanked out, their expression just as. Then they walked to their classroom—thankfully, the teacher had left, so no roadblock to worry about, just office drones—and sat on their chair, staring intently at the window. A bird flew in the distance, the trees blowing in the wind, even the ones directly by the window. All that sleep they had felt inconsequential. It felt like a grievance.
Kyrie kept tapping their fingers on the table. They could barely keep their eyes open, much less pay attention to the drivel their supervisor was spewing, nor could they care about whatever their colleagues were doing—this was the best they could do to keep themselves awake. It sounded quiet, but it could've just been them pushing that all away. Nothing else mattered by then. Their schedule was today, 4:00 pm, and that was all their mind wanted to think about—the sentence, the pink slip. That, and their earphones.
That never seemed to leave the walls of their mind. It stuck onto them like it was duct tape. It had been stuffed in their bag along with most of their belongings—wallet, handkerchief, pencil case—and amongst all the green and blue, the striking, shimmering carmine stuck out like a rose growing among drying grass. The closed eye symbol stuck out into the opening, staring at them against what it depicts. There was nothing else about it that should've kept them as captivated over that case, and yet here they were, and they wanted to put them on again.
After a while, they caved in and put them on. The next subject was something they cared very little for (then again, that applied to most subjects), so they didn't exactly consider any risks—but at that point, they were too worn down to care. They couldn't help but let out a yawn as the music took hold of their brain once again, their head growing heavier than their eyelids. Their arms grew limp, and their body slowly felt weaker. Relaxed. Like they would faint at any moment.
A tap on their shoulder snapped them awake. They craned their head to their seatmate, who—for a split second—had that same green jacket on. Instead, they just saw the same dull white uniform and khaki pants. "Are you alright? You look like you've barely gotten sleep," he asked, head tilted.
They tried to respond, but all that came out were murmurs. He leaned closer, squinting. "Do you need to take a nap?"
"No, I—I'm fine," they stammered, dropping their leadened head onto their hand. "Actually, I just had too much sleep." They blew a raspberry, resisting the urge to doze off in the middle of the conversation. "Not like I have any of that energy left."
"Unlucky." He turned to face the front. "You sure you're okay? I've never seen your eyes so grey."
"Madam Kapre."
He chuckled. "Rip. To be fair, I'd probably turn out like that, too."
Kyrie chucked humorlessly. They couldn't help but zone out again, the shine in their eyes dulling out.
Their seatmate noticed the change and sighed. "Jeez, she really sucked the life out of you," he said. "Those earphones must be your saving grace."
Kyrie sighed. "I guess it is."
Though the conversation fizzled out, their seatmate still looked at the red earphones, seemingly intrigued by their mystery the same way Kyrie was. By that point, though, Kyrie was too out of their body to even notice. They just stared out the window and thought about... well, they weren't thinking about much at all. They were too tired to bother with that stuff.
Eventually, they felt another tap on their shoulder. "Holy hell, dude, are you sure you don't need a nap?"
"Huh—whuh?" they blurted, eyes darting around the classroom. It wasn't even that long since the last time, but it felt like this was the first. Eventually, their eyes landed on their seatmate. Who was this again? They struggled to remember.
"Oh, Vince, uh—what's—what's up?"
"Dude, I've been calling for you for a while now," he said, leaning back in genuine surprise. "You're really not well, good lord."
"Hah—uh, yeah, not really." Kyrie let out a dry laugh, not in disinterest but more so in the inability to show interest. Their stutter and slurred delivery were already somewhat evident, but now it's clear as day—harder to hide when you can't talk faster than a jet plane. "Why, what do you need?"
"Don't need anything. Just wanted to ask..." He squinted, leaning closer. Kyrie shuffled away. "...where'd you get those earphones?"
Kyrie stopped and turned to the wall. They doubted it would be possible for them to say how they actually found it, not if they wanted to keep some dignity left. They could probably imagine the reaction—"You dumbass, why'd you do that?" Best not to find out how that could go. So they had to cobble something up themselves. So slowly...
"I, uh... I don't know. My, uh... my friend gave it to me."
"Your roommate?"
"...yeah, him."
"Ah, cool. Have you asked him what it is? Seems pretty effective if you've been practically deaf the past few minutes."
They chuckled. "I guess it is."
And the conversation stopped there. Kyrie stopped playing music so as not to lose track of whatever the discussion was about, but they just couldn't get themselves to take both of them off. Maybe they wanted to listen to it when things got loud, maybe it just didn't feel right not to. Regardless, it stayed on their head, like it was latched to their ears. And the day went on normally, just with a Kyrie that was more tired than normal.
