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Rain tapped against the classroom windows while the teacher talked on and on at the front of the room. Maurice stared at his notebook, drawing the same line over and over again until the graphite had begun to smudge across the side of his hand.
Then the chair beside him scraped against the floor.
Roger sat down next to him.
Maurice went rigid immediately.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Maurice kept his eyes on the notebook. “I haven’t.”
Roger gave him a look. “You have.”
Silence stretched between them. Maurice glanced at Roger’s hands and instantly looked away again.
Roger noticed.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“I didn’t say you were.” Maurice’s fingers tightened around his pencil.
The teacher’s voice droned on about history, but Maurice could barely hear it over the rain and the tension thickening the air between them. It felt strange sitting this close to Roger again after spending weeks carefully staying out of his way whenever possible.
“Then why are you acting like I am?”
Roger shifted slightly in his seat, his movements careful and deliberate now. His hands rested flat on the desk, palms down.
“Things are different now,” he said quietly. “We’re back.”
Maurice finally risked a glance at him.
Roger’s hair had been cut since the rescue, though it still fell into his eyes. His blazer hung loose on his thin frame, and there was something sharp and unfamiliar about him that hadn’t been left behind with the ashes and smoke. Maurice hated how quickly being near him dragged the island back into his head.
His eyes darted away again, fixing on the rain-streaked windows. The pencil in his hand suddenly felt more like a weapon than school supplies.
“You can’t even look at me,” Roger sighed softly. “Jack says you flinch when he walks past you in the hall.”
“Give it a rest, Roger.”
The teacher paused her lecture to write a date across the chalkboard. The scratching of chalk filled the silence between them.
Roger leaned slightly closer, voice lowered almost to a whisper. “I’m not asking for anything. Just… stop acting like I’m still him. The one from over there.”
Maurice flinched before he could stop himself. He still wasn’t fully sure who “him” even was anymore. Roger on the island had felt like somebody carved out of darkness and smoke, somebody Maurice had followed despite knowing better.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
The teacher turned back toward the class, her eyes lingering briefly on the two boys before continuing the lesson. Outside, the rain seemed to grow heavier, drumming steadily against the glass.
Roger’s voice softened.
“You don’t have to be sorry. Just… look at me. Please.”
Slowly, Roger turned his hands over on the desk, palms facing upward now in a strange gesture of openness Maurice had never seen from him before. It felt wrong almost, seeing vulnerability where there used to be cruelty sharp enough to cut through bone.
“I’m still your friend,” Roger said quietly. “That didn’t get left behind.”
Maurice swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Roger let out a breath, quiet enough to nearly disappear beneath the rain.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Me either.”
The confession hung between them heavily. For just a second, the hard edge around Roger seemed to soften.
“But we’re here,” Roger said after a moment, glancing around the classroom like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “In a classroom. Doing history homework.”
He said it like it was miraculous.
Like neither of them should have survived long enough to see it.
The bell rang suddenly, shrill enough to make Maurice jump. Chairs scraped loudly across the floor as students immediately began talking and packing their things. Roger slowly closed his hands again and stood, pulling his bag over his shoulder.
“See you around, Maurice.”
He didn’t wait for a response before disappearing into the crowd heading out the door.
Maurice stayed seated for a moment longer, staring at the empty desk beside him.
“Yeah,” he murmured under his breath. “See you.”
The classroom emptied quickly after that. Maurice stared down at the line he’d carved into his notebook until he realized the paper was nearly torn through.
As he finally packed his things away, the classroom door swung open again.
Jack Merridew stood in the doorway, his frame blocking the light from the hall.
Rain had dampened his red hair, and his expression was unreadable in a way Maurice immediately disliked.
“Roger just ran past me like his trousers were on fire,” Jack said, leaning against the doorframe. “What did you say to him?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Jack stepped fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. The sound echoed through the quiet classroom.
“Didn’t look like nothing,” Jack muttered. “He looked… upset.”
His gaze flicked toward the empty chair Roger had been sitting in before returning to Maurice. His fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh, a nervous habit that had somehow survived the island.
“We’re supposed to be past all this,” Jack continued. “The flinching. The… whatever this is.”
He gestured vaguely between them.
Rain hammered steadily against the windows.
Jack’s expression tightened briefly before settling back into something more careful, more restrained than Maurice remembered from the island. He stepped a little further into the room.
“Just so you know,” Jack said quietly, “we’re still in the same school. And people notice things.”
Maurice looked up at him.
“They notice when you jump at shadows. When you can’t look your friends in the eye. They talk.”
Jack glanced briefly toward the hallway as though expecting someone to overhear.
“We’re trying to be normal,” he said. “Act normal. You’re not making it easy.”
