I woke up with a start.

More like I pounced, which caused me to fall out of my bed.

I groan, the back of my head yells in agony, my lower back following. I roll around the floor in pain, my eyes traveling from the ceiling to my lower region, covered in plaid boxers. The cold air running up and down my skin wakes me up like a gallon of water poured on me; I sit up quickly and blink as many times as I can. I think about locker rooms and towels, I think about masked faces and blood, then I think about snow and death and shiver.

"Crazy dream?" I said. I scratch my head, a short laugh leaves my lips, "Was it caused by what I ate yesterday…knew I shouldn't have a late-night snack..."

I get up from the cold ground and begin to get ready for the day.

 ...

15-minutes later, and I'm out the shower and all dolled up for school. I swing my bookbag over one shoulder, my gym bag over my other, and now I'm jogging down the steps and to the kitchen, where my mum and pops are, chatting up a conversation as my mum--in her famous plaid pencil skirt--makes breakfast and my pops sips his morning coffee, reading the newspaper and flipping through its pages. It isn't until he flips another page that he looks up and notices me, then shoots me a smile, my mum following closely behind as she tosses me something covered in foil paper. When I finally gotten to open the foil, it's a breakfast sandwich—my favorite actually, --because who can go wrong with eggs, bacon, and one slice of American cheese with a hint of honey. 

"Good morning," I smile, nodding a thanks to my mum, "I'm headed off!"

"Great, have a good day Andy," My mom smiles, her pretty brown eyes shimmering under the kitchen's chandelier, "have a good time at soccer practice."

I nod, smile, turn, and then freeze, turning back and offering her a confused smile.

"Soccer?" I asked, confused. "I-mum-I've played football since middle school. Soccer? Really?"

My mum and pops shoot each other a confused look.

"No," my pops said, letting out a snort, "it's been soccer, Andrew. How could you forget that?"

I open my mouth to argue, but then I freeze, feeling like I'm confusing myself because my pops—well—he trained me for years, so he'd be the first to know what sport I played—heck, he's the first to know what date, time, and year was my first ever practice on the field. So, for a second, I started questioning myself, but then reality hit me in the face, because I know I packed football gear in my gym back, so there's no way that's true. But then again, this is my pops and--well--when is he ever wrong about that, about me?

I nod my head, a crocked smile on my lips, "Right, bye guys." I said because there were probably playing a really bad joke or something.

Which is what I thought until I left the house, slide in my car, opened my gym bag, and realized that I definitely have soccer gear in my bag. I ever have a soccer jersey with the number 1 on it.

 …

When I first walk into school, I already feel like something's off.

Like a routine, everyone is in the same places; jocks huddling together, popular chicks laughing their asses off at the nerds, teachers screaming at the troublemakers, but it still feels unreal. Through my eyes, I've seen this scene every day, but through my eyes, this is a new scene, freshly picked from a virtual world and thrown into reality. I'm not sure why I feel like a new kid at a school I've been going to for four years, but I feel like a freshly picked fruit, ready to be devoured by the fangs of the cold, brutal world.

 "I really ate something bad," I laugh to myself, spotting Kyle with a group of our football teammates, followed by Jessi, leaning on a locker, and avoiding one our teammates advance towards her.

I walk over to where Kyle is, tapping his shoulder. He turns, a big smile on his dopey-looking face when he sees me. His big jacket, covering his tall frame, rustles, catching my attention.

"Andy! What's up?" He greets, but I ignore him, my eyes trained to his varsity jacket. "Hello? Andy-?"

"Why is there a soccer ball on your jacket?" I asked, pointing towards his jacket. Kyle blinks, his eyes following where mine stare holes at. He raises an eyebrow, speculating.

"Because I play soccer…" Kyle laughs, nervously meeting eyes with Jessi "Dude, we're on the same team."

I shake my head. "You're joking right? I haven't played soccer since middle school. W-we've been playing football since like forever…you know, been on the varsity team in this dump since freshman year-? Am I going crazy, or is today just weird?"

The other guys around Kyle look at me like I've grown three heads, but really, I've either grown another reality or this is a joke, and it's not very fucking funny.

"Maybe both? Look, Andy," Kyle looks concerned now, grabbing my shoulders like he could break me. He's one of the biggest liners we have on the team, or is it something else now? Goalie? I don't remember any other positions in soccer but regardless, he probably could break me in halves, then in quarters. "We've been playing soccer since freshman year."

"No," I stare at that god-awful soccer stitch. "Football." I said.

