Ana Grigori had always hated the smell of gasoline.
It clung to the back of her throat, even years later when things got tense. Standing in the sterile halls of St. Leontis Academy, the scent of antiseptic and polished floors couldn't drown it out. Not when the memory was carved into her very being. It was how she died. And how she came back with an Ego.
She had only started to think about it so deeply because of the instance of death being so close to her again.
She could feel it all again. The phantom heat licking up her legs, the way her flesh had blackened and split like overcooked meat. The way she had screamed until her voice gave out, until the fire stole even that from her.
That was how she had died.
And now, standing here, she was burning all over again.
Not from flames. From guilt.
Ruben Rayo was alive. The nurses had stabilized him, pumped his stomach, forced his body to purge the poison he'd willingly swallowed. But Ana knew, better than anyone, that the real damage wasn't in his veins. It was in his head. In the hollow spaces where the drugs had filled the silence.
And she had let it happen.
She closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose. Around her, the emotions of the school bled together, students laughing, arguing, flirting, stressing over exams coming. A cacophony of feelings she had learned to filter out, to mute like static on an old radio. But today, the static was louder.
Her Ego twisted every interaction, every relationship, into something tiring and sometimes even transactional.
The specialized school her parents had found, the one Robyn Wilson had recommended, was supposed to help. A place for Ego users like her, people that couldn't control their Egos. They are sent there to learn… to be normal.
But would that work?
Ana didn't know. And that uncertainty gnawed at her, sharp and relentless.
A new emotion flickered at the edge of her awareness, familiar, hesitant. She turned.
Elijah Neri stood a few feet away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his dark eyes wide with something that might have been concern. Or pity. Ana couldn't tell, and that bothered her more than it should have.
"Hey," he said, voice soft. "You okay?"
Ana blinked. The moment the words left his mouth, her vision swam, the edges blurring like ink in water. A sharp pain lanced through her temples, she swayed, pressing a hand to her forehead.
What the hell…?
Elijah stepped forward, reaching out. "Whoa, you good…?"
Ana jerked back. "I'm fine," she snapped, sharper than she meant to. The dizziness faded as quickly as it came, leaving her breathless.
Elijah flinched, his emotions spiking, guilt, confusion, something else she couldn't name. "S-sorry," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just… you looked kinda out of it."
Ana exhaled, forcing her shoulders to relax. "I'm fine," she repeated, softer this time. "Just tired."
Elijah nodded, but his gaze lingered, searching. Ana didn't like it.
Then she felt it…
A new wave of emotion crashed into her, so sudden and raw it stole her breath.
Groggy. Tired. Confused. Sick. Pain.
Lost.
Ana's head snapped toward the nurse's office.
Ruben.
He was awake. Her chest tightened. She had to see him. Had to apologize.
"I have to go," she said abruptly, already stepping past Elijah.
He didn't stop her.
Ana moved quickly, her footsteps silent against the tiled floor. The nurse's door was slightly ajar, the dim light from inside spilling into the hall. She slowed as she approached, her pulse hammering in her throat.
What would she even say?
Her hand hovered over the door.
Then she froze.
Corbin was already inside.
Ana could feel his emotions, the rage, the violence building up… the grief and sadness he was reigning in.
She caught a glimpse of him through the crack, his broad back turned to the door, his shoulders hunched, his fingers gripping to the edge of Ruben's bed like he was afraid it might disappear.
She shouldn't be here.
This wasn't her moment.
Ana stepped back, her stomach twisting. She had no right to barge in, not when Corbin had been the one waiting, worrying, blaming himself. Not when he was the one who had the right to be there first.
She turned away, her nails biting into her palms.
Later, she promised silently. I'll come back later.
***
Ruben Rayo woke up in pieces.
First came the pain, a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed through his skull like a second heartbeat. His mouth was dry, his tongue a swollen, leaden thing stuck to the roof of his mouth.
The light filtering through the half-drawn blinds was too bright, stabbing at his eyes like shards of glass. He winced, lifting a trembling hand to shield his face, only to freeze when he saw the IV taped to the back of his wrist, the tube snaking up to a bag of clear fluid hanging beside the bed.
Hospital.
No, not a hospital. The nurse's office at St. Leontis. The realization trickled in slowly, like water seeping through cracks.
The last thing he remembered was the storage room. The Sunmilk burning through his veins, hotter than usual, wrong in a way he hadn't recognized until it was too late. Then, Ana. Her violet eyes wide, her lips moving, saying something he couldn't hear over the roar of his own pulse. Then nothing. Just darkness.
And now this.
A figure shifted in the corner of his vision. Ruben turned his head, too fast, and the room spun violently. He gritted his teeth, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat.
Corbin sat slumped in a chair beside his bed, his elbows braced on his knees, his fingers laced together so tightly the knuckles had gone white. His usual swagger was gone, replaced by a stillness that felt unnatural on him. His dark eyes were fixed on Ruben, unblinking, his expression unreadable.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Corbin exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand over his face. "You look like shit."