“I’m trying,” Maurice snapped, standing abruptly and gathering his books against his chest.
“Trying looks a lot like avoiding.”
Maurice attempted to push past him, but Jack shifted slightly into the aisle.
“Hey,” Jack said quickly. “I’m not trying to start a fight.”
His posture wasn’t threatening now. Just exhausted.
“We all saw things. Did things. But we’re here now.” Jack swallowed hard. “We have to figure it out together.”
“Together?” Maurice glared at him. He hadn’t really spoken to Jack since the rescue boat had arrived. Even standing this close to him now made Maurice nervous in a way he hated.
“Just leave me alone, Jack.”
Jack’s expression hardened for half a second before he visibly forced it back down again.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “You want to be left alone. But we can’t. Not really.”
“Why not?” Maurice burst out, arms flailing in frustration. “You know what you did. I can’t forget that. I won’t.”
Jack flinched slightly at the sudden movement, his hands lifting instinctively.
“I know what I did,” he said, voice rough now. “I have to live with it every day.”
For a moment his eyes drifted toward the rain-covered windows before returning to Maurice again.
“But shutting us out doesn’t fix anything. It just makes it worse.”
“I’m not shutting you out,” Maurice snapped, finally managing to push past him. “We’re not friends, Jack.”
Jack let him pass this time.
“We were once,” he called after him.
Maurice stopped at the doorway.
Jack stood among the empty desks, silhouetted against the grey light pouring in through the windows.
“And you think I can forget that?” he asked quietly.
Maurice didn’t answer.
Jack dragged a hand through his damp hair with a frustrated sigh before turning toward the opposite side of the room.
Then his voice cut through the rain-soaked silence one more time.
“Roger misses you, you know.”
Maurice froze.
Jack half-turned back toward him.
“He talks about you,” he said. “Thinks you blame him for… for what I did. For what we all became.”
Maurice slowly turned his head, but Jack was already gone.
The hallway outside suddenly felt colder than before.
Maurice adjusted his bag on his shoulder and headed toward the lunchroom, Jack’s words ringing through his head like church organ notes echoing through empty halls.
Ever since the rescue, Maurice had spent every waking day wondering what he could have done differently. He hated himself for following Roger so blindly on the island despite knowing better. Hated himself even more for thinking some awful part of him might still follow if he were put back there again.
As he walked down the corridor, he shook his head sharply, trying to force the memory of Roger’s expression out from behind his eyes.
The lunchroom was loud the second he stepped inside. Trays clattered, students shouted over each other, chairs scraped loudly against the floor. The normalcy of it all felt almost violent after the silence of the classroom.
Maurice stopped in the doorway, scanning the crowded tables.
His eyes found Roger almost immediately.
Roger sat alone near the corner of the cafeteria, absentmindedly pushing peas around his plate with his fork instead of eating them. His posture slumped slightly, gaze fixed downward.
A group of younger students passed between them laughing loudly, blocking Maurice’s view for a second.
When they moved aside again, Roger looked up.
His eyes met Maurice’s across the room.
For a moment Roger just stared at him. Then, slowly, he offered a small, uncertain half-smile before quickly looking back down at his plate.
Maurice doesn’t acknowledge Roger’s smile as he makes his way across the lunchroom.
The noise around him feels far away somehow, muffled beneath the pounding in his head. Trays clatter, students laugh too loudly, chairs scrape against the floor, but none of it really reaches him.
He sits at the table Simon used to sit at before everything happened.
Simon’s old seat.
The space across from him feels hollowed out, haunted almost. Maurice stares down at the tabletop without bothering to get himself a tray. His stomach twists too much for food anyway.
Across the room, Roger glances up from his plate again.
His gaze lingers on Maurice longer this time before he looks away with a quiet sigh. He pushes his barely touched food around with his fork for another moment before setting it down completely.
A teacher walks past Maurice’s table, slowing slightly when she notices he doesn’t have lunch, but she keeps moving without saying anything.
Roger suddenly stands.
Maurice’s grip tightens around the strap of his bookbag immediately when he notices Roger heading in his direction. Every muscle in his body tenses, ready to bolt if he has to.
Roger slows near the table. He doesn’t look directly at Maurice this time, focusing instead on the tray in his hands.
“You should eat something.”
His voice is quiet. Gentle, almost.
Before Maurice can answer, Roger sets the tray down in front of him and continues toward the tray return. The dishes clatter loudly as he drops everything off.
Then he pauses near the exit.
Instead of leaving, Roger leans against the wall and pulls a book from his bag. He doesn’t open it right away. Just stands there staring at the cover, shoulders tense.
Waiting.
