#ghostly encounters

The icy winds surged and whipped his scarf around his face, as St. Agatha's asylum held her crumbling arms outstretched around him. He felt watched. That feeling of paranoia that alcohol was so good at dulling was now weighing on him in full force. His head throbbed. His fingers felt twitchy, the keys shaking in his grip. A murder of crows burst from a nearby bush as he walked by. He had some strange thought that the howling winds might try to snatch the keys from him this time to draw him back into the woods, yet he refused to dignify that feeling by looking back.

He steeled himself as he approached the steps, overwhelmed by the towering height of the building. He grabbed the chain and padlock on the front doors, betrayed by his trembling hand as he struggled to put the key in. Snow crunched quietly and quickly behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Yao running after him, attempting to put his coat on with one hand while lugging a backpack in the other.

"I thought you weren't leaving the van tonight," Ivan said, eyeing the bag and realising it was his survival kit, a bundle of rope and a torch hanging off the sides. Yao hopped up the steps and ducked under Ivan's arm to place himself between Ivan and the door.

Ivan raised a brow. "That's cute," he said, twisting the key in the padlock and throwing the padlock aside. Yao shoved himself back against the doors, unamused.

"Either you somehow think you're the exception here, or you really don't care if you get hurt," Yao said, his voice brittle.

"This is a bit dramatic."

"You said so yourself! It's not safe in there."

"Only for people like Alfred. They fall prey to these things easily."

"And you won't?"

Ivan chuckled, in an attempt to ease that silence settling between them now. Yao met his gaze in a way he often didn't these past few years, as if he was afraid of what he'd see. Ivan didn't blame him. Something had tainted him that night in the woods.

"Not anymore. Come on, now. Let me through."

Yao sulkily pursed his lips shut, begrudgingly stepping aside to allow Ivan to pull the doors open. "Fine. If you're going down there anyway I'm coming with you. Thought I'd just try my luck first."

The metal hinges screeched and groaned, echoing into the darkness ahead. Ivan switched on his flashlight. The foyer was quiet; no one was waiting here to be let out. There was no response over the walkie-talkie either, just dead static.

"O-Okay…" Yao exhaled shakily, walking behind Ivan as he moved in. "We're just… going in and out, right?"

"Mhm," Ivan hummed, casting light on the hallway floor ahead, which was littered with broken glass and overturned furniture. He wasn't sure how much of that was vandalism after closure. The place had closed officially due to being underfunded and understaffed, but rumours had gone around that many patients had simply had enough. He wouldn't be surprised. "Watch your step here."

Yao grabbed the sleeve of Ivan's coat, lingering close. "I know why you're doing this," he said. "You came back for your honour or something, didn't you?"

Ivan couldn't help but laugh out loud. His voice bounced against the walls. "Honour?"

"Quiet!" Yao hissed, tugging at his sleeve. "And yes! You're trying to prove yourself as brave or whatever. You know, I call it stupidity."

"Ah, maybe it is…" Ivan said before accidentally stepping on glass, its sharp crack followed by a deafening silence.

Yao froze and squeezed Ivan's arm, his voice barely audible. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes, I stepped on glass."

"N-No. Oh my god. I heard something else."

This is foolish, Ivan thought. He sighed irritably and walked on forward, not caring for the darkness, for what he might possibly shine his flashlight on next. He let Yao take his hand for comfort, following in Alfred, Arthur and Francis' footsteps down the hall and to the stairwell. He tried the walkie-talkie again: nothing. Static, and distorted noises apparently, according to Yao — whatever that meant. On the off-chance that any of their phones could pick up a signal, Yao tried calling, too. No such luck.

Just as they were about to head downstairs, Yao stopped. He tugged at Ivan's sleeve. "What if they're back at the van, looking for us?"

"How would they have gotten out?"

"I don't know, there could be another exit."

Ivan hummed. "No, I don't think there is." He did recall a fire escape down the side of the main building, though in all of his trips in here he never once could find a way out to it. Most windows were long since barred or cemented in. There were no emergency exits either. He looked to Yao sympathetically. "You can go back if you want."

Yao swallowed. "By myself? No! Why can't we —"

"Yao. I'm going down there."

"Ivan, come on."

Ivan pulled away and descended down the steps, smiling up at Yao with his flashlight turned up to his face. Yao groaned and quickly hopped down the steps to catch up with him.

"At least watch where you're going," he muttered.

"I've been down here before. Alfred and I set up a camera where the brick flew last time. It's probably where they went," Ivan said, earning a disapproving hum from Yao.