Throughout the rest of the day, they couldn't get their mind off their dream. Even as they had discussions or as they were called to speak, their mind was clouded. They thought about Kalayaan High more than they did the school they were even at. They thought about Brynn more than they did any of their classmates. They thought they saw the green jacket outside at one point—it's hard to mistake that shade of green for anyone else—but they never got a good look. They had a feeling, just a feeling, that they were teetering off the edge.
Eventually, the bell rang. Normally, a sign of sweet relief for Kyrie, but today it was a prelude to unpaid overtime. How fun. They went to the assigned room, had Ms. Lacapriyo give them instructions, and were left with a massive pile of messed-up junk for them to organize. They felt like they were about to run a marathon.
Kyrie soon found out that the community service they were assigned to wasn't terrible. It was just exceedingly frustrating and mind-numbing, not helped by their thoughts flooding out of their mind like a waterfall. They've always treated school like a job, but this was basically that concept literalized. The task was to just organize the storage room's things. Mostly books, stationery, old props for plays that seemed to never happen again... not much interesting sights to see, except maybe the few props that felt more like heirlooms.
They particularly took notice of a yo-yo that seemed to be collecting dust, really far back in one of the shelves. They had a go with it for a bit before realizing they do not know how a yo-yo works. Outside of the yo-yo, the assignment was really dull. Any longer than the two allotted hours, and they'd have fallen asleep on the storage room's couch. Though their music definitely helped them stay awake.
While they were fixing stuff, the sun started to set. It's strange how dependent they've grown on music at this point. Last time it was taken away, they lost their mind—more than they usually do, anyway. Now that they have it back, they can function... though, they do still need a break after this. They could feel their limbs getting weaker as they continued...
More books shoved into place, more weights on their back. More dust brushed off the shelves, more fog brewed in the brain. The music kept them alive, but for only a moment—soon enough, they felt that same familiar lull that got them to sleep last time. The music was relaxing, almost hypnotizing in a way they'd never heard from their earphones before. But they couldn't help but accept it. They landed on the couch, and fulfilled that worry—and it hadn't even been two hours.
Maybe they should've kept going until they wrapped up the two hours—maybe they should've taken a nap earlier. Regardless... they just wanted to go back to school.
And they woke up at the same place—the pure void, the void they've grown familiar with despite having only been here once before. It felt comfortable, more than they've felt at any point in Kriste Sanctor. Maybe the cool air helped—not too cold, not warm, just the right temperature. And it already felt like home.
"Hey, you came back!" said a familiar voice. Kyrie looked behind them, and once again, they saw Brynn. "I knew you'd like it here."
Kyrie chuckled, slowly easing into the familiar environment. "Yeah, I guess I do like it a lot." They had a strange feeling underneath their satisfaction. It was nice to have this dream again, having a moment of respite after the hell-and-back experience that their work gives them, but there was a light feeling regarding how... similar it is. "Similar" isn't even appropriate—it was basically the same place. The same school, the same void—and Brynn especially. There was something about Brynn appearing again that felt odd... but this was only the second time. It would be hard for them to judge just from that.
They can live another night in this school. It never failed to relieve them, and they doubted it'd sap their energy half as much as Kriste Sanctor did.
"That's good to hear, man," Brynn said, patting their shoulder. "Now, we shouldn't take too long. School's still school, after all." They chuckled as the two of them walked towards the entrance. It felt like they were both floating in the air. "We're basically inseparable, aren't we?"
Kyrie was a little confused, but... no, there wasn't really anyone else they could stick with so closely. Even in Kalayaan, they couldn't talk to strangers if it saved their life. They chuckled. "I suppose so, yeah." Brynn grinned. They seemed satisfied. Brynn grabbed Kyrie's hand, and they walked into the school.
As they walked, though, Kyrie caught a glance at a place in the distance. They couldn't see it well, but it looked like an old-timey diner. The type of place you'd see in the '80s, or something. It was hard to see from so far away, but they could read the sign, only barely—"LA IRREAL, FOR YOUR REFUGE." Even as they walked into the school with Brynn, feeling their soft hand on theirs, they couldn't get their eyes off it. And it was hard for Kyrie to draw their attention away from Kalayaan High.
They stopped, still looking, and Brynn had to lightly tap them on the cheek. "Hey, buddy, something caught your eye?" they asked, trying to hook their attention back. Brynn stepped to their view, turning to that diner—it stuck out compared to the school, the only other thing in the void. It was warm and dark—inviting, sure, but in a way that felt stranger. Alluring, but not comforting.
