The Hive

Chapter 3
Chapter 2

The door opened before the echo of his knock had faded.

A woman in her forties stood on the threshold, with a soft, weary face and ash-colored hair gathered in a neat bun. She wore a simple light blue blouse and a dark skirt—something between a nurse's uniform and a kindergarten teacher's outfit. She smelled of lavender soap and something else—soothing and faintly medicinal.

"Mr. Wilson?" Her voice was warm, like hot tea with honey. "I've been expecting you. My name is Sarah. Welcome to the Hive."

Benjamin nodded, trying to appear more confident than he felt. His throat was dry, words stuck somewhere between fear and curiosity.

"Yes, that's me. Benjamin."

"Wonderful," she smiled, and the crow's feet around her eyes made her face almost maternal. "Please come in. I'll be accompanying you through all stages of the recovery program," she continued. "You could say I'll be something of your mentor or nanny, if you will. Lucas!" she called over her shoulder. "Our guest has arrived!"

Benjamin stepped inside, and the door closed softly behind him with a quiet click.

The cool air of the house greeted him with a pleasant blend of aromas—lavender and vanilla, warm and soothing, like a bakery where cookies have just come out of the oven. But there was something else in this bouquet—a barely perceptible scent, similar to what you might find in children's stores or pharmacies, only softer. Benjamin couldn't immediately place it—his nervousness made it hard to concentrate.

The hall was spacious but not intimidatingly large. Cream-colored walls, a soft carpet underfoot that muffled footsteps. On the walls hung paintings of pastoral landscapes: grazing sheep, blooming meadows, beehives in gardens. All in golden frames, all somewhat naive, as if painted by a talented child.

In the corner stood an antique dresser with porcelain figurines—bees, flowers, little houses. Each figurine was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust. On the opposite wall hung framed drawings—clearly children's work. A smiling sun with crooked rays. A house with a disproportionately large chimney. A family of stick figures holding hands.

"Lovely..." said Benjamin, nodding at the drawings and trying to show at least some friendliness and warmth. His voice came out hoarse—when had he last had a proper conversation?

"These are drawings by our guests," Sarah replied with pride in her voice. "Creativity is an important part of recovery. Returning to simple joys. And here's Lucas!"

A boy was coming down the stairs. Benjamin recognized him—the same one he'd seen in the window a few minutes ago. Up close, he looked about eleven or twelve: dark hair neatly cut, serious brown eyes, clean clothes—jeans and a t-shirt with a bee on it.

An ordinary child.

But... His movements were measured, cautious. The boy approached, and Benjamin felt uncomfortable under Lucas's evaluating gaze as he scanned him from head to toe—quickly, professionally, like an airport scanner.

"Hi," said the boy. "I'm Lucas. I help new guests settle in."

"Benjamin. Nice to meet you." And he extended his hand to the boy.

Lucas shook it with some surprise and caution. The boy's fingers were cold, dry, with a surprisingly firm grip.

"Likewise," Lucas smiled slightly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Welcome to our little paradise."

There was poorly concealed irony in his voice.

"Lucas is our special helper," said Sarah with maternal pride, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. He tensed almost imperceptibly at the touch. "He's... how should I put it... grown up here. He knows every corner of the Hive."

"Mom has worked here since it opened," Lucas added.

Benjamin noticed how the boy quickly glanced away when saying the word "mom."

"So I'm practically a local," Lucas continued. "I know all the secret paths and the best spots to relax."

"I see, so you're like a little keeper here," Benjamin nodded, trying to appear as friendly as possible, though he wasn't sure this was the right way to interact with children of this age.

"You can talk to me like an adult," Lucas replied matter-of-factly.

"Yes, of course, sorry." Benjamin felt awkward.

"Dinner will be served in an hour," said Sarah, heading toward the stairs. "We have quite a simple schedule: breakfast at eight, lunch at one, dinner at six. Between meals—rest, creative activities, walks in the garden. No schedule, no rush. Just peace."

She spoke measuredly, almost hypnotically. Benjamin caught himself nodding along to her words, as if agreeing with everything she said.

"Well, shall we go?" asked Lucas.

He stood shifting from foot to foot, poorly concealing his desire to quickly fulfill his helper duties and regain his freedom for at least the next couple of hours.