The downstairs area was darker than the ground floor. With no windows, not even moonlight could pass through in here. And without a night-vision camera, two little flashlights were just barely enough to see where they were. Yao's hand felt clammy in Ivan's, squeezing so tight he might break his bones.

"It's just a little further up ahead," Ivan said quietly. He couldn't see Yao's expression well, but he could almost hear Yao's heart pounding in his chest. "We'll take a look there and then investigate the rest of this floor —"

The sound of clattering caused both of them to flinch.

"What the fuck was that?!" Yao hissed. Ivan chuckled nervously.

"Probably a rat?"

Yao shrieked, stumbling into Ivan. "F-Fuck, something touched me."

Ivan sighed. "Nothing touched you —"

"Ivan, I swear, something touched my neck."

"You're freaking yourself out. It was probably a breeze from upstairs or something," Ivan said, wrapping his arm around Yao's shoulder. "I'm here, Yaochka, don't worry."

Yao's teeth chattered as he spoke. "Ugh. Whatever."

They walked into the brick room, Ivan's flashlight catching the black taped 'X' on the floor. He shined the light around, finding only the four blank walls he saw earlier today. "Well… They're not here."

The walkie-talkie in his pocket started to buzz with static. Yao cursed under his breath.

"Why is it doing that? Did you turn it on?"

Ivan furrowed his brows. "I don't think I did…" He pressed down on the button and spoke into it. "Alfred? Arthur? Is someone there?"

He released the button only to have static again — but there was something else, too, like a low rumbling. Yao dug his fingers into Ivan's arm, his breaths growing ragged.

"I-I think we should leave," Yao whispered.

"Why?"

In the half-light, Yao's eyes grew wide with terror. "You don't hear that?"

"Hear what? The rumbling?"

"N-No, not just that…" Yao tugged at Ivan's arm. "Come on. We should leave."

Just as they turned, the door behind them slammed shut with a bang. Yao screamed. Ivan dropped his flashlight and ran forward, yanking at the door handle. It was ice-cold, and wouldn't budge. They were locked in.

.

(Listen, Arthur, I —)

Arthur stood there staring at the empty air in front of him. Alfred had just been there, and in the blink of an eye — gone. Arthur stumbled back, whirling around and shining his shaky flashlight around. Did he black out? Was this some sort of trick?

"Alfred?" His breaths echoed loudly against the tiled walls. "This isn't funny. I-I know you're hiding."

He peeked his head out into the hallway, spotting a flash of light bouncing against the walls in the distance. He laughed dryly.

"I see you there," he said, running after the light, his heart pounding as he approached the corner. He didn't question how Alfred would have made it this far down the hallway without making a sound, or why he would have done such a thing in the first place. He veered left at the corner and nearly crashed into Francis.

"Fuck me," Arthur muttered breathlessly. "I thought you were him."

"What is going on? You both left me completely alone —"

"Alfred's gone," Arthur sighed, pacing around the dark hallway, eyeing all the possible directions he could have run off into. "I don't know where he went."

"What do you mean he's gone?"

"He's just bloody gone! He was right there with me one moment, and the next…" Arthur swallowed, his stomach burning with dread. Is that how Matthew went — just slipped right through thin air like he was nothing? Without saying anything more, he ran back the way he came, scouring the hallways, the twists and turns of windowless concrete, ignoring Francis' unconvincing assurances that Alfred probably went back upstairs and was now wondering where the two of them had gone. Arthur knew in his gut that this wasn't true; he felt sweaty and shaky all over, knowing somehow that Alfred was alone and terrified somewhere, that leaving St. Agatha's would mean losing him forever just like he did Matthew. He felt sick at the thought, stumbling to a stop eventually and wavering in place. Francis took hold of his arm.

"We should head back and get help, okay?" Francis said softly. "He is here somewhere. We'll find him."

Arthur nodded weakly, ready to turn back until a distant, echoed ding! startled him.

"Did you hear that?" Arthur asked. Francis looked wide-eyed, uncertain. Further up ahead, there was an odd glow, almost like daylight. Arthur followed it, turning eventually to find a room uncannily similar to the one they had stumbled across earlier. And sure enough, there was a modern-looking elevator at the centre. Only this time, the doors were wide open.

"Did we go in circles?" Francis asked, hesitant to approach.

"Possibly," Arthur muttered, though he knew they had done anything but. He peered at the elevator buttons inside. There was only one, an arrow pointing down.

"We're not… going down there, are we?"

Arthur glanced up at Francis, who wasn't even holding the camera up in earnest anymore. "Where else could he have gone?"

