This killing game was miserable.
Imagine two of your closest friends in this death game die, and then a new motive shows up, making the entire school pitch dark. With nothing but stupid shake flashlights. It was a nightmare.
Wada sat near the stairwell, knees pressed up onto his chest. The shake light sat tightly in his hand, constantly shaking it for light. Gosh, this was so... overwhelming.
It didn't help that he had been... going through something at the moment. Sometimes he just—... couldn't... speak? His chest tightened and he just felt.. so... how would you even explain it? He just couldn't talk. It wasn't anything bad. Just... he couldn't talk whenever something bad came up. Like.. right now. The darkness was so anxiety inducing, and he felt that familiar chest tightening. Luckily... Luckily no one was here at the moment, so he didn't have to 'waste his breath' (but not really) on trying to explain why he couldn't talk. Truth is, he didn't even know himself. It just.. happened.