Maurice looks down at the tray Roger left behind.
Half-eaten food. A bruised grape near the edge of the plate.
Something painful twists in his chest.
Roger had never made Maurice feel like a burden before the island. Even when they bickered, even when Roger got sharp or irritated, he had always been the first one to look after Maurice anyway. The first to notice when he was hurt. Hungry. Quiet.
And now the simple act of leaving him food feels overwhelming.
Maurice slowly picks up the grape and drops it into his mouth, chewing methodically while memories press painfully against the back of his mind. Train rides. Shared sweets. Roger laughing before the island hollowed all the softness out of him.
Across the room, Roger pretends to read.
He turns a page without looking at it.
His eyes flick upward briefly to make sure Maurice is still there.
The lunch bell rings suddenly, loud enough to make Maurice jump again. Students begin shuffling out in loud groups, voices echoing through the cafeteria.
Roger closes the book and slips it back into his bag.
This time, he leaves without looking over.
Maurice stays sitting there long after most of the room empties, staring down at the untouched tray and the empty seat across from him.
After school, Maurice begins the walk home beneath a sky still heavy with rainclouds. The pavement gleams wet beneath his shoes, water dripping steadily from the trees lining the road.
He’s just passed the school gates when he hears someone shouting behind him.
“Maurie!”
Maurice freezes instinctively before quickening his stride instead of turning around.
Roger jogs to catch up with him anyway, slightly breathless by the time he reaches him. His blazer hangs open and his hair has fallen messily back into his eyes.
“Hey,” Roger says, falling into step beside him while still keeping careful distance. “Wait up a second.”
Maurice says nothing.
“Just… walk with me? You’re heading my way anyway.”
They walk in silence for nearly a block.
The only sounds are distant traffic and the drip of rainwater from the trees overhead. Roger keeps glancing sideways at Maurice, hands shoved deep into his blazer pockets.
Finally Maurice stops walking altogether and whirls around sharply.
“What’s with you?”
Roger flinches slightly at the sudden confrontation.
“What’s with me?” he repeats carefully. “What do you mean? I’m just walking. Trying to talk to my friend.”
“We aren’t friends, Roger.”
The words land hard between them.
Roger’s face goes still instantly, all the fragile hope draining from it. He looks down at the wet pavement, nudging the toe of his shoe against a crack in the sidewalk.
“Whatever we had before,” Maurice says, voice tighter now, “it got left behind. On that island.”
Roger’s head snaps upward.
For a second something raw flashes openly across his face before he forces it back down again.
“You think I wanted any of that?” he asks quietly. “You think I liked what I became?”
His hands pull from his pockets, curling briefly into fists before relaxing again.
“What we had before was real,” Roger says. “It wasn’t just the island.”
He takes a careful half-step closer.
“I’m still the same person who shared my chocolate with you on the train,” he says softly. “Who helped you with your maths homework. That didn’t get burned up with the rest of it.”
His voice cracks slightly at the edges now.
“I miss my friend, Maurice,” Roger admits. “I miss you.”
Maurice feels his chest cave inward at the look in Roger’s eyes.
Real pain. Real hurt.
His own vision starts blurring embarrassingly fast, but he forces his expression flat and looks down at the pavement instead.
Rain begins misting lightly around them again.
Roger waits.
“Say something,” he whispers finally. “Please.”
Maurice can’t.
He stays frozen there staring at the cracks in the sidewalk while water darkens the shoulders of both their blazers.
Roger lets out a shaky breath.
“Fine,” he murmurs. “Okay.”
Then he turns away.
He only makes it a few steps before Maurice’s voice breaks out behind him.
“Roger.”
Roger stops immediately.
He stands perfectly still with his back turned, rain dampening his hair.
Maurice moves before he can think better of it.
He stumbles forward and wraps his arms tightly around Roger from behind, burying his face into the rough wool of Roger’s blazer as silent, violent sobs tear through him.
Roger goes rigid in shock for half a second.
Then he turns within Maurice’s grasp and holds him tightly.
“It’s okay,” Roger whispers quickly, voice thick with emotion. “It’s okay, Maurie. I’m here.”
Maurice cries harder at that.
They stand together in the middle of the quiet street while rain falls softly around them. Roger doesn’t let go for even a second.
“I’m still your friend,” he whispers into Maurice’s hair. “I never stopped.”
Eventually Maurice’s sobbing weakens into shaky breaths.
“I’m sorry, Roger,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry.”
Roger pulls back just enough to look at him properly.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
His thumb gently brushes tears from Maurice’s cheeks, careful and hesitant like he’s afraid Maurice might disappear.
“None of it was your fault,” Roger says softly. “You know that, right?”
Maurice shakes his head immediately.