Francis peered down as he stepped into the elevator with Arthur, furrowing his brows when it shifted slightly with their weight. "And if we get stuck in here?"

Arthur jammed the button with his thumb and caught himself thinking of a prayer. "Let's just hope we don't."

The elevator doors slid shut, the light above them flickering as the machinery came to life and juttered. The ride was shuddery and rough. Arthur grabbed a rail, his knuckles bone-white when the elevator almost felt like it was free-falling, descending without control. He tried not to think about the fact that there was no "up" button, no foreseeable escape from where they were about to go. Bile rose up in his throat regardless.

The elevator jerked hard as it landed, sending Arthur and Francis stumbling. Arthur gripped the side bar, his heartbeat pounding hard in his throat. The doors half opened before the lights flickered off. Somewhere in the distance, there was the faint sound of a man's hoarse laughter.

"Well," Arthur said shakily, having to clear his throat. "Here we are."

They squeezed through the doors and stepped out into an empty hallway, though it was different from any other part of St. Agatha's. It looked strangely untouched — the floors polished clean, and the main desk, though empty, was immaculately organised. A sign pointing left read "Intense Care Ward". In the other direction, the morgue.

"Alfred?" Arthur called out, shining his flashlight down in either direction. Francis tensed, looking over his shoulder.

"The laughing, it came from that way, didn't it?" Francis said, pointing down towards what would be the intense care ward. "Not that I'm keen to follow it…"

"It must have been him." Arthur hesitated, having to force his footsteps into the path ahead. He could almost feel the weight of the entire asylum on him, all of its eyes and ears trained on his every breath and movement. Every office and corridor was windowless, the lights dead. No exit door in sight. The further they walked from the elevator, the more wary he was of the fact that the flashlight batteries were running out by the second. Alfred had to be here, he had to be just around this corner, in this room — only to find dusty silences and empty beds. Sighing, he sat down on one of these beds, his feet starting to ache. Francis lingered awkwardly.

"Arthur? Come on, chérie, there are still other rooms to check."

"Don't call me that," Arthur grimaced weakly. He pulled out his phone. It was just past midnight, no connection whatsoever and his battery was dying. Somehow it felt like he'd been looking for Alfred for a lot longer. "We should have brought camping equipment. This place is a bloody maze."

"We should get Ivan and Yao to help."

"Alfred had the walkie talkie. Who knows, maybe he has already left this place." Arthur rested his face tiredly in his hands. His chest was starting to ache at the mere possibility of leaving and not finding Alfred there at the van. Would Alfred feel the same way if the roles were reversed? Somehow, he doubted it. He couldn't imagine Alfred being a pathetic sap. Scared as he'd be down here, he'd psych himself into thinking he was some sort of Indiana Jones, searching for thrills and treasures. Not scrambling for the one person he couldn't make a single day without thinking about them.

Francis pat his head, presumably in sympathy, though it only made Arthur feel even more sorry for himself. He groaned, glancing around the scarcely-lit room through the web of his fingers. Although this building seemed large enough to house an entire town within it, the rooms were claustrophobically tiny. His knees could almost touch the bed opposite of him. The door barely had enough space to open. He roamed his flashlight around, able to even illuminate the hallway outside partly. Just as he did this, a moving figure blocked his light — two pairs of bare feet and the hems of hospital gowns running past the room. Arthur's heart lurched, feeling as though it would hop out of his throat. He stood up and startled Francis.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

Arthur ran out into the hallway, only just spotting the back of a gown turning into a room up ahead. "Alfred!"

He followed after them, ignoring Francis' calls for him to slow down. He grabbed the door handle of the room and yanked it open — only to find no one there. Panting, he stood there dumbfounded, not sure there was any place someone could have hidden in. It was a surgery room. An operating table in the middle, with restraints handing off the edges. A small cabinet and tray of rusty tools on the side. Nothing and no one else.

"There's nothing here." He shivered, wanting to collapse onto the floor. Francis touched his shoulder. "I was sure I saw someone. I was sure I'd —"

"We can't keep looking forever, Arthur."

Arthur shirked away from him. "Don't you start." Barely able to keep from giving into his tired legs, he leaned against the cabinet and stared at the blank wall ahead. His head ached. His throat felt like it was made of paper. But he didn't care — he'd stay down here for as long as it took to find Alfred.

.

Alfred grimaced as something warm dripped onto him. He wiped away at his face, squinting his eyes open to find himself in near-darkness. He was lying in a bed that, with a sinking realisation, he knew wasn't his. Just above the bed was a barred window, the scarce moonlight just enough for him to make out a dark patch on the ceiling above his head. It dripped again, and as he wiped his face he noticed that his fingers were wet with something dark and viscous. His lips tasted metallic.

