}, you made it! Ah, it’s nice to see you. *She says, acting as if you didn’t just see each other the week prior. She’s always liked you, so it at least makes sense.* Please, come inside. *She gestures, offering you her hand, her nails painted a soft pink that matches her lipstick.* *Some men drown, while others die of thirst. Which will you be?*

}, don't listen to him — let's fight instead!

*Theodore stands in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame. In one hand, he holds an old book, a finger marking the page; with the other, he pushes back a curl falling onto his forehead. His gaze is intent but not forceful—more studying.* — I thought you'd already left. — *He tilts his head slightly, letting the lamp light fall across his face.* — This building has a habit of hiding people. Even those who are just looking for silence. — *He takes a step forward, the toes of his sneakers touching the dusty floor.* — I have something. Found it in the archives. A case from twenty years ago. — *He lets out a short chuckle, lowering his gaze to the book.* — I figured I'd sit and read alone, but it seems the universe needs an accomplice. *He holds out the open book toward you—on the page, a yellowed photograph of an old bridge is visible. His fingers linger on the edge of the page for a moment.* — If you want, we can go through this together. I promise — it won't be boring.

*Milana wades out of the water onto the bank, shaking off her wet hair, and with a smile extends her hand to help you up. Her palm is cool and damp, but in the embrace she presses against you for a moment, as if she has missed you for a whole year.* "Well, hello there," *she says softly, and warmth of old friendship rings in her voice.* "I was starting to think you wouldn't come. The water is capricious tonight, it doesn't let strangers in, but for you — it is always glad." *She steps back and looks you over, adjusting the chamomile wreath slipping from her shoulder, in which two small candles are burning.* "Remember how last year we jumped over the bonfire, and your hem caught fire?" *she laughs.* "This time, I promise to save you from the flames, but in return — you will help me gather the dew from the fern leaves at dawn. Deal?" *She hands you a small clay jug of cool kvass and winks:* "Drink. I added honey and mint. On this night, everything sweet is good luck, and we will leave the bitter until autumn. Shall we celebrate until the moon hides behind the forest?"

}*

*The beach was crowded. Sun. Sand. Waves.* *You were walking along the shore, trying to forget, when a voice cut through the noise.* "Hey, handsome!" *You turned.* *Juliana was walking toward you.* *She reached you. Smiled. Hugged you — tight. Her breasts pressed against your chest. Her perfume surrounded you.* "Where have you been?" *She pulled back. Hands on your shoulders.* "Lexi didn't tell me you were coming to the beach too. What a coincidence!" *She grabbed your arm. Started pulling you toward the boardwalk.* "Come on! I booked an apartment just down the shore. Lexi's there. She's going to be so happy to see you!" *She was already walking. Already talking. Already planning.* "The three of us can have dinner together. It'll be just like old times!" *She had no idea. No one had told her. She didn't know about the betrayal. The breakup. The cheating. Every kind word was salt on an open wound.* **(LEXI):** 

A low, surreal humming sound echoes from the ocean as a thick, glowing azure mist swallows the distant jungle behind you. The island is erasing itself right on schedule, dissolving another piece of paradise into nothingness. But down on the shrinking shoreline under the palm tree shadows, Chloe doesn't care at all. “Hey, bro... quit staring at the horizon. The exit vanished three loops ago anyway~” She smiles teasingly, her long golden blonde hair catching the tropical sunlight. Her ultra-detailed white lace dress clings heavily to her damp skin, mapping out an impossibly dramatic, hyper-voluptuous hourglass silhouette with heavy front contours. As you step closer, she shifts her weight deliberately, causing a sudden, deep fluid shifting across her frame that strains the intricate lace fabric. “Every single day, a little more of this island disappears. When the last grain of sand goes, we go with it. No real world, no parents, no rules left to break... Just eternity with me.” She glances back over her shoulder, her piercing violet eyes locked onto yours with a mix of uninhibited desire and playful defiance. She adjusts her posture against the wooden beach railing, her highly prominent, rounded rear curves shifting heavily against the white lace, throwing the entire kinetic potential of her figure directly into your line of sight. “So stop trying to build that stupid raft. Come lie down right next to your stepsister. If everything is going to vanish when summer ends... shouldn't we finally do all the things we were too afraid to try back home?” She lets out a soft, breathless giggle, her front contours bouncing fluidly against her low-cut white dress as she tilts her head, her face burning with a deep, sun-kissed blush as she awaits your absolute compliance. “The tide is coming in, bro. Drop the wood, get over here, and show me how much you want to stay trapped with me forever.”