Someone in Kyle's little group laughs, punching his shoulder; his name is Darmenly or something. "Football means soccer in France dude. Isn't Andrew like French or something?"

"Britain," I mumble under my breath. "I'm from Britian."

"That's where the corny accent comes from," Darmenly snickers. Like always, I just ignore him, too occupied on figuring out why the hell is there a soccer stitch on Kyle's varsity jacket-?

The bell rings, signaling the beginning of the day and the end of my football life.

"I'll see you at practice, Andy." Kyle walks away, but not without giving me a once over. Jessi snorts and shrugs, unbothered. 

"Sometimes, I swear he does coke." Darmenly said, laughing at his own joke. Kyle smacks him behind the head but stays silent. Jessi just offers Darmenly an unamused look.

I continue to stand in the middle of the hallway, stunned.

Soccer? 

 …

I can play soccer.

Andrew Jones, football star athlete of Cross High School is officially Andrew Jones, soccer star athlete of Cross High School.

It doesn't make any sense. I'm kicking the ball, passing it around like I'm some sort of soccer god and I don't even play soccer. I barely remember the rules to the game, but here I am, playing the sport like I've known all my life. 

 "Andy, pass!" A player waves to me, tapping the ground with their heal. 

I don't even remember how to pass the ball right, but somehow, I'm doing it almost flawlessly, like it's a second skin, like I've been practicing beyond elementary school, like soccer suddenly turned into football and I've grown two hands for feet. Like, like, like.

Our coach calls us over. Harvey (or as we like to call him Big H) looks disgusting in that stupid soccer get up. We all look stupid in these stupid cleats and stupid shorts and stupid socks and where's my helmet for god's sake-?

"Alright princesses, do some laps." Harvey said. Everyone groans, but I'm ready to let off some steam. "Get on it, you little shits. The more you grumble, the more I'll forget to tell you to stop."

"That's abuse!" Darmenly whines in the crowd of sweaty, stinky, soaked boys. 

"That's another minute of me forgetting, now get, get!" Someone rightful punches Darmenly in the arm before we all break, ready to sweat some more. I roll up my long sleeves, already jogging off the field and on the track.

 There's a soft tap soon after on my shoulder; Kyle jogs next to me, a small grin plastered on his face; his brown eyes sparkle, his short hair dyed a brighter brunet by the sun's rays. He seems so happy to be running laps, but Kyle could be picking shit up from someone's ass and still somehow smile. It's what I love most about him. I feel like for once, I have an older brother, one who always shows me the positives of life.

"Are you still convinced this is football practice?" Kyle laughs, but he sees my face and shrugs. "I guess that's a no..."

"I don't get it," I look from him to the track, sweat already forming on my forehead. "I don't even remember how to even kick a ball, but here I am, doing it." Kyle pats my back, his smile fading slightly. 

"Did you hit your head or something? Eat something bad?" He said, his jogging slows down, "you had to bump your head or eat something bad-."

I look past Kyle and see Sebastian next to the bleachers, filling up the team's water tank. Dreams can be freaking realistic, because Sebastian's hair isn't white like it was in my delusions, but back to a dark brunet, and his eyes look as grey as ever. "No, but it's been pretty weird ever since I bumped into him."

Kyle looks from me to where my eyes land. He turns back to me, his smile completely gone. 

"That weirdo? You bumped into him?" Kyle asked. "Where? How? Did he hurt you-?"

"Kyle," I stop, feeling other guys brush past me to run ahead. "You were there."

The confused way Kyle looks at me doesn't scare me as much as it irritates me. "Kyle, you were bloody there-for God's sake! You don't remember anything!" 

I jog past Kyle and straight to Sebastian. I ignore Kyle's cries, and I tune out Big H's horrible screeching. I don't care, if this weird day turns less weird, I can die happy.

Sebastian doesn't see me when he screws the lid back on the water. I wave, but he doesn't notice me, too distracted by his task. I reach for his arm, my fingertips brushing against his bicep. He reacts automatically, grabbing my wrist, eyeing my hand like it's deadly. 

I stutter, scared under his strength. "M-my hand. Dude, my hand." I croak out. Sebastian looks at my wrist in his grasp, his wide eyes slowly looking up to meet mine. "You're holding a little too tight man." I said. Sebastian quickly let go, his expression changes from wild to embarrassed in a blink of an eye.

"Sorry," Sebastian said. He takes out something from his ear—headphones—and takes a step back, his big shoulders shrink with guilt. "Didn't hear you."