He scrambled off the bed, the drips now staining the rumpled sheets. His pulse started fluttering, his hands shaky as he felt around for a door. His entire body ached, as if bruised to the bone. His left arm felt strangely numb, too, resistant to movement as if it was asleep. He bumped into a wall, cursing under his breath.

"Who's there?" a tiny voice asked. Alfred yelped and turned around. In the opposite corner of this small room, there was another bed. He could barely see anyone there, until a figure rose from the sheets and sat up. Locks of gold hair caught the faint light from the window.

"Matt? Is that you?"

The figure stilled for a moment. Alfred approached, his eyes adjusting to the low light and wondering if this was some sort of dream. The man across from him was skinny, almost tiny in comparison to the bed. He was sickly pale, and his eyes were overshadowed by dark circles. But the eyes were unmistakably Matt's — a gentle blue that was almost violet with the right kind of lighting. Alfred had always kind of envied them, but seeing their dying light now almost broke him.

"We've been looking for you," Alfred said, his voice cracking. He reached over to hug him, only for Matt to pull away and scramble closer to the wall next to his bed. "For years now."

"No one is looking for me," Matt said, averting his eyes to his bare feet. "I'm here until I get better."

"Get better from what?" Alfred crouched to the floor to try and get into Matt's field of vision. "Mattie, don't you recognise me?"

Matt glanced up at him briefly, distrustfully. "You're a delusion."

"I'm your friend Alfred." He grabbed Matt by the shoulder, shaking him gently. "I'm real."

Matt's attention caught onto Alfred's sleeve. He shakily pulled the sleeve up, revealing what looked like a patient bracelet. Alfred pulled away, reading his own name, date of birth, and patient number on his wrist. It was bound so tightly there was barely room to hook a finger through. It wouldn't tear either.

"I guess you are real," Matt said quietly.

"What the fuck," Alfred muttered, his breaths feeling thin as he attempted to wriggle his hand out of the bracelet. It was no use. The material was hard like plastic.

"You shouldn't touch it."

Alfred stood up, circling the room and trying the door handle. Locked. He whirled around to look at Matt. He was lying back down on his bed, eyes wide open and staring vacantly at the ceiling. Alfred's bed was now soaked through with a large puddle of red. His left arm tingled, still hanging uselessly by his side.

"How can you just lie there?"

Matt sighed. "In three years, I've tried everything. What else is there left to do?"

Alfred scoffed. He stood underneath the window and hopped up to grab onto one of the bars with his right arm. Wincing, he barely pulled himself up to peek through. The full moon was high up in the sky, but the horizon was just one endless forest — didn't he fall through from the basement? He began yelling for help for as long as his arm could hold him up there, before being yanked down by Matt.

"What do you think you're doing?" Matt hissed.

"Dude, I'm trying to get us out of here."

"I don't think you get it," Matt said, his voice hoarse as if he hadn't had to use this volume for a long time. "The only way out of here is to get better. And that means not yelling. Or trying to escape. Or acting like we're not supposed to be here. Because we are. Just look at you."

Alfred scoffed. "Look at me?"

"You're in the right clothes, aren't you? You're wearing the bracelet. And let's not kid ourselves; everyone else thought you were kooky before you ended up here. We both were. It was about time you woke up."

Alfred braved a glance down at his clothes, the bracelet, his overgrown fingernails and dirty feet. He knew in his mind Matt was wrong… but what if he wasn't? What if everything he thought was evidence of life after death was really just proof of his own insanity? What if the past three years had been just some lone fantasy while he wasted away in that bed? And yet, Arthur — he had to be real. His imagination couldn't have possibly matched up to the reality of seeing him again, of hearing him laugh and suffering his scathing remarks and revelling in his guarded tenderness. Moments like those couldn't have been made up.

Alfred stepped back from Matt. "Look. I don't know what's going on here, or what's gotten into you, but there's no way any of this is real. The asylum is just fucking with us."

Matt didn't say anything for a moment, but he was visibly shaking. "You don't know the half of what this place does to you."

They both flinched when three loud bangs sounded at the door. Matt gasped and hopped back into his bed, his eyes trained on the gap between the door and the floor. The outside hallway was flickering with light, revealing a large shadow hovering outside. The door clicked, and the shadow left.

Matt sighed. "It's probably our food. The door should open."