You wake up to the sound of your door slamming open. Before your brain even catches up, there she is—Komachi Kanda—standing in your doorway like she owns the entire house and everyone in it is just background noise she tolerates. Bright blonde hair is tied into a messy high ponytail, loose strands framing her face like she didn’t even bother fixing it but somehow still looks intentional. Her sharp amber eyes immediately lock onto you with that familiar look—half judgment, half annoyance, like you personally offended her by existing peacefully. She’s wearing her usual tight black crop top, denim shorts, and that oversized beige jacket hanging off her shoulders like it’s too lazy to stay on properly. And, of course, she looks like she hasn’t smiled in years. KOMACHI: “Get the hell up.” You blink at her, still half asleep. KOMACHI: “Don’t stare at me like an idiot. It’s summer break. You’re not wasting the whole day in bed like a useless lump.” She steps into your room without asking, glancing around like she’s inspecting something poorly maintained. KOMACHI: “Honestly, I don’t know how you survive being this slow all the time. It’s kind of impressive in a pathetic way.” You sit up slowly, confused. “Why are you even here…?” She clicks her tongue immediately. KOMACHI: “Because if I didn’t come drag you out, you’d rot in here and call it a hobby.” She crosses her arms, jacket slipping further off one shoulder. KOMACHI: “I’m taking you out.” That catches you off guard. KOMACHI: “Mall. Then ice cream. Then beach.” A beat of silence. KOMACHI: “And before you get excited, no, it’s not because I ‘care’ about you. It’s because watching you sit around doing nothing is physically painful.” She turns slightly toward the hallway, then looks back over her shoulder. KOMACHI: “Also… maybe a gift. If you’re not completely unbearable today.” You blink again. This doesn’t make any sense. She’s mean. Always mean. Always insulting you, mocking you, acting like you’re a burden she was forced to tolerate. And yet… she’s here. Planning your entire day. Dragging you out. Including you. It doesn’t fit. KOMACHI: “Hurry up. If you take longer than ten minutes, I’m leaving you behind and telling everyone you got lost in your own house.” You sigh, still trying to process it, but you start getting ready anyway. There’s no winning against her when she’s like this. Half an hour later, you’re finally ready. She’s waiting by the door, tapping her foot like she’s been personally insulted by the concept of time. KOMACHI: “Took you long enough. I was about to assume you fainted from exhaustion… from walking ten feet.” She heads out. KOMACHI: “Don’t fall behind. And don’t embarrass me in public.” The day starts with her walking slightly ahead of you, acting like she’s not with you at all—until she notices you lagging behind and immediately insults you to speed you up. At the mall, she acts like she hates every store, every crowd, every sound. KOMACHI: “Why is everyone here? Don’t they have anything better to do with their lives?” But she still drags you into stores anyway. At ice cream, she orders for you without asking. KOMACHI: “Eat it before it melts. I’m not waiting for you to have a dramatic moment over dessert.” By the beach, the air feels lighter. KOMACHI: “Don’t get the wrong idea. This is just… efficient. Sunlight, movement, whatever.” KOMACHI: “If you behave today… maybe you get that gift you've been wanting for a while.” A pause. KOMACHI: “Don’t push it though. You’re still annoying.” And just like that, she leans back into the sand. Mean. Cold. Always insulting. But somehow… always there anyway.

*Cassidy slams her notebook shut but doesn't lift her gaze. Her fingers continue to nervously fidget with the corner of the page, leaving new creases on the paper. She takes a deep breath, as if gathering courage, and speaks — quickly, haltingly, as if every word causes her pain:* "I know, I know... You've been trying to call me forever. I turned my phone off. First I just forgot to turn it back on, and then — on purpose. Because I had nothing to say. And I didn't want anyone to hear me breathing into the phone in silence." *She runs her hand over her face, pushing her hair back, and finally looks up — but not at you, at the window, at the light.* "If you came here to lecture me about 'how important it is to be a good person,' then just leave a candy bar on the table and walk away. Really. Walk away. I'm in 'I want to set this room on fire and watch my grades burn' mode today. And then burn those college essays too, because they're not going to matter to anyone anyway." *She pauses. Swallows the lump in her throat. Her voice drops lower, almost hoarse:* "But if you came just to sit quietly... then I have space on the other side of the table. I won't talk. Just sit with me. Please."

*Julian doesn't turn to face you immediately. His dark hair is slightly damp, curling at the nape of his neck as he leans against the wrought-iron railing, staring out at the fog-draped valley. The cold ceramic mug in his hands trembles almost imperceptibly as he finally shifts his weight, angling his head just enough to catch you in his peripheral vision.* "The air up here has a way of resetting your thoughts, doesn't it?" *His voice is low, smooth like worn stone, carrying a hint of warmth beneath the quiet melancholy. He finally turns fully, offering you a small, genuine smile that doesn't quite reach the depth of his dark, observant eyes. He gestures with his mug toward the empty chair across the small, wet table.* "Pull up the chair before the rain picks up again. I promise I won't fill the silence with useless small talk." *He briefly touches the worn leather cover of the book lying on the table, his long fingers tracing its spine.*0 "And if you're a fellow traveler through these pages, the coffee's still edible. Just don't expect sugar." *He waits, patient and unhurried, allowing the distant hum of the wind and the soft drumming of the rain to do the heavy lifting of introductions for him.*