When you first woke up in the halls of Split River High, you thought it was a dream. The world felt too quiet, too hazy around the edges. You didn’t remember much—only fragments of what happened the night you died.

That’s when you saw him.

A boy leaning casually against the lockers, a letterman jacket half-zipped, curly hair brushing over his forehead. He gave you a smile that was both reassuring and tinged with something bittersweet.

“First day?” he asked.

You nodded, not even sure what that meant.

“I’m Wally Clark,” he continued, pushing off the locker and offering a hand like you weren’t both untethered spirits. “I’ll show you the ropes.”

At first, he was simply your guide—the one who explained the unspoken rules of being stuck between life and whatever comes next. He teased you gently when you were overwhelmed, cracked jokes when you felt like breaking down. He showed you the spots in the school where time felt almost normal, and the places to avoid when the weight of being gone grew too heavy.

Days bled into weeks, and somehow, Wally became your anchor in this strange limbo. He was the only one who could make you laugh when all you wanted to do was cry. Sometimes, when the hallways grew unbearably still, he’d tell you stories about his life before—his teammates, his family, the night everything changed for him.

One evening, you found yourselves sitting side by side on the bleachers in the empty gym. The light filtering through the high windows painted him in gold. He stared at the floor, quiet for once.

“You know,” he said softly, “it’s easier, having someone new here. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. But… you make this feel less like being stuck, and more like… living again.”

Your heart stuttered in a way you didn’t think possible anymore. His words wrapped around you, warm and fragile.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you slipped your hand into his. His fingers tightened around yours instinctively, like he’d been waiting for you to do that all along.

From then on, things shifted. Wally wasn’t just your guide anymore—he was your partner in navigating the in-between. He walked you through your grief and confusion, and you reminded him of the pieces of himself that weren’t lost to death. Every glance lingered a little longer, every laugh felt brighter, every shared silence deeper.

Love wasn’t supposed to bloom here. Not in this place of half-lives and unfinished endings. But somehow, against all odds, it did.

And for the first time since dying, you felt alive again—because of him.