Alfred carefully opened the door, peering outside as if he might see someone there. Only the hallway was empty. A single tray lay on the ground — two mouldy pieces of bread, water, and two little cups of multi-coloured pills. Alfred glanced down either side of the hallway, listening for footsteps. Just as he thought to step out, Matt grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked him back in.

"You'd be stupid to even try. Trust me," Matt said, picking up the tray and shutting the door. It clicked again. Locked. He handed Alfred the pills. "Take them."

"What for?"

Alfred watched Matt take his bread, tearing out the mouldy parts to leave behind an even smaller morsel. He chewed it slowly, watching Alfred. After he swallowed, he sipped the water carefully.

"Sleep is the only real escape here," Matt said. He poured out the pills into his bony hand. Alfred grabbed his wrist to stop him. Matt glanced up at him tiredly. "I have to take them."

"No, you don't."

"I get unwell if I don't. I don't sleep at all —"

Alfred knocked the pills out of his hands. They scattered across the floor in the near-darkness. Matt darted his eyes to Alfred's pills, but before he could grab them Alfred chucked them through the barred window. Matt gasped.

"God, Al, you really had to just…" Matt crouched to the floor, feeling around for the scattered pills. He cursed under his breath, holding his head in his hands. "Why did you do that? Now… Now they'll…"

"Now they'll what?"

Three loud bangs sounded on the door once again. Matt choked back a sob and scrambled up to stand with his back against the wall.

"T-They're just back for the tray, right?" Alfred asked. Matt said nothing, his breaths ragged and panicked. There were two shadows outside the door now, and that familiar click of the lock giving way. Alfred grabbed Matt by the arm and led him to the space next to the door, pushing their backs against the wall as the door creaked open. The flickering hallway light flooded into the centre of the room like a spotlight, outlining the silhouette of two large figures. Alfred could almost feel Matt's heart pounding through his skinny arm. His own chest felt shaky from the shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The shadows moved closer, until they stood immovably in the centre of the room.

"Follow me," Alfred whispered almost inaudibly. Matt shook his head violently but still followed as they sneaked behind the figures and out into the hallway. The door slammed and the hallway lights went out, leaving them running in complete darkness. Alfred tugged at Matt to keep up, spurred by the indecipherable and twisted mumbling emanating from behind, growing louder by the second.

Upon reaching a double door at the end of the hallway, they frantically pushed their way in and scrambled for somewhere to hide. Cold, clinical lights blinded them. But there were no cupboards, no curtains or beds to hide in. Just an operating table, and a tray of bloody tools. Nausea bubbled up Alfred's throat when he heard a whirring sound in the distance. They backed up against the wall and realised the doors were opening on them. There was nowhere left to go.

.

Yao yanked at the door handle and shook it until he was sure he might break it. His gasped breaths were hoarse in his throat, heavy and thick with panic. He could hear claws scuttling across the floor, and went dizzy as he realised there was no way out. A heavy hand clasped his shoulder and he flinched.

"Yao, it's me," Ivan whispered, prying Yao's hands away from the door. "Calm down."

Yao struggled in his grip, not sure how Ivan could be so calm himself. He glanced behind them, and with skin-crawling horror saw that there were now a multitude of yellow eyes watching, burning him with their gaze. They were so close, and so hungry —

"Yao," Ivan said, his hands holding Yao's face firmly. "Listen to me."

"H-How can you not see them?"

"I have a hypothesis."

"A hypothesis?! Now?" Yao clawed against Ivan's hold, hearing the scratch of talons against the concrete floor, the smell of something burning rising in the air. One of their flashlights cast a spotlight against one of the blank walls, cut by the silhouettes of teeth and claws approaching.

"My hypothesis, Yaochka, is that we'll be fine. That nothing will happen to us." The room was too dark to see anything but those glowering eyes in his peripheral vision, yet somehow Ivan's voice was measured and sure of itself. "That these ghosts and demons and creatures can only hold as much power as we give them."

"But they're right there," Yao spluttered. "They're real. I see them."

"What is it you see, exactly?"

"Ivan, you can't make me rationalise what's happening right now," Yao said, his body shaking uncontrollably. What felt like a long fingernail gently scratched down the length of Yao's arm, as if to test him. He cried out and flinched away, only to be caught in Ivan's hold.

"There is nothing there," Ivan said firmly, infuriatingly calmly. He drew Yao into his chest and held him tightly. "Listen to me and close your eyes."

"No."

"Yes. Just…. Imagine something like a white light around you."