Brynn chuckled, swiping Kyrie's hand and snapping them out, as they kept walking to their classroom. "Alright, let's just carry on. We can go there some other time, okay? Just not now." They sighed. "Seems closed, anyway." Kyrie didn't pay it any mind. It felt odd, but they didn't pay any mind. Their sanctuary was here, after all. They couldn't know for sure what lay there, but at the end of the day, it could just be a background element in this dream. Something that shouldn't be too significant. It just... looked interesting.
Once again, they entered the classroom and felt the weight on their shoulders dissipate. They couldn't talk straight, but they didn't feel like they had to. They felt welcomed, and that was all they really needed. And Brynn was there and kept them from completely going off the cuff. They seemed nice still, talking and sharing some stuff about the school. It felt so smooth and buttery, their conversations. But one thing still remained in Kyrie's mind as this all went on—and so they asked Brynn...
Kyrie tapped Brynn's shoulder, still busy talking to another student. They turned to face Kyrie. "Oh, buddy! What's up?"
Their eyes darted across the tiles. "Hey, I have a question..."
"Oh, really? Go ahead!" Brynn replied.
It took them a moment to say respond. They had no reason to fear mentioning it, but it felt as though earlier that Brynn wanted them to avoid it. Maybe there's a reason? Maybe whatever's in there isn't something Brynn would want to talk about. Would that hurt whatever relationship those two have? What would it do?
"Hey, dum dum, what's the question?"
Kyrie immediately got sent back to reality. "Oh, uh, haha, sorry..." they stammered, trying to collect their thoughts back like they dropped them out of their bag. "I was just... thinking about the place earlier."
Brynn tilts their head. Their smile faltered—very subtly, but Kyrie could notice the slight dip in their smile. "Oh, that building?" they asked, chuckling humorlessly. "There's nothing much interesting in there. Just don't go there."
Kyrie glanced to the side. "Uh, okay? What's, uh, what's in there, anyway?"
"Nothing important, don't think about it, okay?" Brynn replied. Their grin slowly grew back. "You've got a perfectly good place here!"
Kyrie smiled back, but they felt conflicted. Something told them that Brynn was hiding something from them. Dodging questions about that 'diner'. "For your refuge." That phrase circled their mind, bouncing across the walls of their brain. There has to be a reason why that's there, right? And what could that mean? "For your refuge." Just its existence felt strange. It stuck out in the white void, and even compared to Kalayaan High, it felt like a sore thumb.
But they shouldn't worry about it so much, they thought. Kyrie was fine here. Kyrie was fine with Brynn. Kyrie would be—
"Kyrie Agotado."
Immediately, they woke up to see something horrifying at the foot of the couch—they thought it a sleep paralysis demon, but it was worse. It was the prefect, Ms. Lacapriyo, standing by the door. The music stopped, he sun had fully set, and the school was dark outside of the few lights that were turned on. "What happened to you? The school's going to be locked up soon."
Kyrie rolled off the couch, landing on the floor, and immediately jumped up to stand. The earphones fell, but they had no time to pick them up. Their heart raced. "Oh, miss Lacapriyo, I—I'm sorry, ah..." they stuttered, trying to figure out how the hell they were meant to explain what had happened. She wouldn't take "I had a dream" as an excuse. They were dead where they stood. "I—I didn't, I—"
Ms. Lacapriyo cleared her throat. Kyrie tensed up and shut their mouth. She slowly stepped inside the storage room. In the dark, they could see her eyes. Hovering over each shelf. Each box. Each little trinket and item. Like she was analyzing it. Scanning it. Kyrie couldn't move an inch. Even if they wanted to back away, they were stuck standing there.
She turned to face Kyrie. They drew a sharp breath, eyes widening, struggling to maintain composure. They could feel a tear slowly bubble in their eyelid. Ms. Lacapriyo slowly approached them. They felt like they were dead. It was a stretch, but this display of behavior was pathetic. Kyrie could only wonder what was going through that brain of hers. "God, how are you still in this school? You've shown nothing but disastrous behavior, and you should probably be expelled. How would your classmates feel? Your parents? Your—"
Before long, Ms. Lacapriyo wipes the tear off their face. "Relax," she said. "You're fine." Kyrie couldn't help but stare at them, the burst that was bubbling slowly quieting down. She stepped away once again.
"What...?"
"You're fine. You cleaned up well enough. You just have to do this again. 30 minutes tomorrow." She looked at Kyrie once again. "Get some rest. At your house. Parents must be worried." And before they could process what just happened, she walked away.
