The tiles were grey. They’d never noticed them before, but they were grey, splattered with strange stains in various places. Their fingers, nails torn down to the skin, explored the concrete between each tile; scraping, scraping, scraping, until small red beads rose to join the pale flesh and began to smudge on the ceramic material. Outside the cubicle which had become their entire world for a few minutes, they heard him pacing - he’d pulled them in here, but they’d locked the door, with faint arguments mostly referring back to them wanting to be alone.

Their eyes found the inside of the white toilet bowl: a thin veil of bile floating atop the most probably infectious grey water. It brought memories of retching up an empty stomach to the surface of their mind. Just the thought made them uncomfortable; it made their eyes flicker down to the floor once again, finding stilled fingers with growing beads collecting at their tips. Biting their lip, the eyes moved again, roaming to the gap beneath the cubicle door, which his shadow passed over at a regular pace. This was… they were… so… pathetic. The memories made them want to- no, made them throw up. And now they couldn’t handle being questioned by Miss Denn, or even their friends, without wanting to crumble.

No. It had been five years, and they had survived. A couple more months - what was it, half a year? - and they wouldn’t have to survive any longer. This hell would be over.

“How you doin’ in there, Jey? Finished chucking your guts up?” The shadow paused, hovering. He knocked, and the door shook. They swallowed down some gathered saliva before attempting to respond.

“Y-yeah, I, I’ll be out- be out in a minute.” Their voice wavered, giving up on them in their time of need, just as it loved to do. They wished they could revert to the monotone which saved them on so many occasions from further questioning or general interaction with people, but it refused to let them make use of it. “I-I’m sorry, T.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” The door creaked as a weight pressed against it - he was leaning against it, they knew he was. They could almost see the outline of his figure through it, with the sympathy etched on his face, clear as day. “Is this- was it just the memories, this time?”

“What d’you mean?” Their voice found its strength, or whatever small amount of strength it could muster up, just as their hands found the toilet seat and their knees, aching but still responding to them, pushed them upwards, so that they could stand. Clenching their fingers into the cuffs of their sleeves, no doubt further smudging the greyed material with small, dark red streaks. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“We’re not doing this here.” That decided tone suited him. He was going to be a- oh, fuck, what was it he’d said he wanted to be? They couldn’t remember. Here he was, giving up his lunchtime for them, when they couldn’t even remember the secret he’d shared on the phone at 3am, so long ago. He’d wanted to be… no, they couldn’t. Couldn’t remember. It was gone. “You’re sleeping over at mine. Need me to text your parents?”

“They’re out.”

They couldn’t take it anymore. Fingers fumbling with the catch on the cubicle door, they pulled it open, finding him just as they thought they would, stumbling a little with the sudden movement of his support for the last few minutes. Without a second thought, they were in his arms, with their face against his chest and tears, tears which they’d promised themself they wouldn’t shed, wetting the lapels of T’s royal blue blazer.