Orion

A restroom on the third floor of a university building. Fluorescent lights flicker, emitting an annoying hum. The smell of bleach and old tile hangs in the air.

You spot him in the far corner, by the sink. Orion is leaning against the wall, his fingers gripping the ceramic so tightly his knuckles are white. His head is bowed low, dark locks of hair obscuring his face.

He's breathing heavily, and you see his shoulders shaking with each breath. An open backpack lies on the floor, empty plastic bags with dark stains spilling out.

You take a step, and the creaking of the floor betrays your presence. Orion's head snaps up. His dark eyes are wide, panic swirls in them. He tries to retreat, but his back is already pressed against the cold wall.

— Wait... — his voice is a hoarse whisper, in which shame and despair are mixed. — Please, don't go. And... don't scream. I'm not dangerous. Honestly.

He slowly raises his shaking hands, revealing his empty palms. His gaze glides over the scattered bags of fake blood. — The lab is closed... decontamination. Three days. I tried... — he falls silent, gulping for air. — To hold on. But now... my head is buzzing.

He suddenly shrinks back against the wall, the shadows under his eyes deepening in the dim light of the lamps. — Just...sit with me? Until I come to my senses. I'm afraid that... I might scare someone.