Kyrie, still standing, couldn't wrap their head around what had just happened. They sat back down on the couch, staring blankly into the distance, while they tried putting their thoughts back together after that encounter had shattered everything with a sledgehammer. They were comforted by the school's equivalent of the boogeyman? It was the bare minimum, but it was still unusual. Especially for this school. They'd always been scared of her ever since she got here, but that felt so kind, especially from someone known for being colder than a walk-in freezer. That broke the image of her in their head. God, their standards are so low.
Eventually, Kyrie snapped out of their trance, realizing how cold it had gotten. The moonlight shone through the windows, and the sounds of crickets struck their temples—it was already a quarter to seven, nearly forty-five minutes past clock-out time, and they still hadn't gotten a step outside of school. Kyrie, with their heart pulsing beneath their numbed body, grabbed their stuff from the ground and sprinted through the empty school.
As they ran down the empty halls, lights illuminating their path out of here, their vision warped—the dimly-lit walls and cold grey lockers morphed to the bright, cotton-slicked walls of Kalayaan High. The quiet chatter faded in and out of their ears, and the sights of students flicker in and out from the shadows past the light. It could just be their stress blurring their vision—or blurring reality itself, it's hard to say—but they just had to get to the dorm, and things would be fine.
Kyrie sped past the gate, sprinting down the sidewalk. With the stress that dragged them down the asphalt, they had no time to appreciate the lights. They were all streaks of colors that they could barely recognize. They struggled to keep themselves on the concrete path, dodging poles and piles and the occasional person like they were in hot pursuit—in truth, what they were chasing was getting some rest. Despite the obstacles, it felt like they were flowing down the street like water.
The sounds of beeps and skids muffled under the sounds of beating drums, cool air magnifies to harsh winds as sweat covered them, and the smell of smog and sewage came and went in the blink of an eye. Kyrie's mind was barely focused on anything more than getting back to the dorm. Their sprint continued to wear them out, but they couldn't rest until they reached the foot of their room. They just had to get back, and things would be fine.
Time passed, and they spotted the sign shining bright in the darkness of the night—Casa de Hojas Dormitory. With that sight, they breathed a deep sigh of relief—but they weren't done with their sprint just yet. They needed to get into their room and pray to whoever the hell's above them that Casper doesn't question anything.
Once Kyrie stepped through the doors, they felt the bitter cold of the air conditioners cut through their skin like needles. Any longer they stood there, and they'd probably get hypothermia. They had no time to waste in there—they needed to go to their dorm room. Passing out in the middle of the lobby didn't exactly sound pleasant.
They took the elevator. Stairs sounded unpleasant, especially after wearing their legs out. And there was nothing to distract them in here. It was a small box of nothing to cool down after the sprint. It felt like they just ran a marathon. They didn't want to walk any longer, but their room was just a few more steps away. Once they reach the third floor, it's just a few more steps away. Then they'll get that damn rest.
Once the elevator doors opened, Kyrie didn't think twice about sprinting down the hallway. Not many rooms were occupied, but it still felt like they were interrupting people with each step they made on the carpeted floor. They constantly glanced at the numbers of the rooms. 308—They saw the guy in there once during lunch. 310—That room's always been mysterious to them. 312—College students scare them. 314—The person in that room was terrible at math. 316—bingo.
Knock, knock. They slammed their knuckles against the door repeatedly. Knock knock knock. "Hey, Casper? Can you open the door?"
Casper was silent for a moment. "Nobody's home."
"Not the time for that," Kyrie sighed.
"Alright, alright."
The door opened, and Kyrie immediately flopped into bed. Didn't even have time to put their bags away—they just jumped right to it. They got that damn rest. Suddenly, the weights on their shoulders grew lighter. The room was silent for a moment—not like Kyrie noticed, or was conscious enough to notice.
"Good lord. What the hell happened to you?"
Kyrie murmured through their pillow, "Wooooooork..."
"You said that last time, and you didn't look so messed up," Casper said. "Something else happened? Saw a ghost?"
"No, but I almost became one," Kyrie replied, voice as coarse as sandpaper. "Prefect."
"Oh," he said, seemingly mimicking them. "Oh, Kyrie, didn't know you were nasty."
"Shut up, Cas, I literally just woke up late!"
"Not being on time?! Scandalous!"
Kyrie snaps their head to Casper. "Cas."
Casper backed away. "Jeez, dude!" he gasped. His sarcastic tone disappeared, almost as if it was never there. "I know that place is stressful, but not to that point!" He turned his chair back to the laptop. "I guess you're just too tired, huh?"
"Yes, now stop talking."
Casper groaned. "Jesus..."
The room fell silent. All outside the hum of the air-conditioner, Casper tapping at the keys of his board, and the rustling of Kyrie as they try to figure out how to properly sleep. Nothing but ambience. The temperature has done nothing but grow colder, colder, colder—and they're too tired to tell Casper to change anything, so they decided to merely endure the freezing temperatures. They knew it'd probably backfire, but it was too late to care.
