Without Gabriella around, Roman was on the brink of insanity.

He didn't know when his sudden dependence on her started but, once she was gone, he realised how much he despised all the people he spent his time with. If Roman couldn't stand them before, it was much worse now. He wanted to, at the very least, slap their faces off. He did punch Levi once, maybe it won't hurt to punch him again.

They just irritated him so much. Their presence made his skin itch, the veins underneath pumping up copper instead of blood. More and more, his previous decision to befriend Levi and Andrew grew irrational. Because Roman hated who he was around them, hated what he became because of them. And, suppose what made it worse, he chose this path. Blindly. Willingly. And look where he was now.

Then, somewhere in between his constant regret and hatred, it struck him — it may be too late to retrace his steps, but perhaps Roman Alonso could change his route.

His head was so loud that Roman ran to the only person smart enough to knock some sense into him — Noor Rahal.

"What are you doing here?" Noor asked after sixth period when she found Roman leaning against her locker.

"I need help."

Noor crossed her arms. "And you came to me?"

"You were the first person that came to mind," Roman answered. He stood up straight and took a step forward, despite his quivering hands and his unsteady heartbeat. "Look, I know we're not friends, but I have to ask you something."

Noor stared at him with caution until she finally gave in and sighed. "What is it?"

"If I left, like Gabriella did, what would happen?" Roman asked. "Do you think..."

He stopped, any further thoughts or words dying in his throat. Roman wasn't sentimental nor soft-hearted, but he was arrogant and often overly confident; however, standing in front of Noor right now, he felt small. This wasn't like the time they were hiding behind the bushes, destroying themselves internally, whispering each other's insecurities — no, this was different.

This was opening himself to new possibilities; knocking on a stranger's door, fully bare, with nothing but the hope that he won't get hurt in the process or in the end.

And, in this moment, the person behind that door was Noor Rahal.

Roman Alonso was at the palm of her hands, and whether he be crushed to a pulp or salvaged were entirely up to her.

Noor seemed to be aware of this too. "You're not saying what I think you're saying, are you?"

Roman gulped. "And what if I was?"

"Well, um..." Noor began, choosing her words carefully and treading them lightly. "It wouldn't be the brightest idea..."

"How come?" Roman pushed, crestfallen. He started racking his brain for answers and explanations. "Is it because of what happened with Gab? Or because of my relation with Greenly —"

"No, actually, it's because of your relationship with Sam," Noor concluded. She took a step forward while, at the same time, Roman took a step back. "You've done somethings, Roman, terrible things...and it hurt someone. More than once. And as much as I might want to see you around more, it's not my decision to make. It's Sam's."

Then Noor took full strides to Roman and was close enough to now put a comforting hand on his shoulder.  "Talk to him first," she said. "Maybe then you'll find some peace."

—

It wasn't easy to come in contact with Sam Gibbins, to say the least.

He was always with someone — mostly with Fletcher but, if not, he would be with Noor or Gabriella (Roman wasn't sure how they suddenly became friendly, suppose Gab had more time on her hands now that she left their group). At first, Roman found it to be a strange sight. Sam had always been alone, always been quiet. But, lately, he was louder and calmer — more living than dead.

And it made Roman's heart clench. Had he always been such a horrible person? To be more familiar with one's sadness than their joy? For as long as he could remember, Sam Gibbins was a zombie, living through his days with a dead soul — a soul that Roman had killed, along with his so-called friends.

He couldn't simply ask to bury the hatchet, not when there were blood stains in his hands and a ghost looming behind his shoulder. No, Roman had to beg. Had to plead. Had to have the courage to confess all his faults — that he was a fraud, and a coward, and a poor excuse of a human being.

If Roman wanted to make this right, he first had to admit he was wrong.

So, when he saw Sam Gibbins walking along the Top Courts, Roman raced to stop him.

The aura had changed the moment Sam saw Roman. His shoulders tensed, his body went still, and the look on his face was all too familiar — Sam was scared. Scared of the boy standing in front of him. Roman's heart dropped to his stomach.

"I, uh..." Roman began, taking a step back. "I wanted to talk to you."

"What about?" Sam's voice was so soft, Roman almost didn't hear him.

"I never apologised for all the things I've done to you," Roman said. "I never even bothered to stop."

Sam turned away and, if it were possible, shrunk. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to apologise —"

"But why?" Sam asked, his voice growing with every word he spoke. There was rage in his tone, along with fear, but even then you could still underline his sadness. His pain. "What are you getting out of this?"

"I just —" Roman stammered. "I can't live like this anymore. I'm a bad person and I've done bad things and I — I don't like it." He looked up and held his breath. It was all or nothing this time. "I don't want to be like that anymore."

There was a moment of silence until, "And what does this have to do with me?"

"I have to know," Roman said, his voice now shaking and fragile — the very essence of vulnerability. "That I...if you'll ever forgive me?"

Sam looked up at him then. He wasn't scared anymore, nor was he mad or sad. Sam regarded Roman with sincerity that he did not deserve as he took a step forward. Unknowingly holding Roman's last chance of redemption in his hands, in a sure and steady tone, Sam said, "No. I don't think I ever will."

Then Sam left, leaving Roman alone in the shadows, slowly being consumed by the darkness.