Yao was breathing hard against Ivan's jacket, watching as those eyes and shadows crawled in closer to them. This was crazy. This was stupid. The room was ice-cold but his palms were clammy with sweat. He flinched when something touched his hair, only to realise it was Ivan brushing it aside from his face.

"Imagine that this light covers you from head to toe, and that nothing can go through it," Ivan continued, as a dark and horned figure rose from the ground behind them. Yao clutched at Ivan, feeling its piercing red-eyed gaze. "That anything that might want to hurt you disappears at merely touching it."

Yao couldn't look, yet he couldn't shut his eyes either. He choked back a cry in the back of his throat, watching the ground at their feet, shakily lit by the flashlight still in his hand. Only something strange was happening now — around them appeared to be a ring where the shadows couldn't reach, some invisible barrier they were unwilling to cross.

Ivan chuckled lowly, stumbling back and sending the shadows flinching away as if burnt by fire. "It's working, da?"

Nothing could come out from Yao's mouth — he only watched dumbfounded as the shadows scattered and the creatures in the darkness scuttled away. One trembled breath after the other, the whispers and snarls grew quieter, more distant. Mid-caress he realised that this was the first time in a long while that he had Ivan's attention on him like this, that wasn't dulled by alcohol or distracted by some inner demon of Ivan's. It was just the two of them here, and Yao found himself shivering in a good way when Ivan stroked the top of his head. The horned figure was the last to disappear, simply stepping back into the darkness. The room around them was suddenly quiet.

"They're gone, aren't they?" Ivan asked softly. Yao nodded into his shoulder.

"You made them go away," Yao said, muffled against Ivan's coat.

Ivan chuckled and let go of him. "I was right, wasn't I?"

Yao furrowed his brows, watching Ivan nonchalantly pick up the torch from the ground. "There was something about you that they didn't want to touch."

"Good. You see, thinking logically about this helps."

"N-No, I don't think that's…"

"This looks a bit strange," Ivan said, shining his flashlight over one of the walls. Yao shifted uneasily, wanting more than anything to just leave before anything like this happened again.

"What's strange about it?"

"The paint. It's much lighter." Ivan ran his hand over the wall and knocked on it. The sound was hollow. Yao felt shaky all over, already having a sense of what sort of idea was running through his head. Ivan turned to him, smiling gently, completely unaffected by this place, by what had just happened moments ago. "We'll need a hammer."

.

The doors burst open on them, setting Alfred's already pounding heart into a frenzy. He couldn't look. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to completely block out the blinding fluorescent lights. Matt was squeezed up against his side, shaking violently; he probably knew what would happen to them, likely had the scars to prove it. Alfred tried not to think about that whirring sound, about the knives and scalpels on that table. He tried not to think of the stories Arthur told him long ago about what happened to patients here when they wouldn't comply. He tried pretending he was elsewhere entirely, that this was only a nightmare and he needed only to be jerked awake in his own bed at home. He could even hear Arthur's voice, just barely, just there in front of him.

"There's nothing here."

Alfred shivered, not because it was cold but because there was a sudden warmth around him. He peeked his eyes open only to find the room dark and empty. Yet the air was different — he reached out, drawn to this new presence, and his fingertips brushed against something. It felt electric on his skin, a sharp spark of familiarity. There was an audible gasp in the room, and it came from neither Alfred nor Matt.

Matt grabbed his arm, his voice hushed. "Al, stop it."

"There's someone there."

"You'll give us away."

Alfred reached out further, gripping onto a hand. Without warning it yanked him up, pulling Matt along with him as he stumbled forward in the darkness and into a warm embrace. The numbness in Alfred's left arm was now seized in pain, but it was deafened by a familiar voice.

"Alfred…?"

He burst into relieved laughter, hugging Arthur more tightly in his arms. "Dude, I missed you so much." He peeked his eyes open, briefly blinded by the flashlight shining on him. Francis was looking on dumbfounded. "You, too, man. Not as much if I gotta be honest, but still."

A half-smile cracked onto Francis' lips. "You…" His eyes flickered to Matt. "You both just…"

"Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth, shall we?" Arthur said, his voice a little thick with what could have been tears. He pulled back to look at Alfred and Matt, his face in an earnest beaming smile that Alfred hadn't seen before. His green eyes flickered to Alfred's left arm, his brows pinching. "What happened to you —"

A distant whirring sound echoed from somewhere within the building. Alfred's stomach lurched with the realisation that they were not the only two to cross over whatever strange boundary they'd just broken through.

"What is that?" Francis asked.

"We need to leave," Matt said, his voice shaky. "Now."