Eventually, Kyrie started playing the music again. It was a miracle the earphones never fell off—throughout all that sprinting and heaving, they didn't move an inch—it was like they didn't want to get off, either. And once the music began entering their ears, they immediately felt the stress fade away from them, flowing out from their veins. They knew how this would go—after a while of senses fading, they'd return to Kalayaan High. And they'd be okay there.
Once they woke up, feeling the embrace of the white void and seeing the small building in the distance, Kyrie felt relieved. They walked through the doors, and at the sight of the green jacket and dirty-blonde hair, they felt the rope on their hands unfurl. Once Brynn noticed, they waved, a smile on their face. Kyrie couldn't help but smile, too. A soft smile. A satisfied smile. It felt nice to be here again...
The dream went on, and everything seemed fine. Just another ordinary day. The same kind of feeling they'd normally get during the first few minutes of school—that feeling of normalcy they felt listening to their entire class talking on and on, not because they listen to what they're saying but because it felt right hearing those noises—though, now, they felt more of a contributor than a spectator. No wonder people do this; talking to people is fun.
In the back of their mind, though, they knew that this'd end soon. This feeling of belonging, of feeling good. And sure enough, they heard those violins...
"Ree, dude, get up," Casper said. "Your alarm's blaring."
Kyrie, barely awake, shifted on their bed. "Can't you just..." They paused. "...turn it off?"
"Maybe, yeah, but you've been asleep for..." Casper stopped, and they could hear the sound of his swivel chair sliding away. "...about 12 hours. New record."
Kyrie groaned. "Oh no..."
Then they remembered what they had to do today. Overtime. "Oh, no."
Soon enough, Kyrie started their routine, kicking it into overdrive. They began to change. Snatched everything they dropped on the floor the night before. Sprinted through the dorm. Then out the dorm. Then down the cold street, with their hair blowing in the wind. Still soaking wet. Once they got to school, it dried, but their neck was freezing. Their vision was blurry. Breath shortened. They got to school just before the bell rang. They reached their classroom, and the rest of the day melted together in their head.
They only remember the dream they had. It was a very different dream. It was still in Kalayaan High, but it was like they were there at night. Kyrie just knew it was night. Nobody was there from where they could see. It was quiet—deathly quiet—leaving Kyrie with a strange emptiness. The lights were off, and the void was darker. And there was only one thing left that they could spot—La Irreal, still alight in the distance.
Kyrie landed their eyes on the building and was immediately hooked. It felt like it was calling to them, beckoning them to investigate. It was almost as if it was calling to Kyrie directly. And they wanted to investigate... but once they did, they felt eyes watching over them. Like they were being watched. Like there was something... breathing down their neck.
Kyrie froze once they felt the warmth to their left. Their head turned to it.
"STAY."
And they woke up. That's all they remembered. They could remember what they saw when they turned... but they didn't want to. And so they don't.
Once they got home, they sat on their chair, taking a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Casper turned to them, still sitting on their chair. "Still messed up, huh?"
Kyrie chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, man." They caught their breath. "Yeah."
"What even happened today?"
Kyrie paused, still trying to recuperate from earlier. They tried to recall what happened. What they went through. What they did today. What they saw. They tried to visualize the day, maybe a short few minutes, that they went through today. And they tried, and they tried—scraping through their brain like they were searching for diamonds in a pile of coal. And the more they tried to dig, the deeper the pit in their chest grew.
Kyrie's eyes widened, staring down through the ground. Casper leaned closer, tilting his head. "What? Something particularly bad happened at work today?" he asked.
"I..." They could barely get the words out. "I can't remember."
Casper stood up, kneeling in front of Kyrie and putting his hand on their shoulder. "What do you mean? Did something—"
"No," Kyrie stuttered, shrugging Casper's hand off, eyes still averse to him. "No, I—I can't remember anything from today."
Casper squinted, back straightening. "What?"
"I—I don't know, Cas. I don't know anymore." Kyrie sighed, standing up. Their limbs felt weak. They put on their earphones, almost on instinct, and they were fully ready to let go of their brain. "Hopefully I'll get good sleep."
Casper squinted. His eyes were drawn to the earphones.
"Alright..." He slowly turned to face his laptop, still looking at Kyrie, who had collapsed on their bed. Once again, they hadn't changed out of their uniform. "You're, uh, lucky it's a weekend."
"I know," Kyrie mumbled, muffled under the pillow.
"Are you gonna change?"
