Chapter Text
The cup slowly filled up, freezing inside, then making the cold reach the outside. Edmond picks it up, taking a small sip, purposely taking his own sweet time. He then paused, looking down at the water inside the cup, getting lost in his own thoughts, again.
It was luckily broken by the noise of Zaza entering the kitchen, holding the notebook inside her arms, the pencils probably being in her pockets.
Silence had filled the room. It’s funny isn't it? They were the two out of all of them who actually enjoyed silence, savoring it anytime it happened. But, now they just wanted the sounds of laughter to appear again. Both of them hated the silence now.
“Hey.” Zaza said, breaking Edmonds' eyes away from the water. “I… got the stuff. You want to.. Go back up?” She asked, questioning whether she should keep talking or not through each pause in her dialogue.
“No, I kind of want to stay here a bit longer.” He replied softly.
Zaza slowly came closer to him, the ambience of the room becoming more comforting as she did. She put the notebook on the island, so she could lean back on it.
“It’s too quiet.” She said randomly, now staring back at the fridge.
“I’m— yeah, I know.” Edmond said, not being able to break in some emotion into the sentence.
Edmond sighed, taking another small sip from his water. Tired. He looked at Zaza quickly after and then noticed where she was looking. The fridge. Now he was lost in thoughts again.
Edmond thought for some moment. He loved Richard, he was like a little brother, he always felt like.. he was his older brother, he always felt older. That’s how he felt with all of his friends.
He still remembers all those years ago, they were all toddlers, and they couldn't talk. Of course they couldn't talk, they couldn't even understand such simple things. But, he could. Sometimes, he wished he could.. Just… not know. But now, he still knows.
And Richard’s dead.
And, he knows how he died, he knows who killed him. How wouldn’t he know?
He just… always knows.
He knows she never meant it, she's not the type of person to.
“I miss him too,” Edmond said, turning to Zaza, grabbing her attention. “We all do.”
“It’s not just him,” Zaza said, immediately knowing who he was talking about. “Wyatt too.”
“Y-Yeah.” he replied.
“You see!That’s the problem, you guys just–-” She paused for a second.
“You guys JUST-” she tried to speak but her throat blocked from the inside.
Edmond had a normal face plastered on his face, it's been stuck like that for the last.. A few days.
“You’re allowed to speak,” He explained. “I’m here to listen.”
“I-I..” She still tried to speak.
“It’s been a while since we’ve talked like this, just the two of us.” Edmond said, hoping it would help. “The last time we had a proper conversation was before we came here….
…I want you to speak.” Edmond finished, finally creeping a smile after what seemed to be forever.
“Thanks, it's just.” Zaza said. The two were scooched in closer now. “Wyatt didn't need to go through that!” She went on.
“I-I don’t know why I’m so upset about this,” She murmured to herself, growing louder through each word. “I barely knew him—Wyatt! But anytime I try to think of something else, I’m just brought back to the dining hall, him dying, in front of my eyes. It’s not fair! No one needs to die here—” She continues on.
Edmond stared at her, trying to take in every detail.
“we even go back to that moment I— You guys only think of Richard!” She said, hearing croaks of pain throughout the sentences. “I care about Richard as well! Just as much but—”
She stopped. Edmond looked at her in silence, the only thing breaking the quiet ambience was the heaving panting and breathing. She obviously couldn’t go on, so Edmond decided to speak.
“You know the only reason is because we knew Richard before, we had only met Wyatt when we got here.” He responded. Giving an answer instead of comfort.
“I know! That’s why I’m upset.” She said, tears now starting to roll down her eyes.
The ambience had now gone back to an uncomforting dark setting, which neither of them enjoyed, that's for sure.
“Didier seemed quite affected by it if it… makes you better,” Edmond said, trying to make an attempt to comfort her. He never was a ‘comforter’, he always was based more on logic instead, but to be honest he wasn't a ‘comforted’ person either.
Then again, was anyone here?
“Not really.” Zaza responded, trying to calm herself down, as if she was trying to save Edmond from his embarrassment at his horrible attempt.
“Oh,” Edmond sighed, taking a sip of water. “I’m sorry.”
“Please, don't be.” Zaza said. She wiped the tears off her eyes, breathing in a more mannered way. “At least you listened.”
“Hmm…” Edmond said, nodding at her reply before he thought to himself.
“You don’t always have to exceed others' expectations.”
Her voice, the way the sentence was worded made him shiver at the thought.
Edmond stared back at her, breaking his line of thought, he looked at her with confusion, for once being unable to decipher what someone was trying to mean. Unable to understand someone to be specific.
