“Sahara.”

The teacher’s voice broke through the quiet like a gentle tap on glass.

She stood by the door, hand on the frame, her smile patient and tired all at once. The hallway light caught the edge of her glasses, and for a second, she almost looked like someone standing in sunlight instead of under fluorescent gloom.

He sighed.

“It’s already too late. Why bother?”

Mrs. Heather shook her head. “I won’t give up on you.”

Her tone was soft, like a lullaby to a child who’d forgotten how to sleep.

She pointed to the glowing computer screen. “Your grades, if you try, you’ll be able to go to college.”

Then she rummaged through a folder and pulled out a test paper.

“I’ll have Snow tutor you,” she said with a hopeful smile that trembled at the edges.

His jaw dropped. “No.”

He shook his head sharply, gathering his things. “There’s no need to try so hard for someone like me.”

“But I promise, you just have to-”

She was cut off as he walked out.

“Save it for someone who wants your help.”

The words left his mouth like shards of broken glass.

Defensive. Painful, meant more for himself than her.

The door shut, and the room was quiet again except for the hum of the ceiling fan.

“Closed-off, huh?” Charlie peeked into the classroom.

Mrs. Heather slumped into her chair, the pen in her hand tapping the desk with a tired rhythm. “That makes it my fifth time trying to reach out to him.”

Charlie set down a stack of papers, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Why don’t you just ignore him if he’s that difficult? Or reach out to his parents?”

Mrs. Heather shook her head, her expression softening. “He clearly doesn’t want his parents involved. And as his teacher, I’ll respect his boundaries.”

Charlie snorted lightly.

“His parents? With a self-destructive personality like that, I wonder what they’re like.”

Outside, the vending machine buzzed with a broken sort of stubbornness. Sahara slipped in two quarters, they chimed like lonely coins at the bottom of a well.

The machine clanked but gave nothing back.

He crossed his arms. “Come on, stupid machine,” he muttered.

The light inside flickered mockingly, like it was smirking at him.

He kicked it once. Then again.

Finally, the bottle dropped but not before a voice drifted down the hall.

“Hey.”

He glanced back. Snow stood there, framed by the light like he’d been drawn into the scene by accident.

“Finally,” Sahara grumbled, picking up the bottle.

An arm looped lazily around his shoulder.

“Get off me.” He glared at Snow.

Snow stepped back immediately, both hands raised. “Sorry, sorry. You alright?”

Sahara rubbed his forehead, the tension deep in his temples.

“Does this look okay to you?”

Snow shook his head with a grin. “I’ve never seen someone fight a machine.”

“Oh, shut it.” Sahara twisted open the bottle. “Why’d you come looking for me?”

Snow held out a paper like a child presenting a crayon drawing.

“I’m gonna tutor you!” he said, grin wide and bright as morning.

Sahara snatched the paper. “What bullshit.”

The grin faltered.

“What?” Snow’s voice softened.

“I’m not going to study with you,” Sahara said, bitterness heavy in his throat. “Do you pity me for something?”

“Huh? I didn’t mean it like that… I thought-”

“Save it.” He shoved the paper back into Snow’s hands. “Don’t follow me around like a puppy just ’cause the teacher told you to.”

He walked off, the echo of his steps chasing him like ghosts.

Why was everyone suddenly interested in him now?

They’d forget. They always did.

A basketball shot across the hall.

Sahara flinched, eyes squeezing shut, arms instinctively shielding his head.

But the impact never came.

He opened his eyes.

Snow stood there, the ball caught easily in his hands.

“Thanks,” Sahara muttered, getting up.

“Wait, Sahara-” Snow began, but Alex’s voice cut in.

“Yo, nice catch! Shit, you’re tall too. Wanna join the basketball team?”

“Huh?” Snow blinked. “You’re just gonna recruit me like that?”

Justin jogged over, amused. “If you can guard one of our guys, it’s possible.”

He offered his hand.

Snow shook it. “I used to play guard at my old school.”

Alex grinned. “New kid, huh? I’m Alex, and this is Justin.”