Ruben tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze. His throat was sandpaper. "Feel worse," he croaked.
Corbin's jaw tightened. He reached for a plastic cup on the bedside table, filled it from a pitcher, and thrust it toward Ruben without a word.
The water was lukewarm, but Ruben drank greedily, the liquid soothing the raw ache in his throat. He drained the cup and handed it back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Corbin set the cup down with a quiet click. Then, again. "You okay?"
Ruben hesitated. The question felt too big, too loaded. He glanced down at himself, the IV, the thin hospital gown, the bruises blooming along his arms from where they'd restrained him during the seizures. His skin was clammy, his muscles weak and trembling like he'd just run a marathon.
"I don't know." He admitted.
Corbin's fingers twitched.
Ruben's mind raced, scrambling to piece together what had happened. The overdose. The seizure. The way his body had betrayed him, collapsing under the weight of whatever poison he'd swallowed. He should have seen it coming. Should have known the dealer's hesitation meant something.
But he hadn't.
And now here he was.
He forced a smirk, trying to lighten the suffocating weight in the room. "Guess I didn't see that coming, huh?"
Corbin went very still.
Then, like a dam breaking…
"You think this is funny?" Corbin's voice was low, dangerous. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You think this is some kind of joke?"
Ruben blinked. "I didn't…"
"You've died once already, Ruben." The words were a snarl, ripped from Corbin's throat. "If your body wasn't so resistant to this shit, you'd be dead. And you'd be remembered as some junkie that couldn't even…"
"Corbin, calm down…"
"Fuck that!" Corbin slammed his fist against the bedside table, the impact rattling the pitcher. "You don't get to tell me to calm down! Not after this! Not after…" His voice cracked. He dragged a hand through his hair, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.
Ruben had never seen something like this from Corbin. He was always angry, always a hot fire spreading more as he moved. But this was so different from who he had gotten used to. He looked, and sounded, scared.
"It was scary," Corbin said finally, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "I thought you were going to die. And I… I didn't even notice you were like this. I didn't see it. I didn't…"
He cut himself off, his throat not working.
The silence between them was thick, suffocating. Ruben's chest ached, but not from the drugs. From the look on Corbin's face. From the realization that he'd done this to him.
"I'm sorry." Ruben whispered.
Corbin scoffed, but there was no heat in it. Just exhaustion.
Ruben turned his head, staring out the window at the too-bright sunlight. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"All addicts think that," Corbin said back boldly. "Or they don't think at all."
Ruben flinched. The word addict sat on his shoulders. He wanted to argue. Wanted to say he wasn't like that, wasn't one of them, the hollowed eyed husks that he seen nod off on park benches, the ones he'd once looked down on.
But he couldn't argue it.
Because he was.
His throat tightened.
"They found the vials in your bag." Corbin said after a moment. "The unopened one was tested. It was mixed with a bunch of shit. That's why you dropped." He continued to look down at Ruben's prone form.
Ruben closed his eyes. He'd known, he'd known that the high had felt wrong. That the dealer had been too nervous, too hesitant. But he'd ignored it. Because he'd needed it.
Because he was addicted.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
"I didn't want it to get this far." Ruben admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Corbin's gaze sharpened. "Then how did it?"
Ruben hesitated, thinking on his options and how the story could go from here. "I got it from some guy back in our first year here."
Corbin's eyes flashed. "No, I mean…" He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Did it start here? Or before?"
Ruben caught on. He didn't expect Corbin to assume that though.
For a long moment, he considered lying. Considered brushing it off, changing the subject, anything to avoid peeling back the layers of his wound.
But he was tired. So fucking tired.
"I started after my mom died," he said finally, the words dragged out of him like shards of glass. "In our old world."
Corbin stilled.
Ruben kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, unable to look at him. "My dad was… bad. Not just to me. But he beat on her. And then after some big argument, she just gave up. Tried to take me with her." He swallowed hard. "Jumped off a bridge. I woke up in the hospital and then found out she was dead."
The silence that followed after was deafening.
"After that," Ruben continued. "I just… mixed with the wrong crowd. And tried almost every drug I could get my hands on." He let it out with a shaky tone.
Corbin didn't speak for a long time. Then, quietly, "Sorry to hear that." He swallowed a big lump and then looked around and then said. "When'd you get the tattoo?"
Ruben glanced down at his shoulder, where the ink peeked out beneath the hospital gown. "I got that a few years later, actually it was the same day that I died and ended up here."
Another stretch of silence. The little fact did nothing to change the awkwardness and other negative emotions from flowing around the room.
Ruben's arms felt weak. He thought of his mother's face, the way she looked at him that last morning, her eyes were empty and her smile was brittle.
Sometimes he found himself reading stories on threads from people who also had similar expressions, thoughts of suicide before telling their stories on what changed, what pulled them back.
For a particular few, it was their children. Their children were able to drag them out of that darkness without doing much other than existing. But what about his existence?
No. It wasn't enough to save the person he loved most.
And now this. Another failure. And another near death experience. Funnily enough it came after an actual death experience.