“Huh— I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” He said.
“I know those are words that are words that should not be coming out of a child prodigy who understands physics better than the majority of the adults in this god forsaken world,” Zaza said sternly. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Her behavior was unusual, actually, her recovering from that mental breakdown that quickly was least of the concerning things, especially compared to this. She was known for having mood swings every now and then, not as much as her sister but it was still something.
“I’m fine.” He explained.
“No, you’re not,” She said quickly after. “No one here is, so how is it possible that you are?”
Edmond didn’t want to explain anything, especially to her of all people.
Anyone but her.
He doesn’t mean any offence, it's really just the opposite. She’s so focused on helping others it hurts him. Even when she’s incapable or unaware of how to help.
“There’s nothing to worry about Zarielle.” Edmond says. Zaza only sighing back in response.
“You’re allowed to speak,” She explains. “I’m here to listen.”
Edmond stared at her, slightly defeated. She’s using his own words against him.
“What if,” he said, thinking of a response to dodge all of this. “I don't want to share, at least right now.”
He looked as Zaza kept the same facial expression, calm and quiet, as the zebras usual collected self was like. He knew that she wouldn’t go past ‘boundaries’ unless without permission.
“Then you don’t have to share,” She replied. “But that wouldn’t change the fact that you can’t keep it to yourself. You need to let it out at some point, or it will haunt you till you die.”
Guess it won’t be long then. Edmond thought to himself. No. He shouldn’t be ‘joking’ about stuff like this. Especially when you can’t properly joke. Or understand most jokes….
He felt guilty about his answer, sure. He always knew what was right, and this entire situation they were in was the only time he ever seemed to be confused. He sort of just wishes that it could go back to a time of peace. Not the life he has now. But where he was normal.
To their dismay, both of them were making the room fill up with silence, this time with a dash of guilt. They both equally hated it.
Edmond had to fix this. At least before it drove him insane.
“Could I see what you’ve drawn?” He asks, letting go of the cup, still filled with water, onto the counter of the island.
“Of course.” She answers, a smile emerging as she passes the book closer to him, still keeping it in the middle.
The both scooch in closer looking at the drawing. Surely it doesn’t matter how much time they waste right now.
George grew anxious by the second.
Where the hell was he? George kept having the lines repeat inside over again in his head. For some reason he was scared by the amount of time Edmond had been taking, actually, he should very well be worried!
They’re in some game that they could die in! And Edmond was just—diddy-daddling around with Zaza doing who knows what?
He sat up on the bed. He didn't enjoy laying down on it, it was itchy and it felt like something crawled up his spine every two seconds. He didn't know if it was because he was scared of being alone and having the chance of stumbling upon the Narrator or the fact that this bed might be infested with bed bugs.
He sighed, remembering what Edmond had told him last time, go to Didier’s room if you didn’t feel safe or whatever.
It’s been a while since George had talked to Didier to say the least, not that the two were on bad terms, I mean at least he hopes they aren't. Maybe it had something to do with his sister. Y'know, with her going all cray-cray, he heard that a lot of her friends drifted away from her causing them to look at her with pure disgust.
He wouldn't be surprised if Didier just decided to follow in his own sister's footsteps.
Of course, he doesn't blame him, he is sort of following his own sister's steps right now if you thought about it really for a good second, of course he never wanted it, maybe he didn't want it either?
George got up from the bed, in a relief since his ass was starting to hurt him, it wouldn't hurt to go talk to him.
And before he knew it, he was right in front of the door to the room Didier was in, finding the urge to creep upon his handle. In a brute force he grabbed the handle, but it only came out softly, even as he turned it to open the door.
He peeked in, seeing Didier, laying on the bed. He seemed to be fully awake, since George had noticed him kicking one of his legs back and forth. He got a good look closer at the leg, it was tied with a black bandana he swore wasn’t there before, but not as it bothered him, he went to sit down right next to where he was laying.
“laisse-moi tranquille,” He heard him grumble under his breath, finally noticing George.
George wasn’t able to fully understand what he said but he was able to read it through the tone of his voice, despite his physical appearance seeming really unaffected by it.
“Edmond told me to stay here.” George explained, to ease getting kicked in the ass by him from Zaza’s description of what he had done to Joey.
Didier only looked in the opposite direction, George took it as him not caring enough for it.
George sat down on the bed, now laying. With another person near him it felt like things weren't actually crawling upon his back, or maybe the bed before did actually have bugs on them.
