the bus trip was supposed to be fun. your last school trip before graduation, a winter adventure in hokkaido. you never wanted to go, but riki begged you, promised you it would be unforgettable.

and now, here you are — half-buried in the snow, the bus on its side like a broken toy, its windows shattered, its passengers silent. not all of them, though. there are screams. moans. the wet sound of something dripping.

riki pulls you up, his hands shaking. his face is streaked with blood — not his, you realize. someone else’s. your friends’ blood stains his clothes. the same friends who had laughed with you on the bus just hours ago.

“baby, are you okay?” his voice cracks.

you nod too quickly. you can’t let him see. the jagged piece of window glass is still lodged in your stomach, hidden beneath your coat. every movement sends a sharp, burning pain through you, but you grit your teeth. you need to get out of here first.

he cups your face, his thumbs gentle despite how much he’s trembling. “we have to go. we can’t stay here.”

you nod again. another lie. you don’t know how far you’ll make it. the snow is too red, too cold, and riki is holding you too tightly, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

you don’t tell him that you might.