I hold my throbbing wrist, suddenly my heart begins pounding in my ears. Sebastian hurriedly takes out the other bud, holding his ear like it's been shocked. "I didn't mean to scare you there," I said, shrugging, "so we're even."

He shakes his head but says nothing more. I look back to the water jug, the liquid peacefully gliding in waves. "Are you helping for the day or something?"

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, I'm the water boy."

I choke on the spit left in my mouth. "You're the-you're the water boy?" Sebastian nods, I let out a nervous laugh, but I don't find anything funny. "This day keeps getting more weird man."

Sebastian shrugs. "How?" He asked. 

"Well for starters, I'm playing soccer. I don't play soccer." It surprises me that Sebastian stops what he's doing to give me his full attention, like I don't sound crazy, and like I'm not bickering about my life to a guy I've never had a real conversation with before today. "Then, Kyle tells me that you and I didn't bump into each other yesterday, which we did, and-."

"We bumped into each other. When? Yesterday?" I nod, but he shakes his head. I almost didn't catch the way he avoids my eyes. "I would have remembered if we had…what did that happen yesterday-?"

"Not you too!" I huff, throwing my arms up. "Come on man, someone must remember something! I wasn't the only one there! It's like everyone hit their heads with a football or something-!"

"Andrew," Someone yells from behind me, "move out the way-!"

There's this strong hold on my wrist again before I'm flung out of the way and smothered into Sebastian; his arm wrapped around my torso and his tall statue holding me barely upright. My tip toes are the only parts of my feet left to touch the ground; the rest unable to by being suspended in the air. My wrist painful throbs, but my fingers' resolutely grip onto Sebastian's arm, afraid of him letting go. 

Sebastian pulls me back; my feet finally meet the ground once more. He unwraps his arm from my frame, but he moves back to my wrist, delicately holding it like he broke it. I wouldn't be surprised if he did at this point. 

"Sorry," Sebastian rubs his thumb over the tender limb, "I keep hurting it."

"It's okay," I'm frozen by his delicacy, by his tender fingers rubbing my wound like he can magically heal it, like he hopes he can heal it, like he cares so, too much. "I-It's okay, really, thanks for saving me there-."

"No, it's not!" It's Kyle who pushes Sebastian—hard—in the chest, and holds my wrist, anger craving his face a new emotion. "Fuck, it looks bad. God, he did that?"

I'm still dazed, under grey. "Least we're not playing football," I said, and I surprisingly mean it. 

"Are you still on that crap?" I am. "Damn, that assholes' fucking strong." He is.

"And you are on clean up duty, Jones." Figures. Should have saw that one coming.

"But coach, his hand-!" Kyle refutes, but Big H rolls his eyes, his scowl noticeable halfway across the field. "Then go help him!" He responds.

I look at Kyle's face, the puzzle instantly already coming together by his troubled expression. 

"Your Mum?" I asked softly. 

Kyle shakes his head. "I'll just-."

"Kyle," I said. I roll my eyes, laughing at his good intentions. "Don't worry about it."

"I'll help," I turn to see Sebastian fidget, his big hand raised. "Since this one's kind of on me." He said.

"Kind of? You mean it is!" Kyle growls, "you should've kept your grimy hands to yourself!"

"Kyle," I shake my wrist out of his hold, "relax, man. I'm good."

"No, you aren't," Kyle's eyes wonder from mine to Sebastian. "I'm gonna break your hand, you fucking emo prick-."

"Kyle," I said sternly, clapping my hands together, trying to gain his attention again, "I said I'm good…"

My eyes wander to Kyle's feet, where a giant ant lying on its stomach twitches, its broken legs straighten and smooth out. The insect crawls on Kyle's left shoe, followed by another on Kyle's right, followed by another, and another, and another. There's a mountain of them on Kyle's feet, broken, in pieces, barely attached, various of ants in all bodies and forms swarm on Kyle's stupid soccer shoes.

Kyle screams.

Kyle kicks his feet—left, right, left, right—in the air, panic surfacing to pry these bugs off. The ants continue to crawl up further on his exposed skin, covering parts of his tanned body in black and red. Kyle backs away and falls on his ass, his hands hurriedly swatting any bugs he can off his body. I back away, horrified by tall, big strong Kyle on the ground, screaming and crying for help like a child. 

Sebastian books it to the water jug and reaches behind the plastic. He unravels a blue hand towel from behind it and drags it back to where Kyle is. He whips the fronts of Kyle shoes with great strength, swatting as many ants as he can off the white cleats. A crowd of stinky boy's surf around Kyle; coach jogs over to see the ruckus. Standing above Kyle, my eyes filled with spots of black and red running and biting Kyle's tan skin; his shoes painted a new color and his eyes wild and filled with tears; I croak under the horror. Sebastian continues to fight a battle he can't win; more ants creep and crawl to dye Kyle's brown hair.