The three of them moved forward along the corridor, carpeted with soft material. Their feet sank into it, steps becoming soundless. Like walking on a cloud. Along the stairway walls—photographs. Group shots of smiling people in the garden. All different—from kindergarten-age children to, one might say, people slightly older than middle age, but there was something common in all these images. Relaxation? Serenity? Benjamin tried to find the right word but couldn't.

In one photograph, Benjamin noticed a man in his forties wearing a striped shirt. He was smiling, but his eyes... his eyes were empty. Like a doll's. As if there wasn't a single thought in his head.

They went up to the second floor.

The corridor was narrower, though quite a typical hotel corridor. Doors on both sides, each with a nameplate. "Sunny Room." "Moon Room." "Rose Room."

Sarah approached a door with a brass plate reading "Blue Room" and pulled out a bunch of keys from her pocket. Old-fashioned, heavy, jingling.

"Here's your room," she opened the door and gestured for him to enter. "I hope you'll like it. We've tried to make it as cozy as possible."

Benjamin entered and froze.

The room was... unexpected.

He'd been expecting something like a hotel room. Faceless, standard. Or, given the strangeness of the place, something esoteric—incense, mandalas on the walls, singing bowls.

But this was different.

The room was furnished surprisingly homely, and the decor created a feeling of comfort from childhood. The bed was normal-sized, but with a high headboard of light wood, decorated with carved bees. The bedspread—soft, pastel blue, with a barely visible cloud pattern. Pillows—many pillows, different sizes, creating a nest-like feeling.

Nearby stood a small dresser of the same light wood. On it—folded clothes. Benjamin approached closer. Soft cotton t-shirts without prints. Sweatpants with elastic waistbands. Socks—white, without tight elastic bands. Everything simple, comfortable. Everything his size.

"How do you know my size?" he asked, turning around.

Sarah smiled.

"We have a good eye. Years of practice. Don't worry, if something doesn't fit—we'll replace it."

By the window stood a rocking chair. Old but well-maintained, with a soft cushion. Beside it—a small table with a lamp under a floral lampshade. On the walls—the same pictures as downstairs, but between them hung empty photo frames.

"This is where you'll form your new happy memories," Sarah explained, noticing his gaze. "It's very important for recovery—to see those moments when you're happy."

Benjamin sighed almost imperceptibly. "Yes, if he were asked to put something in these frames now, almost all of them would remain empty."

"And this?" He picked up something like a onesie made of soft fabric from the dresser. Not quite pajamas, but something similar. With legs, with sleeves, with a zipper in front.

"For cool evenings," Sarah replied impassively. "It can get quite cold here at night, especially after hot days. Temperature differences. This will help you stay warm and sleep comfortably."

The onesie was soft, pleasant to touch. Quality, but ridiculously childish in appearance. As if designed for someone who can't manage regular pajamas or simply doesn't want to.

Lucas had been standing in the doorway all this time, watching Benjamin's reaction.

"Don't worry," said the boy, his voice calm and confident, perhaps more confident than it should have been. "The first days seem strange to everyone. Then you get used to it. Everyone gets used to it."

The last words sounded almost like a verdict.

"Lucas, show Mr. Wilson where the bathroom is," Sarah requested.

The boy nodded and walked to a door in the corner of the room.

"Everything's standard here," he said, opening the door. "Towels in the cabinet, new toothbrush on the shelf. Soap and shampoo are ours, special—with natural extracts. Very relaxing."

Benjamin peeked inside. The bathroom was spacious and clean—white tiles, large bathtub, separate shower cabin. Too big for one person. On the shelf stood bottles without labels, only with beehive symbols and neat inscriptions. Beside them—a new toothbrush in packaging. Children's? No, regular, but incredibly bright. Yellow, with a bee on the handle.

"Cheerful," he muttered.

"Miss Hart has a particular sense of humor," said Lucas. "She believes adults take small things too seriously. That a little frivolity never hurt anyone."

"Miss Hart—she's like the director here?"

"The founder," Sarah corrected. "Eleanor Hart created this place many years ago. She's... special."

"Thank you," said Benjamin, returning to the room.

His brain tried to process the information, to find the catch, but fatigue was stronger than suspicion.

"Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything," Sarah headed for the door. "I'll be nearby. My room is at the end of the corridor—with the 'Duty' sign. You can knock at any time if needed."

"Even at night?"

"Especially at night," she smiled. "The first nights in a new place can be restless. That's normal. And don't forget—dinner at six. The dining room is on the first floor, to the left of the stairs. It's not hard to find, just follow the aroma. Lucas, sweetheart, perhaps you could show Mr. Benjamin the rest of the hotel?"