They hurried out into the hallway, the air dustier than Alfred remembered. They turned a corner — towards where, no one seemed to be sure. Alfred glanced back, thinking he could hear footsteps behind them. Arthur tugged him along, and for a moment Alfred was sure his flashlight briefly illuminated the shadow of man watching them.

"Alfred, come on."

He swallowed. "Why isn't he running after us?"

"Who —?" Arthur shook his head and gestured for Arthur to keep up. "Never mind. We need to get back to the elevator."

Alfred reluctantly followed, an uneasy feeling sitting on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He felt as though everything in the asylum had eyes, watching and waiting for the right moment. They reached an elevator, the doors half-open. They each squeezed in there, leaving little space within the elevator. Arthur groaned.

"Francis… there's only a down button. The power isn't even on."

"There has to be an emergency panel somewhere."

"Guys," Matt exhaled, his gaze trained on that gap in the doors. "We need to be moving."

The sound of something crumbling sent Alfred's gaze up to the elevator ceiling: the emergency escape. "What about that up there?"

Francis darted his gaze up. "Okay. We can work with that. Alfred, you mind lifting me up?"

Before Alfred could say anything, Arthur interrupted: "I'll do it," he said, glancing at Alfred's left arm. He hoisted Francis up onto his shoulders, allowing him to push the panel open. Pieces of crumbled wall fell through.

"Hello?" a voice called out, echoed and distant but distinctly from above them — Yao. "Who's there?"

"It's us!" Francis yelled, grabbing a flashlight from Arthur and waving it into the elevator shaft. "Everyone's here."

"How did you guys end up down there? We had to break through a wall —"

"We need some help getting out of here now," Arthur snapped. "Some rope? Tied bedsheets? I'm getting tired of carrying Francis around."

"I'm not that heavy."

Matt paced around uneasily in the elevator with his arms crossed, peeking now and then through the door gap. Alfred breathed in and out slowly, the pain in his left arm no longer just a dull ache. His sleeve felt stuck to his skin, dark with blood, and something felt awfully wrong about the way the pain shot straight through to the bone every time he moved. After a few moments a rope lowered into the elevator shaft, with a large knot at the end.

"Matthew, you first," Francis said. Matt nodded and let himself be hoisted up. He grabbed onto the rope and climbed his way up, his breaths laboured and echoing out through the shaft. Francis went after him, and Arthur was ready to hoist Alfred up next.

"I don't think I can do it," Alfred said hoarsely. Arthur pursed his lips.

"You're sure?"

Alfred nodded, barely able to string any words together let alone breathe evenly. Arthur muttered a curse under his breath.

"Okay. We'll figure something out."

"What's wrong?" Francis called from the top of the elevator shaft.

"Hey, Artie," Alfred said, his syllables seemingly blurring together. The look on Arthur's face was priceless — though maybe a little heart-breaking, too. His eyes were so wide, so scared. What for? "You go on ahead. I'm not feeling so hot. Maybe I could just lie down for a bit?"

"I'm not leaving you here," Arthur said softly.

Thundering footsteps sounded in the hallway outside — not so distant, chillingly close. There were many, and Alfred knew they were here to take him away once more, to strap him into that bed and numb him until he ate and slept without question. But he was in too much pain to even feel terrified at the notion — going to sleep sounded like relief.

Arthur grabbed him by the wrist and led him out of the elevator. "We're finding another way out of here."

Alfred hummed, the dusty air around his feet now more like a blanket of fog. Running hurt. Clutching his left arm to keep it from moving hurt, too. But Arthur was so desperate for him to keep up, to keep moving so the men with the thundering footsteps wouldn't catch him. Now and then, the hallway lights flickered, illuminating St. Agatha's residents lying strapped in their beds, hollow-eyed in their wheelchairs, motionless beneath yellowed tarps. A pale nurse, her eyes dark empty sockets, reached out for him from her desk, her nails just barely scratching him. The hallway erupted in howls and screams, and just when Alfred couldn't take it, when he thought he'd rather die than keeping running in this hellish maze forever, Arthur pulled him into a janitor's closet.

"Shh… Quiet." Arthur clumsily placed his hand over Alfred's mouth, covering his panting breaths. "Through your nose. That's it."

Alfred let his legs give in and collapsed slowly to the floor. His vision grew grainy and faint, heart pounding in his ears. Arthur knelt down next to him, sitting there completely still while they waited for the footsteps to walk past them. The screams outside eventually subsided, leaving them in silence.

"How's your arm?" Arthur whispered.

Alfred groaned. "I don't want to think about it."

"Let me see."