"I'm too tired." Kyrie could barely speak. The words from their mouth poured out like honey from a jar.
"You should take off those earphones, I think."
"What? Why would..." Kyrie stumbled. "...why would I do that?"
"I feel like that's fucking up your sleep schedule."
"I don't know... I don't." Kyrie scoffed, but their energy was practically in the negatives. "Just go to bed, man, your schedule sucks too."
Casper turned his chair to face Kyrie, looking like they had just come home from a huge party hammered. "Sure. But take those off. Maybe if you do, you'll wake up tomorrow."
Kyrie chuckled. "As... as if."
And before they knew it, they slept. And woke up in the same place—the same void, the same school, the same people. Chatter flooded their ears once again. Familiar chatter. Same old chatter. They turned to the school. "Kalayaan High." Still looked just as pristine as ever. They looked around further, recognizing where they stood last time. It wasn't any different from what it usually looked like, but they felt strange.
Kyrie could see the darkness that struck them the last time. They could hear the noises of the school flicker. They could feel the same eyes hovering over them. No breathing... thankfully, no breathing. They didn't feel as safe anymore, not after the last dream. That nightmare. That building—La Irreal—continued to stand tall in the distance. Their eyes couldn't look away. They couldn't help but wonder what was there. But they knew if they did, if they tried to, especially with them, they wouldn't be able to. They'd just get dragged back to work.
They turned around, looking for that particular fit. The blonde hair. The green jacket. The moderate height. Skinny figure. Nothing. If they were there, they blended in among the students. But there was no sight of them... so they could probably go. The coast seemed clear, but they could still feel the eyes over them. Like a spotlight hovered over them, waiting for them to entertain god-knows-who with their stupidity.
Kyrie held their breath. Their heartbeat started racing. They didn't know why, they couldn't think of why, nor was it something they wanted to dwell on. It was just the fear of them, somehow, through some way, being wrong about their safety. But this was still a dream, right? Did it really matter? Maybe it didn't, but it felt so real. Everything felt real. The school, the classrooms, the students... Brynn. Sometimes Kyrie forgot Brynn was just a part of their mind, that they were just someone in their dream—it was like This Man who appeared in all those people's dreams, but relegated to just... their mind.
And Brynn was a good person. Brynn was better than most of the people Kyrie knew outside. But they had this inkling of a feeling that there was something they were hiding. It always circled that building in the distance, that building they were so allured by. "LA IRREAL, FOR YOUR REFUGE." So much about this dream hardly felt like a dream anymore. They could slowly feel the bumps in the walls. The cold air that permeated the classrooms. They could hear the students around them chatter. It could flicker, it could wane, but it felt so real. Brynn felt like someone... outside. Like somebody, they could reasonably see outside. Brynn felt like someone who came from the outside.
They took a step. Then another. Then another. Then another.
"Where are you going?"
They stopped in their tracks. It felt like they flickered in and out of the dream—that they could see Casper looking at them. But they were still here, now with them. It felt like they barely covered any mileage, but looking back, they see they've gone very far—and they see Brynn, standing between them and the school. "Kyrie, don't think I didn't see you." They looked at Kyrie, their stern tone contrasting with their expression—the same ever-present smile. "Are you lost?"
"Brynn, I..."
Brynn started walking closer. "How'd you even get here, buddy? Do you need any help?" Kyrie stared at Brynn, still smiling, as their eyes darted around the void, trying to piece together an impromptu plan. They've never been good at that. "Come on, come over."
"Brynn, I—I don't know how I feel about this place anymore."
"What? What do you mean?" Brynn's pace didn't change. "You haven't felt like I've done anything wrong to you, right?" they continued. Their smile and eyes felt like two clashing ideas on one face. Kyrie slowly backed away, trying to keep a steady distance, but Brynn seemed to draw the distance closer regardless.
"Brynn, no, it's not just you—"
"What is it, then? Is there something you don't like?"
Kyrie couldn't feel their legs. "I—no, I don't—"
"Is it the people? Oh, I can tell them to leave you alone if they make you uncomfortable!" Brynn's stride never sped up or slowed down, but they felt like they were inching ever closer. Kyrie could feel their pulse all over them. "Maybe you want a fresh coat of paint? This school doesn't have to look like this, you know?"
Kyrie didn't know why they wanted to back up from Brynn. They were the shoulder the cry on, the person who'd pick them up if they fell. Why, why now did they feel like all they'd do is drag them deeper in the mud? Why now did they fear someone they found comfort in before? Were they doing something wrong?