"Suuure," Lucas drawled, not hiding that he wasn't particularly happy about this request. "If you'd like, I can give a small tour before dinner. Show you the garden, the playroom."

"The playroom?" Benjamin raised an eyebrow.

"Not what you think," the boy smirked. "Board games, puzzles, art supplies. Many guests find it quite relaxing."

"That would be great," Benjamin agreed.

Better than sitting alone in this strange room anyway.

"Well, I won't disturb you boys," said Sarah and left the room.

"'Boys'? Did she just call us that?" flashed through Benjamin's mind. "Everything here is somehow too homely."

When Sarah left, Lucas walked to the window and looked at the garden. Behind the glass stretched a sea of flowers—organized chaos of colors and forms. Bees darted between buds, creating a constant background hum.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said the boy. "I help care for the flowers. It's my job here. Well, one of my jobs."

"Should children be working?" asked Benjamin, unpacking his backpack.

The bear fell out first, and he hastily stuffed it back in.

Lucas turned around. For a moment his face became hard, almost adult. Something sharp flashed in his eyes.

"Children shouldn't..." he said quietly. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

The boy shrugged, and the mask of childish carefreeness returned to its place.

"Many things here aren't what they seem. But you'll understand everything yourself. Usually it takes a few days. Sometimes—weeks. Depends on how much you resist."

"Resist what?"

Lucas approached the door, stopped at the threshold. He stood silently for several seconds, as if choosing his words.

"Advice," he finally said without turning around. "Just accept everything as it is. You're not here by accident, Miss Hart only chooses those who really need help. Those who accept... can keep more."

"More of what?"

Lucas turned around. There was such longing in his eyes that Benjamin's heart clenched.

"Themselves," the boy whispered and left, leaving Benjamin alone.

A chill ran down Benjamin's spine at these words.

The room suddenly seemed too quiet. Too soft. Too safe. Like a cocoon. Like a trap lined with cotton.

"Nonsense, all of it," he muttered to himself. "Just a kid having fun with new guests, ordinary children's scary stories, nothing more."

He sat on the bed. The mattress sagged with a quiet rustling sound, embracing him.

"Probably some orthopedic covering," Benjamin thought, not giving it much importance.

Comfortable. Too comfortable. As if the bed was created specifically for him, knew all the curves of his body.

He took out his phone from the backpack. The screen was black—the battery had finally died. He pressed the power button out of habit, but nothing happened. A dead piece of plastic and glass.

"Of course," he muttered. "Digital detox. Forced."

There were outlets in the room, but he hadn't brought a charger. Forgot or didn't want to bring it?

The teddy bear peeked out from the backpack. Benjamin pulled it out, turned it in his hands.

Worn fur, torn-off button eye. So many years together.

"Well, buddy? How do you like the new place?"

The bear was silent, its single eye looking with a mute question.

He placed the bear on the pillow, leaning it against the headboard. Let it sit. At least something familiar in this strange place.

The room was warm, but chills ran down his spine. Something was wrong. Something about all this—the overly caring Sarah, the strange boy Lucas, this room that simultaneously soothed and troubled.

"Paranoia," he told himself. "Just fatigue and stress. This is a sanatorium. A place for rest. Nothing strange about them caring for guests' comfort."

But an inner voice whispered something else. Whispered about free breakfasts and mousetraps. About how nobody does anything for nothing. About how invitations from strangers don't come by chance. And that phrase the boy had dropped: "Those who accept... can keep more."

He stood up, approached the window. The garden stretched to the very fence. Beautiful. Peaceful. But the gates... where were the gates? He couldn't see them from here. Only flowers, trees, and a path disappearing among the bushes.

Half an hour later there was a knock at the door. Soft, almost timid.

"Mr. Wilson? It's Lucas. Time for the tour, if you're ready."

Benjamin opened the door. The boy had changed—now wearing shorts and a white t-shirt with a smiling bee.

"Let's go, I'll show you our domain," he said with light irony in his voice. "I promise, no surprises or scary stories. Well, almost none."

"As if he read my thoughts," Benjamin thought, but showed nothing.

They went downstairs. The hall was quiet, only muffled voices could be heard somewhere in the distance.

"How many guests are here?" asked Benjamin.

"Five so far, including you, though Teddy has his last night today," Lucas replied, leading him down the corridor. "But the Hive can accommodate up to twenty people at once. Though usually there aren't that many. Miss Hart prefers... a selective approach."