The bedroom was too small for the silence between them. George laid stiffly, staring at his hands as if they might explain something to him.
George hated this. He hated how Didier used to be easy— Now every word George wanted to say felt too heavy, too clumsy, like it would just drop between them with a thud. Not because of their language barrier or anything but he didn’t feel like explaining it again in his head.
He cleared his throat. “Do you ever… uh…” His voice trailed, and he winced. Terrible start. “Do you ever feel like we… drifted? I mean—” He laughed weakly. “Not like I don’t notice. I just don’t… get why.”
Didier didn’t answer right away. He just shrugged, sharp and quick. “Things happen.” His voice carried that blunt edge, but George noticed he didn’t sound angry. Just… tired. Which was shockingly new.
George picked at the blanket beneath him, his chest tight. Things happen. That’s it? That’s all we are now? He wanted Didier to say more, to give him something concrete to hold onto. Instead, George found himself filling the silence.
“I keep wondering if I did something,” he admitted. His stomach flipped just saying it. “Like… maybe I said something that pushed you away. I don’t know.”
Didier finally looked at him then, but it wasn’t comforting. It was one of those unreadable looks that made George feel like a bug under glass. “Family. I listen to them.”
George blinked. That was the answer he expected. His chest ached, but he couldn’t find the right reply. He wanted to say something around the words like I need you to stop following others, but the words stuck, caught in his throat. Saying it out loud felt embarrassingly vulnerable, almost childish.
Instead he mumbled, “Well, I did. I did too.” His voice cracked a little on the last word, and he instantly regretted how small he sounded.
Didier shifted his weight, arms tightening across his chest. He gave a short nod, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the admission. The silence came back, heavier this time, and George hated himself for wishing Didier would close the gap.
The room felt awkward, suffocating, like standing in front of a door neither of them could figure out how to open. And George thought, not for the first time, that maybe this was why they drifted—not because they stopped caring, but because neither of them knew how to say it without stumbling over the words.
They technically hadn’t spoken in years. Not really. Not in a way that mattered. George kept thinking about how natural it used to be, how they’d video call until the sun rose, with their sisters most importantly. Now it felt like—he packed it away all inside his head.
George cleared his throat, but the words came out clumsy. “So… uh… long time, huh?”
Didier huffed through his nose, not quite a laugh. “C'est une façon de le dire.”
The silence returned, heavier. George hated it. He wanted to crack it open, to find the boy Didier used to be, the one who grinned at his stupid jokes and dragged him into trouble. He wanted proof that he hadn’t imagined it all.
“That's— One way to speak that.” Didier responded, trying to translate it the best he could.
Funny, usually it was Delphine, sometimes even Peppa, translating for the two of them. George thought for a moment
“Do you…” George hesitated, then pushed forward. “Do you still… talk in your sleep?”
Didier’s head snapped up, confusion plain. “Huh?”
George bit back a nervous smile. “You used to. All the time. You’d mutter nonsense in French, that's what Delphine told us.”
Didier blinked, then let out a small, reluctant chuckle. The sound was strange—familiar, but rusty, like an old record that still played if you wound it up right.
“No, Je ne fais pas ça—I don't do it?”
“I remember, how could I forget?” George leaned back on his hands, his grin shaky but genuine now. “One night you shouted something about cheese in the background of our calls, because you went to bed early. Scared the hell out of me. I thought you were possessed.”
Didier laughed properly this time—quiet, but real. It loosened something in George’s chest, something that had been wound too tight for far too long. It warmed him.
“I…” Didier paused trying to find the right words to not embarrass himself. “do not remember that,” Didier admitted, shaking his head.
“Convenient,” George teased. “Maybe you just don’t want to own up to your cheese obsession.”
For a moment, the years seemed to peel back, just a fraction. George could almost see the boy he used to know, standing in the same place. His grin softened.
“It’s been a while.” he said quietly, repeating what he has said before, this time with more confidence.
Didier froze, his smile fading into something gentler, unsure. He didn’t answer right away, but his eyes held on to George’s, and for once, he didn’t look away. George felt like crying for some reason, but when did he never.
And George thought, with a fragile kind of relief, that maybe the years hadn’t buried everything after all. Maybe there was still a bridge left to rebuild. The two soon felt the darkness of the room drift upon them entirely.
The bedroom door shut softly behind Joey, cutting them off from the muffled voices of the others. The room was dim, just the pale light of the lamp in the corner. Zuzu stood near the door as if her legs wouldn’t carry her farther, her fingers twisted together so tight they hurt.