Brynn was now in front of Kyrie. "Listen to me," they said, grabbing onto Kyrie's collar. "Why do you want to leave? You've gone so far, and I think you should go back." Kyrie looked into their eyes. Clouded. Pupils contracted. Desperate. "You don't want to upset me, right? I've been so kind to you."
"I—you have, but..." Kyrie said, trying to pry Brynn's hands off their collar. "...this place is starting to scare me."
"Then TELL me what the issue is," Brynn insisted, pulling them closer. Their smile was still there—it felt like a mask more than their real one, if there is such a thing. The rest of the void seemed to fade in their mind. "Please. I know I can do something. Something to make this perfect for you. I can do that, I know I can."
"Let go of me, Brynn."
"Just tell me what the issue is, buddy. Okay? That's all."
Kyrie squirmed. "You—you need to let go of me."
Brynn didn't budge. "Buddy. Please." They seemed out of breath. The smile seemed as sweet and artificial as saccharine. It hardly felt like a smile anymore, not with that sharp stare. "Tell me first. Tell me what the problem is."
Kyrie pushed Brynn away. They fell to the ground, landing back first—for a moment after landing, they didn't move, only looking away like they were shielding their face. The world has gone dark. Kyrie stood over Brynn, still trying to keep distance, while Brynn creaked their head to face them. The smile was gone. "Brynn, please." They took a sharp breath. "Stop."
"What do you want? What?" Brynn shuffled, turning to look at Kyrie in the eyes. "Tell me what you want, please!"
"I want to go to La Irreal."
Suddenly, it felt like it was merely the two of them and that building. Brynn tried to stand up, but struggled to get on one leg. Kyrie watched for a moment before reaching out a hand. Brynn refused to accept. They got up on their feet, though still not perfectly balanced. They stared at Kyrie, dejected. It was as if the smile was never there. "I won't stop you. But you'll miss it. Things were better here."
And in the blink of an eye, they were gone. It was just Kyrie and the building now. And they were right at its door. They looked up at the sign. "LA IRREAL, FOR YOUR REFUGE." End of the road for them, it seemed. They'd finally reached the place that allured them all this time. The brick walls, neon lights, foggy windows—it was like they were standing in front of the '80s. It'd be a lie to say it was satisfying. It'd be a lie to say they wanted it to go down that way to get here. They felt incomplete. Like something was missing, like their chest was hollow. Whatever the case was, there wasn't any reason to stall now.
They opened the door.
Immediately, the cold air disappeared, with quiet jazz music coming from nowhere. The music wasn't anything they recognized, but it almost relieved them of their worries. The patterned floors and shiny Formica walls, coupled with the vinyl seating, made them feel like they were here for a drink or two. And once they were in, they were pulled in to stay.
They looked around the area they entered. A counter was to their left, a doorway to seemingly nowhere ahead, and seating in a room to the right, with bead curtains over the doorways. There was no noise, no chatter. The counter had neon lights lining it, with a shelf stocked with nondescript drinks. Stools were placed by the counter. And behind the counter was a man.
The man didn't look a day past 30. Hard to judge, though, since Kyrie never really pays attention to it. They looked like the waiter, alright—red vest, black long-sleeve, slicked hair, bags around the eyes. Their expression was completely dead, like they wanted to leave just as much as Kyrie did. He seemed to be cleaning a glass. Kyrie felt hesitant at first, but then approached the counter, sitting on a stool. It was plush and felt comfortable enough—at least there weren't any tears. The man turned, noticing Kyrie. His expression remained unchanged. "Good evening. Drink?"
Kyrie paused to think, looking through the selection. They weren't familiar with anything there. Eventually, they shrugged and said, "Just give me whatever." And the man went to work, making a drink that'd cure their empty chest with a very refreshing...
"Here."
They looked at the glass they were just given. It's water. Not sure what they expected. Regardless, they took a sip, leaning against the counter. "Where am I?" they asked, fingers tapping on the counter.
"Did you read the sign outside?" asked the barkeep, standing nearby Kyrie. "La Irreal. The bar in the middle of nowhere."
Kyrie looked around for a moment. They tried to recall anything that looked like this place when they were awake, but nothing matched. "Why is this here? In my dream? I've never seen this place before, or anything like it."
The barkeep scoffed. "Do you normally open conversations like that?" he asked. It didn't sound like he was oblivious, though—just playing along, maybe? Kyrie couldn't figure it out. "But, that must be strange. A dream inventing its own place." He turned away. "Almost as if a piece of something else drifted to your own."
Kyrie glanced. "What?"
"This bar is out of place to you, right? It shouldn't be here. Why do you think it's here, then?"
"Wh—" Kyrie couldn't come up with an answer. Their mind was already clouded as is, but this man's only adding more fog. They had a strange feeling about this barkeep. "I mean, I don't know. I'm not one to read dreams."