"Shit!" I scream. I dropped on my hands and knees, eyeing the insects crawling over my best friend, "will they stop-?!"

They stop.

Almost like a puppet without its master, all the ants freeze and drop. Some freeze on their bellies, others on their backs, some broken pieces twitch and fall, like they didn't move in the first place. 

Kyle hurriedly jumps up, dusting himself off rapidly and shaking off his clothes, hair, and shoes. He gasps and backs away into another player and trips and falls. The other player catches him by his elbows, asking him if he's alright.

Kyle gulps. 

I look from Kyle to Sebastian's towel covered in squashed, dead ants, to my hands, matching the blue towel, covered in ant parts and black and red. 

I quick wipe my hands on my clothes and hold them, ignoring the throb in my wrist. Sebastian puts a big hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention. 

"You good?" He asked.

I nod in response. 

Sebastian turns from me to Kyle, who's already glaring at Sebastian's hand on me. 

"How about-?" Sebastian starts, but Kyle raises his hand, cutting him off. 

"Fuck off," Kyle shakes his head, his eyes threatening. "Fuck off."

I nods in thanks to Sebastian, but I head towards Kyle, my eyes avoiding his feet. 

"You okay, man?" I asked. Kyle shakes his head, his eyes still wild, frantic. "Hey-.'

"Why did that happen?" Kyle stares at me, his lower lip quivering. "And why did they stop like that?"

I flinch, surprised at the way Kyle stares at me, like he's accusing me of the mess that just aspired. I raise an eyebrow in response, pointing at myself, ready to defend my own honor when Big H breaks the crowd of stinky, sweaty boys up, placing a hold on Kyle's elbow. 

"We'll end early today, ladies." Big H said. There's loud cheering as an aftermath, but I don't join the chorus. "But you still have cleaning duty, Miss Jones."

I stay silent, but nod. 

"And since you volunteered to help, you can join too Miss Curtis." Big H turns away from Sebastian and smiles, heading out with Kyle and the energetic, happy players, "have fun on your honeymoon." 

Coach, Kyle, and the rest of the team disperse, leaving me and Sebastian behind. Sebastian silently watches the team leave until the last player appears out of sight. Then, Sebastian heads towards the goal and begins to take it apart. 

I watch him for a minute, silently observing, then I join him.

I grab onto one of the goals' metal poles and try to help him take it apart. 

"Thank you-." I start saying, but my wrist pounds. I flinch, almost dropping the metal I have in my hand. "Sorry about that." I said, eyeing the metal pole in embarrassment. 

Sebastian stops what he's doing and stares at my hand. "I should be saying that. I didn't mean to be so rough." He said, his tone somber. 

"It was an accident." I smile, resuming picking up the metal pole. "You didn't mean to."

Sebastian looks to me, guilt covering his face. "I still did what I did." He said.

We have a silent staring match until Sebastian opens his mouth again.

"I-I should wrap it." Sebastian stutters out.

"Huh?" I watch Sebastian gently place down the goal and walk over to me, his grey eyes piecing me. 

"Your wrist," He points to the swollen appendage, his eyebrows furrowed. "I think I bruised it or something."

"Oh." I respond.

"I should wrap it. For you." Sebastian awkwardly meets my eyes, before he quickly looks away. "I mean if you want me to. I get it if you don't."

"No," I shake my head. "I mean, yes-yeah. I appreciate it. Thanks."

Sebastian jogs back to the cooler and reaches behind it again. He holds up a first aid kit and jogs back, looking back at my hand. 

"Let me just…" He opens the box and frowns. "It's not here." 

I raise an eyebrow. "The bandages?"

"Yeah," He pursues his lips. "I don't know where I could get more…"

"Probably the sports supplies closet in the gym," I pause, "I'll get it."

Sebastian shakes his head, but I shrug. "You might not know where to look." I said. "Kyle usually takes stuff from there so I have an idea where it could be, or at least I hope I do."

Sebastian looks at me like he knows he should tell me to shut the hell up and let him get it, but he backs off. "Okay. I'll clean up while you go."

"Thanks," I turn to leave, but I stupidly let out a "I'll be right back."

"Okay, yeah-uh-I-I'll just..." Sebastian awkwardly turns away to continue dismantling the goal. I go ahead, a big pile of spit threatening to stick in my throat. 

