Uriel
Lucky me—the first time I saw her… without her looking back at me.
I don't know if it was because of how beautiful she seemed, or the lack of oxygen in my brain, but I swear I saw myself reflected in her eyes. Beautiful eyes… even if they were useless.
And still, I'm glad I met her. That right now, she's resting her head on my shoulder.
Her hair, so close, smells like soft lilies as always… now mixed with the stench of alcohol.
Dawn is far off, but she was the first to fall. Her resistance keeps shrinking.
Everyone else is still cheerful, swaying on their feet, smiles as red as the karaoke lights. Stare too long, and they burn.
Thankfully, they're drunk enough not to suffer from the screams of the guy holding the mic.
I don't remember his name. I'm not sure I've ever spoken to him. It's strange—always will be.
Plenty of people in this room, but only a few I could say I really know.
Not that it seems to matter now. After all, if a friend of my friend is my friend's friend… why can't they be mine too? Even if it's been years since I first saw their faces, and I still see them often, without ever saying a word.
The table looks like an altar to the god of cheap booze: expensive bottles disguised as humble, next to homemade experiments with fermented fruit. All in the middle of a room packed with teenagers in uniform, even though it's vacation.
The reason? Tomorrow is the first day of our last year together. Our last first day.
After this year, we'll all go our separate ways. Some will stay close, but talk less. Others will pick the first college they stumble upon; some will find easy jobs just to get by. And a few will repeat the year, as if nothing had changed.
It wouldn't be strange. It isn't now. It never will be.
But none of that worries me as much as what the girl beside me is thinking.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't love her. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't stay in this high school forever, just to see her every day.
But the biggest lie… would be believing that could happen.
I could ask her. Maybe she already knows. If she does… her answer terrifies me. And if she doesn't… that terrifies me too.
I don't want her to think she has to put me first. I don't want her to choose for me. I don't want to mess with what she wants—even by accident.
"Uriel."
I look up when I hear my name.
"I'm taking my brother home before curfew. Can you watch over Melissa for me?"
What a strange question. Who else would? I nod silently.
She's a friend of Melissa's. Dark hair, brown… Charlotte, I think. Yeah, Charlotte.
The guy slumped on her shoulder, Lexy, is a good friend of mine. He puked a while ago in the bathroom; doesn't look like he's in any shape. After saying their goodbyes, they leave. And one by one, the others start heading out too.
When dawn begins staining the sky, it's our turn to go. Just the two of us.
With Melissa on my back, we leave the karaoke behind.
The sun stabs my eyes like needles. No time to do anything but walk toward school.
If we'd left earlier… I might've at least fixed my hair.
A soft tap on the back of my neck: her hand.
"Are you kidnapping me~? Do you love me so much you want me all to yourself? How greedy~"
"Then I'll be reborn with the name Midas…"
"Better as a horse… Come on, move, or we'll be late."
"Couldn't you just get down and walk?"
"Nope, don't think I can stand yet…"
She shifts on my back, arms tightening around my neck, laughing near my ear.
"Ah~, it sucks being the first to crash. So embarrassing that everyone—hic—saw me passed out drunk."
Her laugh… sounds weird. Like a hyena on a sugar high.
But this close, it's beautiful.
"That's for sure."
Silence for a second. Then, her grip tightens.
"But you took care of me, didn't you~? I wasn't a bother keeping you from flirting with other girls, right, my love?"
"I'd never do—"
Whap! A smack to the head. Her hand shoots toward the sky, pointing the wrong way, but full of heroic intent.
"It's time to ride, my loyal steed! Gallop to the rhythm of the wind!"
Melissa
Writhing in the infirmary bed, she grips my hand tight. I can feel her pulse racing, her skin burning hot.
She trembles. Tries to say something, but only weak moans escape, until suddenly she grabs both my hands in desperation.
Her breath brushes my face; she's breathing fast, almost like the air's about to run out. In her voice, I hear something that unsettles me: fear.
Like she thinks that if she closes her eyes, she won't ever open them again.
Footsteps behind me: steady, calm. I picture a white coat, a clipboard under an arm. Her stride sounds young, but sure—like someone who's done this routine too many times.
"Doctor… am I going to make it?"
Uriel asks, voice trembling, breaking, like he's about to faint.
A brief silence. Then her voice, dry, not a trace of drama:
"Uriel, drop the soap opera. You're not dying from a hangover."
I could swear I heard him gasp before that sentence crushed him. She keeps going, with a sigh I can almost picture paired with an eye-roll:
"Should've drunk less if you didn't want to feel like this."
"Doc… does this happen a lot?"
I ask, more to fill the air than out of curiosity.
"First of all: I told you, I'm not a doctor."
She answers, voice heavy with resignation. I can imagine her rubbing her temple, the other hand on her hip.
"I'm a nurse. And yes, it happens every year. Some brave soul christens the infirmary on the first day of class. If you're lucky, like you, it's just a hangover and not alcohol poisoning. —She pauses—. Didn't your brother end up here three years ago, Melissa?"
Her question drags me back to that scene: Mom screaming, my brother sitting on the edge of the bed, reeking of booze and shame. Before that, I looked up to him like a movie star. I think the credits rolled that day.
"Yeah, I remember. It was only for a few hours, though. Mom was really worried."
I say, with a lump in my throat I didn't expect.
"But don't forget about the sick guy, okay?"
Uriel groans, cutting through my memory with drama.
A loud thud. A yelp.
"Why'd you hit me!?"
"To stop the theatrics."
Another smack.
"Ow!"
The nurse lets out a sigh and steps away. I hear drawers sliding, bottles clinking softly. Then her voice returns, practical and firm:
"I'll give you a painkiller and let you sleep. And you, Melissa… you'd better get to class."
She hands me something: a folded piece of paper.
"Give this to your teacher."
"What is it?"
"A note. Uriel's taking the day off."
I nod silently. The paper feels cold, rough between my fingers. But all I can think about is the warmth still lingering in my hands.
The warmth Uriel left when he let go.
For some reason… that feeling weighs more than the paper.