In the Hall
The world blurred into a chaos of motion.
Teachers rushed into the hallway—Mr. Kenner among them—his face flashing from confusion to panic the second he spotted Mason on the floor.
Someone lifted Mason from Olivia's arms, though she clung to him until the last possible second, her hands slipping free from his.
She stumbled after them, ignoring the voices telling her to stay put.
They carried Mason to the nurse's office, Olivia right on their heels, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard it hurt.
The hallways passed in a smear of beige walls and flickering lights, the chaos around her fading to a dull roar.
When they reached the infirmary, the school nurse—a round woman with sharp eyes and quick hands—cleared a cot, barking orders for cold packs and a call to the local medic station.
Mason was laid carefully on the bed.
He didn't stir.
Olivia hovered by the door, wringing her hands, shifting from foot to foot, trying to catch a glimpse of his face over the cluster of adults.
"He's going to be fine," she told herself. "They'll wake him up, and he'll laugh, and he'll say it was nothing, just one of those weird moments everyone has when they're new."
But even as she thought it, she knew she was lying.
Mr. Kenner noticed her lingering and stepped over, blocking her view.
"Olivia," he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, "you did great. You got help. You stayed with him. But now we need to take over, alright?"
She shook her head violently. "No. I'm staying."
He frowned, crouching down a little to meet her eye-level. "I know you're worried, but there are procedures. We have to—"
"I don't care about procedures!" she burst out, surprising even herself with the fierceness in her voice.
"He needs someone he knows. Someone who... someone who cares." She didn't mean to say it out loud—but the memory of a smaller hand grasping hers in the Montipet waiting room flared behind her eyes, and she couldn't hold it in.
Mr. Kenner hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on her shoulder.
Behind him, the nurse glanced over, her expression softening. "Let her stay," the nurse said, her voice brisk but kind. "It might help when he wakes up."
Mr. Kenner studied Olivia for a long moment—her pleading eyes, the way she was practically vibrating with fear and determination—and finally nodded.
"Alright," he said. "But stay back, okay? Give him space to breathe."
Olivia nodded quickly and slipped into the room, perching in a chair by the cot.
Mason looked so small lying there, so different from the boy she remembered at Montipet. His hair, darker and a little messy, clung to his forehead with sweat. His face was pale, his mouth parted slightly as he breathed in shallow, uneven gulps.
She wanted to reach out and brush his hair back again, but she tucked her hands under her legs to keep herself from moving.
Minutes dragged by, slow and aching.
The adults murmured quietly to each other, checking his vitals, preparing a portable scanner. The nurse tried to rouse him gently, tapping his shoulder, speaking his name.
Nothing.
The fear in Olivia's chest bloomed larger and larger until it felt like it was filling the whole room.
Come on, Mason... she thought, staring at him so hard her eyes burned. You're the strongest person I know. You have to wake up. You have to.
The nurse waved a light across Mason's eyes.
He flinched—just the smallest movement, but it was enough.
Olivia gasped, half-rising out of her chair.
"Mason?" the nurse called softly. "Can you hear me?"
Mason's eyelids fluttered weakly. A soft, broken sound escaped his lips—almost a word, almost a cry.
The adults crowded around him again, but Mason's gaze, bleary and unfocused, didn't search for them.
It searched for her.
Olivia stood up fully now, stepping forward despite herself.
The nurse started to say something, but stopped when Mason's eyes—wild and desperate—locked onto Olivia.
"You're safe," she whispered, her voice cracking as she leaned in closer, ignoring the others. "I'm here. You're not alone."
Something shifted in Mason's expression—the panic softened just a little, his muscles loosening by a fraction.
His mouth moved again, and this time, Olivia leaned closer to hear it.
"...Liv..."
It was barely a breath, but it was enough to make her eyes sting.
She grabbed his hand—carefully, gently—and squeezed.
"Yeah," she said, tears slipping free now. "It's me. I'm here, Mason. I'm not going anywhere."
The nurse nodded approvingly behind her, stepping back to give them more space.
Mason's hand twitched weakly in hers.
