Drip drip drip. The sounds of slowly drying blood hitting cold tile echoed in his ears. Too loud.
This is fucking insane.
Kirihara pulled his knees to his chest, dark eyes focused on the lifeless form of his former senpai.
He started it. It's his fault. He deserved it.
This was all just a dream, right? There wasn't really blood splattered on his shirt, on his face, in his hair, all over the floor. That wasn't Niou's dead body mere feet away from him. Just one big fucking nightmare.
Wake up, Akaya! It's just a nightmare! You fell asleep on the bus, that's all.
Only he knew it wasn't. Something this real couldn't be a dream. Especially not with the definate pain in his rear end, the seat of his pants dampened with blood and who knew what else.
It's just a dream, it's just a dream, it's just a dream, it can't be real. Yukimura-buchou will wake you up soon, tell you you fell asleep and that you should get some rest once you get settled into your room. Sanada-fukubuchou will frown and look the other way. Everyone else will laugh, poke fun at you, but you won't care.
Cold, lifeless eyes stared back at him, silently mocking him.
Stop looking at me! You've done your damage.