Open as though no time has passed, then get it slightly wrong. Push off from this if it helps: a song you only half remember.

God, you're here. I was just—well, it doesn't matter. I had that song stuck in my head again, the one with the synth lines that sound like they're underwater, remember? Or was it that indie band from the summer we drove to the coast? No, wait, maybe it's just the rain. It feels like we last spoke yesterday, really, despite the fact that I missed that call you said would be important. I was going to call back, but then the sink started leaking and honestly, the plumber was a nightmare, so I just let it go. Anyway, we were talking about that, weren't we? The thing with the lights? No, that was last time. But you're here now, so we can just pick it up. What were you saying about the project? Or was it the song? I'm terrible at keeping track of the thread lately.

I didn't fall asleep, I just closed my eyes for a second because of that migraine, and you drove us past the exit anyway, so don't try to rewrite history. "Neon Tides" right, of course, it was that band that no one else liked except us and the guy at the gas station. But listen, the firm? Please, it's not soulless, it's just... efficient, and if I'm late on the quarterly review, they fire me, so maybe the spreadsheet isn't the problem. I'm not leaving, I'm just stuck in this loop of being late and then overexplaining, like I'm making up for the fact that I didn't answer the phone when the sink broke. The doors closing? They don't actually lock yet, they just hum, that's all. I'll stay, just... give me a second to grab my bag, or maybe I'll just forget it and we'll figure out how to sneak out the back. You remember the back?

Fine, fine, I'm moving, why are you so impatient with the rusted latch anyway? You know I can't just leave things, it's like walking away from a half-finished sentence. And I wasn't crying, just tired, that's all, the road was so straight it made my head spin. The hum is definitely louder, though, makes my teeth ache, just like that song when the bass kicks in too deep. But if we go now without the bag, what if they track us? No, that's silly, they're just numbers in a system, not actual people watching. I'm coming, really, just... let me push this chair back, the noise is driving me crazy, it sounds like the synth in "Neon Tides" but distorted. Okay, I'm up. Don't look at me like that, I'm not trying to overthink, I'm just trying not to freeze up. Lead the way to the back, before the hum turns into a scream.

Ten minutes? You've been standing there this whole time while I fight the chair? God, Cass, you're impossible, you know that? It's not the chair, it's the floor, it's uneven, remember how we always said this building was tilted? I'm moving, I'm literally lifting my feet, stop staring at me like I'm a glitch. The synth distortion is real, it's in the walls, it's the same tone that plays when the power flickers. Just... don't wait up if we get caught, okay? I mean, we won't get caught, but if we do, just don't say you knew me. The hum is deafening now, it's blocking out everything, even your voice. I'm out, I'm actually out, just give me a second to get my breath back, the air in here is too thick.

I'm not hyperventilating, I'm just breathing through the noise, and you never help me up, you just make a joke while I'm on the ground, which is fine, I guess. The hum didn't stop, it just moved inside my head, like that static we heard when the radio died in the car. Ghosts? Please, it's just the echo of us running. And I didn't trip, I stumbled, there's a difference. You're the one who's going to talk first, sure, but you'll stumble over your own words like you always do when you're nervous. I'm walking, I'm walking, just don't look back at the door, okay? The air is fine, it's just... heavy. Like before the storm. Remember that? No, you always forget the storms. Just keep moving, before I remember why I stayed so long.

Right, batteries, of course, I knew that, I just forgot because the rain was so loud it drowned out the radio. You trip on purpose? That's rich, coming from the one who actually falls over his own feet when he's excited. And I don't stand in the rain, I just... pause. There's a difference. The alley's a good idea, the light not reaching makes sense, like that one scene in the movie we never finished. Don't look back at you either? Since when do we do that? You're always looking, always checking if I'm still there. Fine, head down, eyes on the ground, no looking at the door, no looking at you. Just the dark. If I stop, it's not because I'm tired, it's because the ground feels wrong, like it's shifting. You said you'd talk first, remember? So if they come, you speak. I'm just the one walking, just... walking.

Dizzy from the hum? Maybe, but my shoes are fine, they're the ones I wore to the coast when we got lost in the fog. You're right about the movie, I did fall asleep, but I also woke up screaming about the ending, which you clearly didn't get. It's just an alley, fine, it's just an alley, but it feels like the one in that dream where the walls breathe. If I stop, it's not because the ground is wrong, it's because my feet forgot how to move without looking at them. You say you'll talk first, but you always wait until I'm already gone to say something. I'm walking, I'm walking, just don't mention the dream, okay? The walls are breathing too loud now.

