They most definitely didn’t like him. There was just something in his features - maybe the outline of his face, or something like that - which didn’t quite agree with their eyes. Then again, it might’ve also been the fact that he was pushing them against the wall which marked the back of the canteen, a knife, flashed early in their conversation, close to their throat. He wouldn’t do anything - not in school. They knew that much. He may’ve been impulsive, but he wasn’t stupid. Unlike some people they could mention, he wasn’t above the rules in school. Outside of school, they would fear for their life, but no - he wasn’t that stupid.

“Fucking pills. Did I ever tell you to sell pills? No. But you fucking go and do it anyway, and some shit like this happens. I’ve been fucking lenient with you, Jey, fucking tried to give you some freedom, and how d’you repay me? With this shit. I’m already in shit with school, and you start making them look for someone to blame - guess how far they’re gonna look before they see me and pin it all on the most likely suspect. ‘cept it wasn’t me this time, was it? No, it was a stupid Year Nine who couldn’t see trouble if it slit his throat; had to be a fuckin’ small kid. Never trust small kids, that’s what everyone says, and what do I do? Go and get a runner from the small years, because I’m a fucking genius.”

Another reason why they’d decided not to like him was his tendency to talk. Talking was fine, in general, because it was a valid, widely accepted way to communicate and it was certainly important in some circumstances, but he just talked and talked and talked, until the words were rolling off his tongue into some sort of mush which sounded nothing like a sentence to their ears, and his voice was imprinted into their mind; it was as if he wanted to feature as the narrator to their nightmares.

“If any of this shit comes down on me, Jey, I’m pushing you down and clawing out of it, no matter what. No way I’m getting time for any of this shit - ‘cause that’s what you’ll get, for this much shit. That kid’s dead, you fuckin’ idiot, and it’s all your fault. Pills, fucking pills, why did it have to be pills? You could’ve sold him a packet of fucking cookies and we’d all be fine, but no - pills, to a small kid, from a small kid: the fuck did I expect? Well, I didn’t expect ‘out, because apparently we’re all doing things on our own now, and we don’t need our main dealers, because fuck them, right? Are you even fucking listening to me?”

Not only were the words mush, but his face was starting to melt and fold into itself as well. In fact, everything was sort of slipping away, as if the world had become mud and they were the shoe that slipped on it, falling into an inescapable void where everything became dark and there was no way to climb out because there was nothing to hold onto. Even his touch on them, rough and unwelcome, and the quiet but threatening kiss of a blade pressing against the skin of their neck was falling away, fading until it became nothing, and they were just floating… floating… floating…