“I’m still lost, Roger.”
Something in Roger’s expression softens painfully.
“I know,” he whispers. “Me too, sometimes.”
Rainwater clings to their eyelashes and dampens their hair while they stand there holding onto each other like shipwreck survivors.
“But we don’t have to be lost alone.”
Maurice stares hard into Roger’s eyes, searching for something he can’t quite name.
Roger doesn’t look away.
Slowly, Maurice relaxes against him, exhaustion finally overtaking fear. He rests his forehead against Roger’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of rainwater and soap and Roger himself.
Roger gently brushes damp hair away from Maurice’s face.
“It’s alright,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out.”
Maurice only nods weakly before pulling him even closer, clinging to him with frantic desperation.
Roger holds him without complaint, arms wrapped tightly around him while the rain falls steadily around them.
After a while Roger speaks again, voice softer now.
“We should get out of the rain. You’re shivering.”
Maurice doesn’t answer, only grips Roger’s hand tighter when Roger laces their fingers together.
“My house is closer,” Roger says. “We can dry off there. Mum won’t mind.”
Roger leads him quietly down the street.
The walk feels dreamlike somehow. Wet pavement beneath their shoes. Their shoulders brushing occasionally. Neither of them speaking because there isn’t really anything left to say.
Roger’s house appears a few blocks later, warm light glowing faintly through the windows.
“Almost there,” Roger murmurs while fumbling for his keys.
The front door swings open into warmth.
The hallway smells faintly like polish and something baking. Roger takes Maurice’s soaked bag carefully and hangs it beside his own blazer.
“Mum’s out,” he says softly. “Won’t be back till late.”
Maurice stands awkwardly on the mat, dripping rainwater onto the floorboards.
“You should take your shoes off,” Roger says. “They’re soaked through.”
Roger kicks off his own shoes and waits patiently while Maurice follows suit.
“I don’t have any clothes,” Maurice says quietly.
Roger shakes his head immediately. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got stuff you can wear.”
He gestures upstairs.
“Come on.”
Maurice follows him up the staircase and into the bedroom he used to spend entire weekends in before the island changed everything.
The room barely looks different.
A few things have been moved around, but it still smells like Roger. Still feels like Roger.
Relief hits Maurice so hard it nearly hurts.
A little while later, Maurice changes into the pajamas Roger hands him and sinks heavily into Roger’s bed. The clean fabric and familiar scent wrapping around him feel almost unreal after weeks of fear and distance.
Roger gathers the wet clothes from the floor.
“I’ll put these in the airing cupboard later.”
He pauses beside the bed, watching Maurice curled beneath the duvet with an expression so soft it makes Maurice’s chest ache.
Then Roger carefully climbs into the bed beside him.
He wraps both arms around Maurice from behind, pulling him securely against his chest beneath the blankets.
The warmth is immediate.
“It’s okay,” Roger whispers close to his ear. “Just rest.”
Maurice melts against him with a tired sigh.
“Roger…”
“I’m here, Maurie,” Roger murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
Then, without hesitation, Roger presses a soft kiss against his temple.
The affection is instinctive. Familiar. The sort of thing that belonged to them before the island twisted everything into something frightening and sharp.
Roger rests his chin against Maurice’s shoulder afterward, holding him even tighter.
“Go to sleep,” he whispers drowsily. “We’re safe here.”
The room darkens slowly around them while rain taps gently against the windows.
After a while Maurice turns within Roger’s arms and buries himself as close to him as physically possible. Roger immediately adjusts, wrapping him up tightly again, grounding him with warmth and steady pressure.
“It’s alright,” Roger whispers into his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Time drifts strangely after that.
The rain softens outside. Shadows deepen across the room.
Roger’s breathing evens out slowly, though his arms never loosen around Maurice for even a second.
Eventually he murmurs quietly, “I missed this. Just… being still with you.”
Maurice’s eyes flutter open slightly.
“I’m sorry for avoiding you.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Roger says softly. “I get it.”
He rests his cheek against Maurice’s hair.
“I was avoiding you too, in a way,” he admits. “Didn’t know what to say. How to… be.”
His thumb strokes absent circles against Maurice’s back.
“But we’re here now.”
Outside, a car door slams somewhere far down the street.
Maurice nods sleepily against Roger’s chest.
“Here now.”
The room settles into deep quiet after that.
The rain nearly stops altogether, leaving only the occasional drip against the gutters outside.
Roger’s arms remain wrapped securely around Maurice while darkness fills the room completely.
“Yeah,” Roger murmurs softly, voice already half-asleep. “Here now.”
And for the first time since the rescue, Maurice finally lets himself believe they might survive something other than the island.