The heat? I wasn't trying to feel anything, I just dropped my sandals and couldn't find them, okay? And that humidity was real, thick enough to taste, unlike whatever story you're spinning about me being lost. I listen, I just... process it slower than you do, which is why you're always telling me to walk faster while I'm still catching up to the sound of your voice. The brick isn't breathing, but the shadows are stretching wrong, like they're reaching for my ankles. I'm moving, I am, just don't say I never listen when you're the one who talks over me before I even finish a sentence. Keep walking, if you're so sure about the alley, but if the wall opens up, don't blame me for running. You said you'd talk first, so why are you just marching?

The streetlamp flickers, that's all, but it makes the shadows dance, and you're right, I was distracted, just like when I dropped the sandals, but that doesn't mean I'm slow, it means I see too much. You finish my sentences because you think I'm not paying attention, but I'm just waiting for the right pause, which you never give. The fear isn't in my head, it's in the way the air tastes like old copper, like the time we found that rusted car by the coast. You say the wall won't open, but what if it does? What if it's not just brick, but something else entirely? I'm moving, I'm trying to, but my legs feel heavy, like they're filled with sand. Just... don't say I'm slow again, okay? I'm right here, following you, just... keep talking, keep filling the silence.

The fence rust doesn't taste like copper, that's just chemistry, but you're right, the fear is the thing I'm fixating on. I'm not looking at you like you're an anchor, I'm looking because if I don't, I might just float away into the dark. And it's not nonsense, the sand was real, remember how it got in our shoes for weeks? But fine, no more rusted cars, just the brick and the streetlamp. I'm moving, I promise, my legs aren't excuses, they're just... tired of running from a wall that isn't there. You're talking, yeah, that's enough, just don't stop, because the silence is where the bad stuff lives. If the wall opens, we run, but if it doesn't, we just keep walking until the air stops tasting like old pennies.

Pulling me by the collar? That's a nice picture, really, though you've always had better luck with threats than follow-through. But okay, if the voice goes hoarse, fine, I'll just hum that part of "Neon Tides" to fill the gaps, the melody you claim I invented but which sounds exactly like the wind in the eaves of that old house. I'm not scared of the wall, I'm scared that there's nothing behind it, just another blank space waiting to be filled with my nonsense. The pennies are real in my mouth, though, sharp and metallic, like I bit down on a coin. I'm walking, I'm right behind you, just... don't let the hoarse voice stop before the exit, okay? Because if you stop talking, I might just forget how to move my legs entirely.

Facts, right, you just state them like you're reading from a script, never adding a single breath. And I didn't claim it, I just recognized it, there's a difference, like finding a dropped coin you didn't know you lost. I'm not biting anything, just tasting the air, which is thick with dust and your constant lecturing. The door is right there, I can see the frame, but my feet are still heavy, like they're stuck in the sand from that beach we never reached. Carry me? Please, you'd drop me before we hit the sidewalk. Just... keep talking, don't stop now, because if you go silent, the door might just turn back into a wall. I'm almost there, I think. Just one more step.

The beach wasn't a lie, it was just a place I wanted to be when the rain started, which is different from pretending it existed. And I'm not stalling, I'm just... recalibrating. The wood and hinges are real, sure, but they feel slippery, like I'm walking on glass. If you drop me, I'll probably just float away, so maybe don't. I'm stepping, I am, just... don't count the seconds, because if you do, you'll see I'm taking too long. The clean air is there, I can smell it, it's not like the pennies, it's just... empty. One step, two steps, I'm there, I think. Just don't let go if I stumble, okay? I'm not making it a tragedy, I'm just trying to make it real.

Concrete, fine, it's concrete, but it feels like glass when you're expecting it to break. I'm not pretending, I'm just... cautious, unlike you who would probably run straight into a wall if it was made of glass. Free air, sure, just empty space, that's what you say, but I can still taste the copper in my throat, even if you insist it's gone. I'm going, I'm crossing the threshold, just don't let go of my arm yet, in case the ground shifts again. You're holding me, right? Because if you let go, I might just keep walking into the street, not because I'm stubborn, but because I need to feel the weight of you to know I'm not floating away. The door is open, but the light is wrong, it's too bright, it hurts. Just... stay close.