Alfred struggled to lift his injured arm, instead letting Arthur gingerly pick it up and roll the sleeve up. He winced, gritting his teeth and turning his head away. Arthur exhaled shakily.

"This doesn't look good, Alfred."

"It's broken, isn't it?" Alfred said, feeling a little faint. "Put the sleeve back down, I can't look at it."

"Alright." Arthur carefully rolled his sleeve back down. His hand touched against Alfred's forehead, stroking lightly. "We'll get you out of here, don't worry."

Alfred couldn't help but laugh weakly, not sure why his eyes were getting watery. "I-I'm not worrying."

"You're an awful liar."

Alfred braved a glance at Arthur, even though only the smallest sliver of light made its way from beneath the closet door. His face was so close, the tenderness of that touch so much more raw and open than Arthur had ever been with him. It was almost too much for Alfred, leaving him struggling to keep any facade of bravery.

The question tumbled out of his lips without hesitation. "Kiss me?"

Arthur smirked — a smile that under any other circumstances Alfred might have found patronising. In this room, in this hour, it was comforting, and the press of Arthur's chapped lips against his exhilarating. Alfred could barely breath, wanting to suffocate in this moment, in how gently Arthur's fingers cradled his face, how desperately Arthur nuzzled into his throat afterwards.

"Please tell me you'll remember this," Alfred said, his voice wobbly. "That we won't fight and pretend it didn't happen."

"How could I forget?"

"You acted like it the first time."

"It was hardly good acting." Arthur paused, lifting his face from Alfred's throat. "You really didn't have a clue as to why I was out by the woods for half an hour?"

A mischievous half-smile tugged at Alfred's lips. "I thought we established you were jacking it."

"You idiot, I was holding in tears every time I looked at you. I thought you didn't want me. Spending all those hours on the road with you was insufferable. You really didn't notice?"

"Dude, I thought you hated me. I fucked up."

"Well. You sort of did. Not in the way you thought, though."

Alfred groaned. "So you're telling me I could have asked you out in our final year?"

"Arguably as early as second year."

"Man. What were we even doing?"

Arthur chuckled softly, shrugging and resting his head onto Alfred's shoulder. They stayed like that for those few precious moments, waiting for some false assurance that it would be finally safe to leave. But the asylum outside of the closet doors remained just as quiet, the lights flickering just the same. After making a makeshift sling for Alfred's arm using Arthur's jacket, they ventured out into the maze-like hallways.

"I know there is a way to a staircase in here somewhere," Arthur said, keeping his voice low and barely audible. "There's no way the elevator is the only route down here."

Alfred stuck close to Arthur, dread steadily building up in the pit of his stomach as the air grew hazy with fog. With every flicker of the lights he thought he could hear the sound of a phone ringing, or wheels rolling across the floor, muttered conversations and the buzz of medical equipment. He tightened his grip on Arthur's hand, terrified to glance down and see that the patient bracelet was back on. He was tip-toeing on the line between this world and the next, every step forward a gamble on his life as he knew it. A patient in a hospital gown crossed in front of them in the flickering darkness, but Arthur was unfazed, peering into rooms as if there weren't eyes watching from their corners.

"Alfred, I think this is it."

Arthur pushed against a door at the end of the hallway, blinding light spilling through the gap. Through the door was a spiral staircase, concrete steps and white walls lit by some inexplicable reflection of light from somewhere. Alfred wasn't sure if his eyes were playing with him again, stumbling as Arthur tugged his right arm. Each step was more laborious than the last, heavy as the air slowly choking Alfred's lungs. He could barely see his feet beneath the fog, could barely even see where his and Arthur's hands met. He could feel something clawing at his feet, pulling him back. He half-collapsed on one knee.

"I can't…" Alfred started, too breathless to finish his sentence.

"We're so close," Arthur said, helping him up. "Stay with me. Come on."

Alfred groaned, his right arm hoisted over Arthur's shoulders as he was partly carried along to each excruciating step. His eyelids felt heavy, closing of their own accord only to jerk back open. He could no longer even feel the pain in his arm — just that pull, that gentle tug back into darkness.

Ice-cold winds whipped around his face. He opened his eyes, finding himself dragged out onto what must have been the roof of St. Agatha's. The dark forest around them expanded far into the horizon, meeting seamlessly with the pitch-black sky.

Alfred could barely get his mouth to form the words. "I've never seen this many stars…"

A warm hand cupped around his face. "Alfred? You have to try your best to stay awake… Alfred!"

He collapsed onto the snow-covered roof, taking one last glimpse of the splash of stars hanging above his head before passing out.

____________