A paper airplane zipped by their heads.

“Hey!” Charlotte’s voice rang out. “Why’d you throw it!?”

She chased after it, laughing until she smacked right into the wall.

Charlie burst out laughing, running to help her.

She laughed too, blood trickling from her nose.

“You okay?” he asked.

She grinned, holding her nose. “Does my nose look okay to you?”

Then a blur, Sahara appeared, fist connecting with Charlie’s face.

Flesh met flesh.

Charlie stumbled back, hand to his cheek. “What the fuck, man?”

Sahara ignored him, crouching beside Charlotte.

“You alright? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” she said softly.

“Let’s go to the nurse.”

“It’s fine. I get hurt all the time. This isn’t new.”

His fists clenched. “It shouldn’t be something that happens all the time.”

He dabbed the blood away gently, as if she might dissolve under too much pressure.

She chuckled weakly.

“What are you, my mom? You act like I’ll snap in half.”

Sahara slammed his hand against the desk. “Charlotte. It isn’t funny.”

His voice cracked. 

Too close to crying.

“I know,” she said quietly. “But I can’t leave them. They’re my family. I’m the woman, so I have to-”

“Family?” He exhaled sharply. “Just go home for today. Your brother shouldn’t be back until two. Basketball practice.”

She nodded and left. In the mirror of the bathroom, she lifted her collar, bruises, purple and yellow, like wilted violets.

“He must’ve seen them,” she whispered.

Back to Earlier

Snow walked over as Justin and Alex ran to Charlie’s side,

Charlie held his red cheek in pain, “Ah shit, that really hurt.”

“Yeah. We could tell. You practically flew backwards.” Justin offered his hand while Alex chuckled,

“You looked like a bird trying to swim,” He put his hand over his mouth to try and suppress his laughter.

“Is Sahara usually like that?” Snow looked around, but he was nowhere in sight.

Charlie took Justin’s hand, “I don’t know. He’s pretty closed-off. Doesn’t interact with us much.”

Justin muttered, “Yeah, the only people that jackass could know have to be assholes.”

Snow looked at the mark on Charlie’s cheek, graphite and something else.

“You should wash your face.” Alex pointed to the stain on his cheek, “You definitely got something there,”

They began to walk back to the locker room, the school day coming to an end.

They reached the corner, but Snow didn’t enter the room.

Justin grinned, passing him a flyer. “Tryouts are on Wednesday.”

Alex gave them a thumbs up, “Try your best,” 

Charlotte walked home, passing a cosmetic store.

She thought,

It shouldn’t be something that happens all the time.

Huh.

She walked in the store.

“Miss?”

Sahara’s mother stood by the lipstick aisle, trying on makeup.

Her head whipped around, her long black hair flying in the wind.

“Charlotte?” She smiled, “It’s you! Do you want to buy some makeup?”

Charlotte shook her head,

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Sahara’s mother fixed her employee ID and took out lots of Q-Tips from her employee  bag.

“What coverage do you want?” She picked up the options, 

“The highest one. I have a bit of a break-out, and I just want to look pretty for Halloween.” She smiled, the calendar was already October 28.

Time softened, and the day melted into the quiet hum of afternoon.

Sahara sat in the art room, pencil scratching paper. On the page, a half-finished face, kind eyes, an almost-smile. He’d drawn it before, though he didn’t know why.

The door creaked open.

“Sorry,” came a voice, gentle and careful.

Snow stepped in, brushing off his sleeves. “Fancy seeing you here. I think this is… Art Club?”

Sahara blinked up at him. Snow looked like he’d stepped out of a dream,  silver hair glowing faintly in the light, eyes too alive for a room that smelled of dust and dried paint.

“Yeah,” Sahara said, sliding his sketchbook a little farther away. “You’re in the right place.”

Snow smiled, that same disarming warmth in his voice. “Good. I thought I joined the flower club. The hallway smells like sunflowers.”

“I hate those sunflowers.”

“Too bright?” Snow teased.