Joey didn’t enjoy the thought of being alone, especially in a situation like this.
Joey sat on the edge of the bed, small and uncertain, watching her with wide eyes. He always seemed to look at her like that now—like he was waiting for her to crack.
And maybe tonight she finally would.
Joey has been friends with Zuzu for… around a year. They met together because well he didn't want to be seen with George, his family said something about staying away from him after all.
A year is a long time. At least a long time to realize what is going on with the person. He stares at Zuzu, seeing as her eyes seem to immediately dart the other direction every time.
Joey sat on the bed above her, his feet dangling just inches from the floor. He watched her, nervous fingers tugging at the hem of his sleeve. He had been watching her for days now—how she never interfered, even when her own sister was being yelled at and accused, her eyes far away from the scene. How she hadn’t really looked at anyone since Richard.
He couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Zuzu…” His voice was thin, trembling. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You’ve been… different.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.
It scared the shit out of him, and he didn't like it at all. He never felt brave, even with words, but for some reason, he's willing to share his mind.
“I mean, more than the rest of us,” he added quickly, like he was afraid she’d think he was accusing her. “Everyone’s… messed up, but you’re… I don’t know. You’re scaring me a little.”
That got her eyes on him. Sharp, defensive, almost angry. Joey swallowed hard, but forced himself not to look away.
“I don’t know what it is,” he went on, his words spilling out faster now, shaky but stubborn. “But you’re holding something in. I can see it. I just…” He twisted his hands together. “I wish you’d tell me. Whatever it is. I don’t care if it’s ugly. Just—say it. Please.”
Zuzu looked away, her throat tight. She wanted to snap at him, to tell him he was imagining things. But the desperation in his voice pinned her in place.
Joey leaned forward, his voice smaller now. “You were my first friend here. I don’t… I don’t want to lose you. But I feel like you’re already slipping away, like you’re carrying something that’s eating you alive.”
The words hit too close. Zuzu dug her nails into her knees, biting back the sob that clawed at her throat.
“Joey,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Don’t ask me that. You don’t want to know.”
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak. The walls pressed in. And she thought: maybe—just maybe—she couldn’t keep this buried much longer.
Would you like me to flow directly from this into the confession scene you asked for before (so they connect seamlessly), or keep this as a standalone moment of pressure before she breaks later?
“Joey…” Her voice was quiet, trembling, and she hated how weak it sounded. “I… I need to tell you something. You can’t—” She swallowed. “You can’t tell anyone else.”
Joey nodded quickly, almost too quickly, his hands clutching at his knees. “O-okay.”
The words stuck in her throat. Her chest felt heavy, her tongue like stone. She thought of Richard’s face, the pencil, the way the world spun after. Her stomach lurched, but she forced it out anyway.
“It was me.”
Joey blinked, confusion flickering. “W-what do you mean?”
Zuzu pressed her hands to her face, her voice cracking. “ It wasn’t an accident. I—” Her breath hitched, sharp and ugly. “I did it, and then I lied, and they all looked at him like he was just gone and I—”
Her words dissolved into ragged silence.
Joey just sat there, pale as the sheets beneath him. For a moment she thought he’d scream, or bolt for the door, or look at her the way she deserved—like a monster. But instead, Joey’s hands trembled in his lap, and he whispered, “I-Is this about– him?.”
Zuzu’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, stung. “What do you think?” Her response seemed honest, genuine. It didn't seem like she meant any harm.
Joey’s lip quivered, but he didn’t look away. “I… I’m confused. But, I–Understand?” He didn’t.
Her stomach dropped, a strange mix of relief and dread tangling inside her. She wanted to scream, to laugh, to collapse. She really wanted to. She wanted everything to just end now.
She didn’t care anymore.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I ruined everything. I ruined us.”
Joey shook his head hard, his voice breaking as he tried to sound steady. “No, Zuzu. I’m not— I’m not saying it’s okay” He didn’t know what he was saying now.. “But… I understand. You were scared. We’re all scared. I… I know you didn’t mean to—”
“I did,” she snapped, her voice hoarse, tears pricking her eyes. “Joey, I meant it at that moment. I hated him. I hated him so much.” Her voice broke, and she crumpled onto the chair by the desk, burying her face in her hands. “And now he’s gone, and it’s my fault.”
The silence after was unbearable, but then she felt a timid hand on her shoulder. Joey’s hand. Shaking, hesitant, but still there.
Zuzu sobbed into her palms, the sound raw and jagged. And though Joey’s hand trembled, it stayed on her shoulder, as if holding her together by the thinnest thread.