"How does she choose whom to invite?"

The boy glanced at him over his shoulder.

"What do you think, why did you specifically receive an invitation? Out of all the tired copywriters in the city?"

Benjamin stopped.

"How do you know I'm a copywriter?"

Lucas also stopped, slowly turned around. On his face—a mixture of annoyance and fatigue.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have... Miss Hart shares basic information about guests with us. So we can better help. Nothing personal, just profession and... general situation."

"And what's my situation?"

"Burnout," the boy answered simply. "Like everyone here. It's just that everyone has their own."

They continued on. Another turn and a new corridor, which led them to a small hall with several doors. From behind one came piano sounds—someone was clumsily playing a simple melody, constantly stumbling. "Chopsticks"? No, something even simpler.

"Music room," Lucas explained. "Some guests discover talents they didn't suspect. Or remember forgotten ones. That's Teddy, he's simply impossible to drag away from the piano."

They approached another door, Lucas grasped the handle.

"This is the playroom," said the boy. "Want to look inside?"

"Let's see the rest first."

Lucas nodded and led on. They stopped at another door with a "Honey Room" sign.

"What's there?" asked Benjamin.

"Miss Hart's office. And... the treatment room. Only by invitation."

"Treatment room?"

"Some guests need additional help relaxing. Special techniques. But that's later, if needed."

The phrase "if needed" made Benjamin tense. As if it was inevitable, just a matter of time.

They went out to the dining room—a spacious room with a long wooden table and soft chairs. Against one wall stood a buffet with dishes—plates with bees around the edges, cups shaped like beehives. Cute. Infantile. Strange.

Against another wall—a bookshelf with books, board games, and some boxes. On the very top shelf Benjamin noticed a stack of coloring books and colored pencils.

Two people were already sitting at the table.

A man in his forties, plump, with a good-natured face and thinning hair, enthusiastically molding something from plasticine. Before him stood a whole zoo of colorful animals—elephants, giraffes, something resembling a dragon.

Next to him—a woman about the same age, thin, with sharp features and a tense expression. She sat straight, lips pressed together, hands folded in her lap. Before her—an empty plate and a glass of water.

"This is Michael," Lucas introduced, nodding at the man. "And this is Amelia."

Michael raised his head and smiled joyfully. The smile was sincere, almost childlike.

"Oh, a newcomer! Great! I'm Mike!"

He extended his hand for a handshake. Benjamin noticed traces of plasticine on his fingers and under his nails—red, blue, yellow.

"Benjamin," he introduced himself, shaking the sticky hand.

"Mike has been here a week," said Lucas in a tone as if this was an achievement. "He's... adapting well."

"Yes, I like it here!" Michael confirmed enthusiastically. "No stress, no deadlines, no bosses yelling about quarterly reports. Just rest and creativity. Look what I made!"

He showed a dog figurine—clumsy, disproportionate, but carefully made. The tail was longer than the body, the ears—different sizes.

"Very... nice," said Benjamin, trying to sound sincere.

"Really?" Michael beamed. "I named her Buffy. Like my dog when I was a kid. Tomorrow I'll make her a house!"

Amelia snorted. Loudly, contemptuously.

"Nice," she repeated with sarcasm that could cut steel. "A grown man molding little dogs from plasticine. Just lovely. What's next? Sand castles in the sandbox?"

"Amelia..." Lucas began.

"Don't start, boy," she cut him off. "I know what you'll say. 'Amelia is still resisting. But it will pass. It passes for everyone.' Right?"

"Something like that," Lucas nodded impassively.

"Nothing will pass!" the woman flared up. "I came here to treat stress, not to turn into... into..."

She didn't finish the sentence, but furiously pointed at Michael, who continued smiling as if he hadn't heard her words. Or didn't want to hear them.

"Amelia was a financial director," Lucas explained to Benjamin. "Heart attack at thirty-eight. Doctors said—either rest, or..."

"Enough!" Amelia stood up so abruptly the chair fell. "Stop talking about me in the third person as if I'm not here! I'm not a patient in a mental hospital!"

"Hello everyone!" came a soft voice from the doorway, impossible to tell if it belonged to a man, woman, or even a child.

Benjamin turned around.

Another guest entered the dining room—a man about thirty-five. Average height, pleasant appearance, simple clothes. Everything would have been normal, if not for... the voice. It was higher than it should be for a man of that build. Not squeaky, but definitely altered.