“Oh, how’d you know?” Sahara rolled his eyes,

“I’ve never seen such flowers,”  Snow muttered.

The pencil rolled off the desk. Snow bent to pick it up, their hands brushing.

Sahara pulled away.

“I don’t like sweets,” Sahara said flatly when Snow handed him a small wrapped candy.

“It’s coffee,” Snow smiled. “My dad used to work in a coffee shop.”

Coffee candy, small, bitter, comforting. 

Sahara pocketed it. “I’ll eat it later.”

A cold sensation landed on his arm.

He jumped upwards, arms wrapped around himself.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Snow pointed to the small scars just behind his arms, four rough and rugged like a bear had dug its nails into him.

“You hunt?” Snow looked at his hands, “You have scars. What sort of story is that from?”

Sahara sighed.

“I don’t hunt. I just do lots of manual labor unlike someone else.” He rolled his eyes, walking back to his seat.

Snow chuckled, “I’m just not cut out for things like that,”

He looked at the notes on the margin.

“Do you always write notes when you draw?”

Sahara shut the sketchbook.

He turned away, embarrassed, “Sometimes.”

Snow showed him his own drawing, a crooked cat or maybe a dog.

Sahara laughed, a small real laugh. “Yeah… it’s really something.”

“Then, wanna hang out after school?”

Sahara hesitated, surprised by the warmth that tugged at him. “Sure.”

He hated to admit it, but

He enjoyed hanging out with Snow.

“You sure?,” Snow grinned, pulling on his scarf.

Sahara put on his coat. “Don’t waste my time.”

Snow smiled. 

He threw on his coat and his scarf.

After the club ended, they lingered near the courtyard. The air tasted faintly of chalk dust and early winter wind.

But that day, it seemed warmer than any summer he’d ever spent.

Snow sneezed.

Sahara turned. 

Frost-bitten face, like he’d been in a snowstorm the whole day.

Everything about him was as perfect as a snow sculpture. 

However, the scarf threw it off.

Snow sneezed, cheeks pink.

Sahara reached out, fixing his scarf. “Now you don’t look awe-struck.”

Snow grumbled muffled, “I don’t look awe-struck.”

“That’s ironic,” Sahara said. “Coming from the snow itself.”

Snow chuckled. “Guess so.”

They walked on, their shadows long and side by side.

Sahara looked down at his boots.

Beat-up and worn unlike Snow’s.

Clean and white, unlike his stained.

He couldn’t understand at the time why this hurt.

He reached for the pills in his pocket.

“So you know how to joke.” Snow added, but Sahara could almost feel his smile, 

He hesitated.

He took his hand out.

The playground came into view.

“There’s a playground here?” Snow looked around at the place,

“Yeah. It’s been here since my dad was a kid. Or at least when he used to tell me stories when I was a kid.”

Snow sat on the swings, pushing off with his heel until the chains creaked. Sahara stood beside him, hands in his pockets.

“I have a father, but never had a dad.” Snow’s feet lifted up off the ground,

Ah.

Sahara understood what he meant.

Sahara swore he could feel the warmth of Snow’s breath, his rosey-red cheeks jumped up and down like hot dumplings. 

It almost felt like a silent understanding. 

Before when he’d talked to Charlotte about family, she simply said:

Family is family. You can’t hold grudges.

And she smiled, with all those purple and black bruises all over.

The idea of it enraged him.

“You draw every day?” Snow asked.

Sahara shrugged. “It’s easier than talking.”

“Fair,” Snow murmured. “You draw people mainly?”

“Only the ones I can’t forget.”

Snow’s smile faltered, just for a second, a shadow passed over the brightness in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I get that.”

He leaned back on the swing, staring at the empty sky.

There was a stillness to him, like someone waiting for a call that would never come.

In the quiet, Sahara noticed it. A small scar near Snow’s collarbone, pale and deliberate. The kind that looked too clean to be an accident.

He didn’t ask.

And Snow didn’t explain.

Between them, silence became a language of its own.

They didn’t speak after that. Just breathed together under a sky that was slowly learning how to breathe again.