I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning [open to rain/echo/tree/sleepy/any infirmary people]

Their reactions were slow; he expected that. Logan watched the two come to terms with what was happening, a brightness to his gaze that mirrored the pocket of light surging through the room's small window. Their friend was alive. Logan wasn't lying. The boy stuck to where he was, by the door, hands folded in front of him, blinking heavy sleep from his bleary mind and sniffing the allergies from his nostrils.  The clock ticked over them, marking its dominion, the sun's blissful outreach embracing Madison's pale cheeks.

"I do think I deserve a 'thank you.'" He couldn't help but smile a small, matter-of-fact grin. Death was no longer a burden on this group. The solemnity was gone, the deed having been erased. His words weren't loud, however, cut off by Nicola's retort. Logan pressed his tongue to his cheek at her hostility, at Owen's flow of tears. Perhaps the mood wasn't as light as he thought. He didn't know this Madison girl all too well. The range of emotions they were feeling was outside of his own.

"Enough," he said, moving forward, albeit only with one step. "We can take this up with her if she wakes up." He swiped his unwashed, messy brown hair. Lord, he felt like shit, too much so to deal with this petulance. When he said if, he said it fast, his tongue eager to move to the next word, hoping they wouldn't pick it up. Logan would have preferred not showing them Madison at all. There was strong doubt that she would not be in a comatose state for a very long time. If not permanent. He squeezed his eyes hard, rubbing his forehead. The air was like smoke, a thick block of haze, and the boy let out a sickened cough.

Kaya still did not wake despite the hubbub that was arising in the room. Rather, she rolled over, turning to her side, bringing her feet up closer to her. Her shoes lay mismatched across the floor, one at the foot of the chair, the other closer to Madison's bed.

It was with a grace he no longer knew he possessed that Owen ignored Nicola's comment. His hands rubbed his tired face, working the tears from his eyes and pushing them into his cheeks. They still didn't stop, freely pooling over and streaking down his cheeks, wetting his fingers as he pushed stars into his eyelids. He was exhausted, he was suddenly realizing. He couldn't remember how long he'd been up. Not that it mattered, anyway, he was too wired to even bother trying anytime soon. And it was this tiredness that took the sting of Nicola's voice from him.

It was all he could do to mumble, "Thank you" to Logan as he stepped lightly past him. Owen's movements were ghostlike and floaty, as though he weren't really there, his footsteps hardly making a sound and his arms hanging limply at his sides. He approached the edge of the bed opposite the other girl, who hadn't stirred, and he paused, standing a foot from the sheets. Gazing down at her like this, eyes closed, hands placed neatly, seemingly asleep, he could almost believe it was a lie, that she wasn't really back. How could someone who was sleeping lie so still? If there was one thing he'd learned since arriving at this school, it was that anything could happen. And it seemed that this boy, Logan, had done the impossible.

Heart racing, he half-closed the small gap between him and the bed. He felt dizzy, his eyes focused on her like they were the only two in the room. His hands were shaking and he tried to ignore it as he lifted one, reaching for her hand, scared of what he might feel. What if this was still some weird dream? What if she wasn't really truly alive and they had been brought here for nothing? These thoughts went in circles and circles, spiraling into worse and worse thoughts, until finally he squeezed his eyes shut and shook them out. When he reopened his eyes, his hand was hovering barely an inch from Madison's. I'm not ready. I did this to her. I did this. . .

His mannerisms opposite from before, he sharply withdrew his hand, taking a jerky step backwards and half glancing back at Nicola and Logan. Clearing his throat, he mumbled something about needing fresh air, but found his feet glued to the floor. He couldn't leave her. But he couldn't stay. He was so tired. . .

Her eyes watched each and every single one of Owen's actions, scrutinizing every detail and movement as though there was some way for her to find out what exactly happened last night from what he did to Madison, what he did to the one that tied them together, the one that both of them cared for, the one that she had found herself slowly falling for to a point where she couldn't dig herself out of the hole or scramble up the walls no matter how hard she tried... and the best part? Nicola didn't mind. There wasn't anything remotely wrong with the whole ordeal - there had been something very and undeniably satisfying when she had tricked Madison into kissing her ever so long ago and it had been a pleasant surprise when Madison did the same with her guard lowered. Madison was that kind of person who managed to go against what she expected from her; she was awkward, rather quiet, but well... There was too much to say about her.

And she trusted Owen. She really did. She had figured he liked Madison too, especially with how he always seemed to keep his distance a tiny bit around them, as though he was invading on some sort of relationship that he could never be a part of. He took Madison's feelings into account whenever he could, he was naturally considerate and reliable, and he was literally a flash light with how he could shine on them and always be so sunny and happy. Nicola's judgment of him proved time and time again that he was the kind of person who would have a lot of trouble hurting a fly. Owen could be left alone with Madison, and the two of them would enjoy their time together, all fine and dandy, and he wouldn't even let a single thought about hurting her come to mind.

At least, that's what she had assumed. But look how absolutely wrong she was.

Nicola rolled her eyes, the same ones that glowered as Owen spaced off into his own world. Her lips were zipped shut, but her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth with distaste. It was so simple. He killed Madison without any thought as to the consequences afterwards, and he couldn't explain himself about what happened at that point. The answer was as clear as can be. She trusted him, she couldn't deny that. She wanted to be able to rely on him as a light in the darkness when she found she lost her way. All of that, everything that their friendship had been built on, though. All of it was a lie. So how dare he sit around and sob like that?

Halfheartedly, her mouth parted to mumble a phrase of "Thanks", and found herself glancing over at Logan. She had caught that - scarcely - and she wasn't sure if that was correct. Did he say if too quickly in an attempt to gloss over it or was it her imagination? Her head was throbbing from this chaos, she couldn't think. "She better wake up..." In the case that Madison didn't, Owen would have another thing coming for him when the two of them were out of Logan's sights and not in the infirmary. That had to be wishful thinking, but regardless of what happened next, he already had a target on his back, and she would hit the bullseye without failure.

Logan tensed. He knew the idea of her waking up would be a concern sooner or later. Still, he cringed, and though he felt no desire to speak about it, wanting to rather let it pass, he gave a small, stern cough. "I'm not sure if she will," he admitted, squeezing his hand shut and releasing it, over and over. "This is the first time I've done this to another person. I do not know what the results may be."

Before much of a reaction could be made, however, Logan sprayed forward. "You should give her some space, however. There's a reason she is here, we'd like to have her in a silent, monitored state for as long as we have her." Not as long as she was asleep, but as long as they had her. His tongue cut through scenarios before it spoke them, and he chose the words he brought forth on it carefully. Everything here was blind. Blind to him, blind to human history. He flexed his fist faster. The history he made, unwritable, unexposable history.

"Leave, please," he said, the cold of the month stamped suddenly in his weary eyes. "Get some sleep. I'll alert you both if she wakes up."

In the corner of the room, the small nurse had awoken. One would not know, her body unmoved, her head still laying upward upon the chair's back, but her owllike eyes were suddenly wide. She stared at the ceiling, blinking, and softly rolled her head to gaze at the newcomers. She seemed the epitome of curiosity, but her lips stayed closed. Like an owl, she seemed unable or unwilling to speak.