His gait was strange—light, almost dancing. Like children walk when they can't just walk but must jump, skip, twirl.

"The first days are always the hardest. Right, Lucas?"

"Right, Robbie," the boy nodded. "Allow me to introduce—this is Robert, he's been with us for two weeks. Miss Hart says he accumulated so much stress that it will take the full power of the hive to help him. Though it seems Robert has already started to cope little by little."

"Hi!" Robert waved at Benjamin.

The gesture was exaggeratedly energetic.

"You're new? Cool! Someone to play with!"

"Play. An adult man said 'play.'"

"What's wrong with him?" he quietly asked Lucas.

"Nothing special," the boy answered just as quietly, watching as Robert sat down next to Michael and began molding his own animal. "His process has just begun. He's... receptive."

"Process? What process?"

"The recovery process. Everyone has their own. Michael is regaining lost carefreeness. Amelia is learning to let go of control. And Robert..."

"What about Robert?"

Lucas looked at him with a long, evaluating gaze.

"Robert is returning to his true self. To the self he buried under the weight of adult responsibilities. Sometimes... sometimes that path leads far."

"How far?"

But Lucas didn't have time to answer. Sarah entered the dining room with a tray.

"Oh, everyone's already gathered! Wonderful. Benjamin, have a seat, I'll bring you dinner. We have vegetable stew and homemade bread today. And a special dessert—honey pudding from Miss Hart's recipe."

"I'm not hungry," Benjamin began, but his stomach betrayed him with a rumble.

"Of course you're hungry," Sarah smiled. "Travel is tiring. And our food will help you relax. Michael, tell Benjamin how delicious the pudding is."

Michael nodded enthusiastically, setting aside the plasticine.

"Oh yes! The pudding is amazing! Like at grandma's when I was a kid. Only better. Much better. You sleep so well after it!"

Sarah placed a plate of stew before Benjamin. It smelled wonderful—herbs, vegetables, something homey and cozy. His stomach rumbled again.

"Eat," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "You need strength. The first days of adaptation are always difficult."

Benjamin took the spoon. The stew was indeed delicious—vegetables soft, sauce rich. But something in it... a sweetish aftertaste? Honey?

"We add honey to everything," Robert explained, noticing his confusion. "Miss Hart says it's good for the soul."

"And for the body," Michael added, stuffing his mouth full. "I sleep like a baby!"

Amelia snorted again, but she was eating too. Even she couldn't resist the aroma.

Benjamin ate slowly, watching the others. Michael and Robert chatted about their crafts, planning what they would mold tomorrow. Their voices sounded... not exactly childish, but definitely altered. Higher. Softer. More carefree.

Amelia ate in silence, but Benjamin noticed how her posture gradually relaxed. Shoulders dropping. The line of her mouth softening.

Lucas sat nearby, but his food looked slightly different, and there was no pudding at all. He ate carefully, in small pieces. One could say that of all present, he was the most well-mannered after Benjamin.

"Tell us about yourself, Benjamin," Sarah requested, serving dessert. "What did you do before coming to us?"

"I... was a copywriter. Wrote advertising texts."

"How interesting! A creative profession. It must have been fascinating?"

"At first—yes. Then... then the words ran out."

"They didn't run out," Sarah gently corrected. "They just got tired. Like you. But here, in the Hive, you'll find new words. Simple and pure."

She placed a bowl of pudding before him. Golden, trembling, smelling of vanilla.

"Try it. It will help you."

Benjamin looked at the pudding. Then at the faces of the others—expectant, watching. Even Amelia was looking with curiosity.

He took a spoon, scooped some up.

The taste was... incredible. The sweetness of honey, the tenderness of cream, something else—elusive, intoxicating. As if he wasn't eating dessert, but childhood itself. Carefreeness. Summer at grandma's. A time when everything was simple.

"Delicious?" asked Michael, scooping up a large spoonful of dessert.

"Very," Benjamin admitted, and it was the truth.

"You'll see," said Sarah, "after our pudding you'll sleep like an angel. And in the morning you'll wake up renewed."

Benjamin finished the dessert, feeling pleasant warmth spreading through his body. Fatigue rolled in waves. Eyelids grew heavy.

"It seems our new guest needs to rest," Sarah observed. "The first day is always tiring. Lucas, escort Mr. Wilson to his room."

"Of course," the boy stood up. "Let's go, Benji."