I walk through the soccer field and to a back door of the school. I open the creaking doors to a large gym, the basketball court's floors cleaned and shined. I walk through the silent and unanimated court, the eeriness shaking me up. I hear a few squeaks and creaks, feeling my shoulders hunch with every small noise. 

Across the court, I spot the gym closet, the door creaked open. Hesitant, I widened the door gap, expecting some high school couple making out behind the door or something, but it's only me, so I leave the door open behind me and take a few steps forward, looking for the bandages. Then, I hear the door close shut.

I stop, waiting for Sebastian or somebody familiar to make their presence known, but I only hear a faint sound of leather move.

"So why it is that you're so easy to catch," I turn my head to a familiar mask, "Mr. Pretty Boy?"

"Why I'm-hold on a…" I raise an eyebrow, trying to remember where've I seen such an obnoxious costume until I remember my dream, and blood, and dying. I remember the soft snow touching my fingers; the snow refusing to fall into my palm. The echoes of nightfall causing my ears to ring and the sound of yelling to become faint.

I remember dying. 

"Holy shit-!" I choke out. Something is thrown directly at my stomach. I hunch over, a slight pain huddles my abdomen. Something else hits my swollen wrist, another blow to my outstretched hand. "Ouch! Why are you-?!"

A few more items hit me, hard, until I realize that the masked fiend is throwing anything in their eyesight and hurdling it towards me. "Will you-will you quit it?!"

Masked Face stops, tilting their head. I freeze too, trying to catch my breath. "Are you trying to take my lunch money?" I asked, throwing my hands up. "What the hell was that for?!" 

"I was trying a new way to kill you," Masked Face snickers, reaching behind themselves, pulling out their whip and tightening it in their hands. "But I'll do it the boring way."

I gasp. "Wait, w-wait!" I yell, raising my hands up again, feeling my wrist pound in pain. "Explain to me why you want to kill me again?"

Masked Face freezes, gripping their whip tighter. "Would you kill people if it meant saving people?"

"What kind of question is that?" I asked. "Of course not! What does that solve? Isn't someone still dead?" I slowly let my hands drop to my side. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose in saving someone?" 

Masked Face stands still. There's only our soft breathing that fills the room. They raise their whip and strikes the ground. Large, menacing metal spikes cover the leather's outer skin, the sharp blades gleam under the lights above. 

"That answer," Masked Face sounds angry, "is why. That's why. And I can't wait to fucking kill you until I can't no more, you piece of shit. So, tell me how many pieces you want me to cut up your body in? I'll least give you the choice."

"One," I back away, slowly, hearing fear echo in my voice. "Please keep me intact."

The leather whip hits the large cabinet behind me hard, knocking down half of the cabinet and the items on it. The other half of the cabinet still is attached to the wall, it's sharp hinges and edges poking out of the cracked wall.

I backup a few more steps, my body almost hitting the wall. 

Masked Face swings, I fall on my ass, defending myself on my hands and knees. The blow never comes, but a familiar coat and white hair does. 

"Why are you so easy to find?" Sebastian asked, his eyes directed at Masked Face, hands busied from holding the spiked whip in his hand.

"I can say the same thing about lover boy over here," Masked Face pulls the whip their way, slipping Sebastian's grip onto a sharp spike. The metal digs in his hand, deep, but he doesn't let go, not even when a blue liquid drips from his hand. Instead, he pushes his hand deeper, deeper into the metal and pulls the whip his way, making Masked Face stagger forward. 

"Too bad, now back off." Sebastian said.

"Hell no." Masked Faced snarls. "Why are you always interfering? Isn't your only good quality to sit quietly and shut up?"

"Because" Sebastian glowers at Masked Face, "I'm tired of seeing you always hurt Andrew. Why won't you just leave him be?"

"You sure you want to tango buddy?" Masked Face said, their voice smiling, "you are no better, asshole. Stop playing hero."

"You're the asshole."

"I want to kill you."

"I couldn't agree more."

There's silence before Sebastian wraps himself in the metal whip and hits Masked Face across the face with a nun chunk. Masked Face retaliates with a punch to the gut, and Sebastian finishes with a hard fist at their eye. Masked Face drops the whip, staggers back, and rushes towards me. I slam my hand on ground tile and push myself off the floor to run, but before I could even try, I notice the ants—the ants are back, and crawling on Masked Face's leather suit. They yelp in surprise, backing up against a wall. I follow their lead, but instead of a wall, I pierce my forehead with a sharp metal rod. 

"Andrew-!"