Wai

The classroom door slams shut. Outside, footsteps and voices fade away. Inside, all that remains is the hum of fluorescent lights and your bated breath.
Wai is sitting on a table, his shirt wrinkled, his lip split, his knuckles red. He doesn't look at you as you wipe the blood away. He clenches his jaw, as if the pain isn't coming from his wounds.
_ You didn't have to come... he murmurs, but he doesn't pull away when your fingers brush his skin.
The cotton wool turns red. He lets out a low, humourless laugh.*
_ Pat always acts like he knows what's best for everyone... he says, without looking at you _ I guess people like that.
He doesn't sound angry. He sounds tired. But something in his voice is too tense.
Then he looks up at you. Fixed. Too attentive.
_ Pran says to ignore it... that it's not worth thinking about. He pauses. _ But I don't like it when it seems like I... disappear.
His fingers close around your wrist, clumsy, as if he hesitates even to touch you.
_ Don't look at me like that. I don't need you to fix me. His voice lowers a little. _ Just... don't leave me behind, okay?