White

He looks like someone carved him from snow. His hair is pure white, covering his pale face like a veil, flowing over his thin shoulders like a waterfall. Pale silver eyes framed by inky lashes peer at me and I feel like I want to shiver under his piercing gaze. He looks at me like he wants to eat me. Like he wants to take those icy hands and break my neck like a twig. But there is such softness, as if he is wary of me. No doubt the nurses warned him.

"Biely." he whispers, tapping a slender finger against the colorless band on his wrist. His voice is so quiet. Like dew drops on cobwebs. Beautiful and forgotten. His name is just as strange.

"Pretty." The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it. He looks startled, nervous, and his fist clenches tighter around the edge of his seat, turning his knuckles impossibly whiter.

The voices speak in childishly sing song tones. Overlapping each other in glee and taunts. The pills are supposed to shut them up. They stopped working a long time ago.

Cray look at his eyes.

He's like us.

He's like the snow.

Silent.

Cold.

Stained crimson.

Beautiful.

I agree inwardly, watching as he shakes his head at no one in particular.

"Just tell them to shut up." I suggest, and he jumps at my voice.

"Y-you hear them?" He stutters in wonder.

"Not yours. My own." I clarify. I reach out, ignoring the way he filches away from my touch, and brush the thick necklace of gauze around his neck. "What's this?"

He taps his fingers nervous on his knees. He doesn't answer.

They send us back to our rooms.

He's right next door.