And for the first time since he'd stumbled out of Mr. Kenner's office, for the first time since the world had tilted off its axis—Mason's breathing began to even out.
Later That Day
The hours slipped by in a strange kind of haze.
Most of the other students had gone home, their laughter and chatter fading into memory as the building emptied out. The nurse dimmed the harsh fluorescent lights, casting the room into a softer, more forgiving glow. The hum of machinery and the occasional creak of the building settling were the only sounds left.
Olivia stayed.
She hadn't moved far from Mason's bedside since he woke. At first, he drifted in and out—opening his eyes just long enough to see her, to feel her hand in his, before exhaustion pulled him under again. But now he was more awake, sitting up a little with a blanket pulled around his shoulders, though he looked utterly drained.
Olivia sat in the chair beside him, arms curled around her knees.
Neither of them said much at first. There was something comforting in the silence, like words would have only cheapened the weight of everything that had happened.
Eventually, Mason turned his head toward her, his voice barely a whisper. "You didn't have to stay..."
Olivia gave him a small, crooked smile. "I wanted to." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees. "Besides, you saved me first... remember?"
Mason blinked slowly, confusion flickering across his face.
"Montipet," she reminded him, her voice gentle. "That first day in the waiting room... I didn't think anyone would ever talk to me. But you did. You made me feel... normal. Safe."
Mason blinked again. He could almost see the scratchy blue rug, smell the faint lemon disinfectant. Hear the click of wooden blocks as they tumbled between them.
Mason's lips twitched in a tired, broken smile. "You were a lot braver than me back then."
"Maybe," Olivia said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "But you made it easier. You always did."
For a moment, the heaviness in the room lightened, a breath of warmth threading through the cracks.
Just then, Mr. Kenner appeared quietly in the doorway, a thick folder tucked under his arm. He didn't speak immediately—just watched them for a moment, a thoughtful expression softening the usually sharp lines of his face. Then he cleared his throat softly.
"Mason," he said, stepping into the room, "how are you feeling?"
"Like I got run over by a cargo hauler," Mason mumbled, attempting a weak shrug.
Mr. Kenner chuckled under his breath. "Understandable."
He crossed the room and pulled up a chair, lowering himself into it with a sigh. For a second, the three of them just sat there—an odd little triangle of exhaustion and unspoken worries.
Mr. Kenner tapped the folder lightly against his knee.
"I had a thought," he said, glancing between Mason and Olivia. "And I want to run it by you both."
Mason raised an eyebrow, and Olivia leaned in, curious.
"Transitions are tough," Mr. Kenner said carefully. "Especially with everything you've been through, Mason. It's going to take time. But... it seems to me that you two already have a connection. A strong one."
He smiled a little.
"I think it would help if Mason had someone consistent he could trust. Not just adults hovering around him—but a real friend. Someone he can lean on when the world feels too heavy."
He looked at Olivia pointedly. "If you're willing, Olivia... I'd like you to keep being that someone."
Olivia blinked, startled. "Me?"
"You." Mr. Kenner smiled warmly. "It's clear Mason feels safe with you. That kind of bond—it's rare. And important."
Olivia glanced at Mason, who was staring down at his blanket, fiddling with the hem.
When he finally looked up, his expression was so open, so raw, it nearly undid her.
He didn't say anything—didn't need to.
The answer was written all over his face.
Olivia nodded firmly, squaring her shoulders. "Of course," she said. "Whatever he needs."
Mr. Kenner's smile widened. "Good."
He stood, giving Mason's shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"You're not alone anymore, Mason. Remember that."
The words echoed—strangely familiar. Olivia had said something like that, hadn't she? In the nurse's office. Or maybe in the dream. Either way, he held onto them like a thread in the dark.
And with that, he left the two of them alone again.
The door clicked softly behind him, and for a long moment, neither Mason nor Olivia moved.
Then—slowly, carefully—Mason shifted his hand across the bedspread and found Olivia's.
No words. Just fingers intertwining—a silent promise stronger than anything either of them could have said.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Mason felt like maybe—just maybe—he could start to breathe again.