"So you aren't." The man leaned on the counter. "Have you ever considered certain things about this dream? That it recurs, always the same." His eyes followed Kyrie. "Always the place that mimics a better hell. Always the person that tries to keep you in it."
Kyrie took a double-take. "Wh—you know about Brynn?!"
"You call them that?" he asked, straightening their back.
"What, do they go by other names?"
"I've heard many. Carrie. Xavier. Daphne. Conan. They could look or sound different, but the being is the same." He scoffed. "As long as it eases whoever's with them. Seemed like 'Brynn' failed in that front.
Kyrie lurched up, the glass of water rolling off the counter without a crash. The barkeep glances at it, then back to Kyrie. "What are you talking about anymore? What's happening?"
The barkeep picked up the glass with his bare hands—so it did crack, but it made no sound? He sighed, shards still cutting through his hand. "It's a boring explanation, really." He pressed his hands on the counter, pieces of glass digging deeper, leaning closer to Kyrie. "You see, you're dead."
Suddenly, it felt as if the world stopped spinning.
Kyrie's eyes widened, jaw slacked, slowly backed away. "What?" they murmured, struggling to find the words, or the thoughts. Their hands started tapping the rest of the body, trying to get a feel for themselves, and yet they felt nothing. They tried listening in for their breathing, but there was nothing coming out. The coldness was gone. Their sensations felt numb. Their thoughts were scattered, spread across the walls. "No, there's no way, is there?"
"Struggling to believe it, aren't you?" the barkeep asked, tilting their head. The glass shards were still poking out of their hand through the palm, and yet they kept consistent eye contact. Kyrie was more shaky than he was, and he had the glass. "It takes time for people like you to realize you've shattered an illusion."
Kyrie couldn't focus on the one thing—their eyes bounced between the hand and his eyes. They could feel their nerves tingle—or was it their nerves? It was hard to tell anymore. They wanted to wake up, claw out of this pit they've dug into so desperately, but they felt like they were digging out with a broken spoon. They felt paralyzed, their mind in a rush, trying to piece together every single thought pounding in their mind. If they were truly dead, they would've expected peace, but there was no such thing here. No words left their mouth.
"You wanted an escape, and you found it." The barkeep held their hand up eye-level, staring at the gashes and the glass still stuck in between, like he was analyzing it. "A friend of mine decided to stop by to give you that escape. A little hit of dopamine before the rest collapses."
The barkeep lifted his other hand, grabbing onto a piece of glass. "You wanted a temporary solution instead of working for a permanent one." He ripped the bloodstained glass out of his hand, tossing it aside. Kyrie had to look away, instinctively grabbing their other hand. "And every time you woke up, that solution weakened." Kyrie couldn't hear it, but the mushy noises and glass clinking told them all they needed to know. "All until it became another problem."
"If you try hiding from the bad instead of finding the good, what do you have left?"
Throughout the barkeep's ramblings, Kyrie tried desperately to wake up. Pinching their skin, slapping themselves hard, forcefully falling to the ground—nothing. Nothing could get them out of this dream. Kyrie still clung onto that hope—the hope that they were just dreaming. And they feared that they had to wake themselves up violently.
And so they sprinted to the counter and slammed their hand on the glass.
Immediately, they felt an excruciating pain shoot through their body from the palm. Blood started gushing from the wounds, staining the glass a beautiful crimson red. Hand couldn't stop shaking. The shine of the neon lights glared in their eyes. Maybe the barkeep was talking, but they couldn't hear anything anymore. They fell to the floor, their legs shaking in pure adrenaline-fueled pain. And they screamed. Screamed so loud they could've shot out their vocal cords.
And Kyrie woke up in their room. It was still dark outside, with the only light being a subtle glow from outside. They were alone. They would've felt relief seeing something so familiar—the darkened beige walls, the not-soft-enough mattress and pillows, the air-conditioner...
...but they still felt the pain on their hand. They still felt it quivering. They could barely contain their pain. Even as they tried to bite back a yell, they could still feel it prying their mouth open.
They looked at their hand. It was still pierced, bleeding relentlessly on their bedsheet.
The bed is gone now. So was everything else. All they could see was the school, empty and barren. The lifelessness of the building felt suffocating. Everything felt suffocating. There was no Casper to keep them sane now. Kyrie was stuck in the void, dark and empty, with nothing to see. If this was truly the afterlife, it was a brutal way to spend eternity. It was like they were in a sensory deprivation chamber, with the only sense they felt being pure agony. No sounds. No sights. Nothing of the sort.
They were not waking up.
