The stall door slamming open.

" Can't stand that you're in here fuckin' crying every day," an older boy said, an obvious punk.

Ten seconds; that one would take ten seconds.

William smudged tears from his eyes awkwardly.

" ... Can't help it," he said. " I feel sick."

The older boy stared down at him, tough expression, though William could tell ultimately the harshness was a pretense, evaluatory.

He grabbed his wrist and yanked him up, dug in his pocket and took a napkin.

" The fuck's on your face? You seriously gonna take it from jerks like that?" He very roughly wiped his face clean. William did not like being manhandled so much, but there was an odd unfamiliar edge to it, so he let it continue.

" ... It's fine," he replied.

The older boy looked down on him with what seemed like an expression Kirie would make.

" It's not fucking fine if it's making you cry, dumb ass!" he practically yelled.

" I'm not crying from pain," William said. " It's not anything concerning. It's just that I've heard many things that I don't understand. And they make me feel... rotten, inside."