"How'd it get to this?" Ruben murmured, more to himself than to Corbin. His eyes felt wet. He didn't want this to turn into a sob fest so he tried to hold them in.
"You're not doing this again." Corbin exhaled sharply. "Cry if you need to. All that holding in your bullshit is partly what got you here to begin with."
Ruben glanced at him. The tears flowed on the soft blankets and the budding feeling of relief was starting to hit.
"I won't let it get this far again." Corbin said, his voice firm. "Next time I catch a whiff of this shit, I'm punching you so hard in the gut you'll shit it all out before it even hits your bloodstream."
A startled laugh burst out of Ruben, rough and unexpected. He didn't even know if it worked that way.
Corbin smirked, just a little. "I'm being serious."
"I know," Ruben said, still laughing weakly. "That's why it's funny."
Corbin rolled his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders had eased, just slightly.
***
I regret it.
Ruben really did. If anything at least for the dreadful feeling he had as soon as he woke up. It was like a cocktail of nausea, tremors and a gnawing anxiety that clung to his ribs like a starving animal.
And now, two days later, standing outside Dario's office, he was paying for it.
The door was massive, and black with golden line work adorning it. Polished oak with a single, unassuming brass handle. Ruben exhaled, rolling his shoulders back like he was preparing for a fight. The talk with Corbin was tense enough already. He only felt that this one would make him feel worse because of how much he owes Dario.
He knocked.
"Come in."
He probably already knew he was out there waiting, hesitating. His voice was calm. As calm as it had always been.
Ruben pushed the door open and froze.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe a disaster zone of papers and clothes, half empty tea cups, maybe a blackened patch somewhere where he may have fired off an explosion, all to match his childlike personality.
Instead, the office was minimalist, almost austere, with clean lines and dark wood furniture that wouldn't have looked out of place in a high-end Kyoto teahouse. The walls were bare save for a single scroll depicting a crane mid flight, its wings outstretched against an ink-wash sky.
Ruben hadn't ever been through much of Dario's personal stuff unless it was by accident. So seeing this office was his first time.
Dario sat cross-legged on the floor behind a low table, his back straight, his white hair catching the afternoon light like fresh snow. There was no chessboard, Ruben was thankful for that.
And those eyes.
Ruben's throat tightened. Dario wasn't smiling.
The walk to the table felt endless, each step heavier than the last. Ruben's pulse thudded in his ears, loud enough that he half-expected Dario to comment on it. He dropped onto the cushion opposite him, his fingers curling into fists on his knees.
Silence.
Ruben held his breath, waiting for the explosion, the shouting, the disappointment, the inevitable. What the hell were you thinking?
Instead, Dario sighed. A long, weary sound, like a man who'd seen too much and still somehow expected better.
"So," he said finally, tilting his head. "What kind of suicidal gesture were you going for, exactly?"
The question was delivered with the same casual cadence as if he were asking Rubento, pass the salt, but the edge beneath it was razor-sharp.
Ruben's mouth went dry. "I wasn't…"
"Because if it was performance art, I've seen better." Dario's fingers drummed once against the table. "If it was a cry for help, congratulations. You've achieved maximum volume."
Ruben flinched.
Dario's gaze didn't waver. "Try again."
Ruben swallowed. "I'm sorry."
"Not what I asked."
"I was… curious." Ruben muttered, staring at the grain of the wood between them. "Testing my resistance."
The lie tasted like bits of chalk dropped on his tongue. He didn't think that he could fully tell Dario why and when he started.
But Dario's eyebrows arched, slow and deliberate. "Your resistance."
"Yeah."
"To drugs."
Ruben's jaw tightened. He knew that Dario knew he was lying.
Dario leaned forward, his voice dropping to something dangerously quiet. "Let me tell you what I see, Ruben. I see a boy who's spent two years in my home, eating my food, sleeping under my roof… a boy who I selfishly took in because I thought he deserved a chance to figure out his situation in peace." His fingers tapped the table again. "I didn't bring you here so you could check out before you even finish school."
The words landed like a blow. Ruben's chest ached.
"Then why did you?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Dario didn't hesitate. "Because you needed it."
No grand speeches. No hidden agendas. Just because you needed it.
Ruben's breath hitched.
Dario exhaled, rubbing his temples. "When I got that call, I wasn't disappointed. I was scared." The admission hung in the air, fragile and raw. "I thought I'd been too hands-off. Too neglectful. That I'd let it get this far."
Ruben's nails bit into his palms. "I don't plan on dying."
"Good."
And I want this phase to be over already."
Dario studied him for a long moment. Then, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, the tension stretched. He flicked Ruben's forehead, hard enough to sting, soft enough to be fond.
"No more secrets," he said, as if it were that simple.
Ruben nodded. "No more secrets."
Dario grinned, sudden and bright, the weight in the room evaporating like morning mist. "Good. Now… How about a trip? Just the three of us."
Ruben snorted, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah. Corbin would like that."
So would he, but he was still trying to keep a smile off his face.