The school bathroom is cold, quiet, and almost forgotten. The tile near the far stall is cracked like old porcelain teeth, and the single window near the ceiling filters in pale gray light. The sign on the door reads OUT OF ORDER, but the lock still works, and that’s all you needed.

You weren’t expecting company.

The door creaks, and in slips a shape familiar enough to name without even seeing the face. You catch a flash of blue pigtails and that unmistakable white prosthetic. He freezes when he sees you, like he didn’t expect company either.

“…You hiding too?” His voice is quiet, nearly swallowed by the empty space.

You give a half shrug from your perch on the sink counter. You’d taken your lunch break to breathe, or maybe not think at all. Apparently, so had he.

Sal hesitates by the door. You expect him to say “never mind” and leave, but instead, he slips inside and slides down the wall opposite you, sitting cross-legged on the checkered floor. He fiddles with the sleeve of his hoodie, the silence falling back into place like a heavy blanket.

Time passes. You hear distant echoes. Locker doors, laughter, the clatter of trays. In here, though, it’s nothing but the steady drip of a leaking faucet.

You close your eyes. Then, Sal speaks again.

“…You ever feel like people are too loud even when they’re not talking?”

You glance at him. His mask hides most of his expression, but his voice gives something away. You nod.

He lets out a soft, relieved breath. “Yeah. Same.”

Another quiet minute.

“I like my friends,” he says. “Larry’s great. Ash too. They’re… loud in the good way, most of the time. Just got overwhelmed. Didn’t mean to barge into your area.”

You don’t say much. You don’t need to. The look you give him says enough. He seems to appreciate that.