Benjamin rose. His legs were like cotton, but pleasantly so. Like after a good massage.

"'Benji'... No one's called me that in a long time," flashed through his mind, though apparently he didn't mind.

"Good night," he said to the others.

"Sweet dreams!" Michael responded.

"See you in the morning!" Robert added.

Amelia said nothing but nodded.

They walked down the corridor, and Benjamin felt how with each step the fatigue grew stronger. Not the unpleasant exhaustion of a driven horse, but soft, enveloping. As if he was being wrapped in a warm blanket.

"Is this normal?" he asked. "To want to sleep so much?"

"Absolutely," Lucas assured him. "The body is relaxing. Some haven't slept normally for years. The body remembers what it's like—to truly rest."

They went up to the second floor. The corridor seemed longer than during the day. Or had his legs become disobedient?

"Here's your room," Lucas opened the door. "If you need anything during the night—Sarah will be in the 'Duty' room. Just knock."

"And you? Do you live right here?"

"I told you—I'm a local. Good night, Benji. And... don't be afraid of dreams. All dreams here are good."

A strange farewell. But Benjamin was too tired to think about it.

He entered the room. The bed was already turned down, pajamas lay on the pillow—soft, light blue. Beside them—a glass of water and two pills.

"Vitamins," read the note. "For sound sleep. With care, S."

He changed, movements slow as if underwater. The pajamas turned out to be incredibly soft, like a cloud.

The teddy bear watched from the pillow.

"Well, buddy," Benjamin mumbled, climbing under the covers. "Seems we've ended up in a strange place. But... not scary. Not yet."

He turned off the light. Darkness covered him softly, without anxiety.

And sleep came almost immediately.

He's in the field again. But now not alone. A boy walks beside him—Lucas. Only not Lucas-the-child, but Lucas-the-adult. Or vice versa?

"Don't think too much," says Lucas-not-Lucas. "Thinking is harmful here."

"Why?"

"Because thoughts interfere with feeling. And feeling is more important."

They approach the house-hive. It glows from within with golden light. Honey pours from the windows. Slowly, viscously.

"Is this normal?" asks Benjamin.

"What's normal and what isn't?" Lucas smiles. "You've lived by other people's rules for too long. Time to create your own."

The door opens. On the threshold—a woman in yellow. The face is clearer than last time. Beautiful, maternal, but the eyes... there's something ancient in the eyes. Wise. Dangerous?

"Welcome home," she says.

"This isn't my home."

"Not yet. But it will be. All bees return to the hive."

She extends her hand. On the palm—a golden drop. Honey? Something else?

"Try it. It will help you remember."

"Remember what?"

"What it's like to be happy."

He looks at the drop. It pulses as if alive. Beckons. Promises.

Lucas beside him nods. "It's safe. I've checked."

Benjamin extends his hand...

And wakes up.

The room is dark, only moonlight through the window. In his mouth—the taste of honey.

On the clock—3:33.

He lies staring at the ceiling. The dream has almost disappeared, only fragments remain. The woman. Honey. The promise of happiness.

After some time sleep overcame him again. But this time—anxious, filled with falling into endless emptiness.

Benjamin woke from his own scream. Sweat covered his face, heart pounding so hard it seemed it would jump out of his chest. The dream was already dissolving, leaving only the sensation of falling.

Somewhere outside the window came a child's cry, then the sound of an engine starting and a car driving away and a barely audible phrase "There goes Theodore, discharged."

He got up, legs buckling.

He needed to leave this room where the walls seemed to be closing in. The corridor was dark, only emergency lights created greenish pools of light on the floor.

"Lost?"

Benjamin started. Lucas stood in the doorway of his room, disheveled but clearly not having slept.

"I... nightmare. Just wanted some water."

"The kitchen's the other way," Lucas hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Come on, I'll show you. Otherwise Sarah will scold in the morning if she finds you wandering around the house."

In the kitchen Lucas turned on a small light, took out two mugs.

"Tea? Regular, no additives. I sometimes hide a pack for... for bad nights."

They sat in silence, warming their hands on the hot mugs. Benjamin noticed Lucas's fingers trembling.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For not leaving me alone."

"It's my job," Lucas answered automatically, but it sounded unconvincing. "It's just... nights are the hardest."

Benjamin wanted to ask something else, but Lucas was already standing and heading to rinse the mugs.

"Come on, I'll walk you back. And try to sleep. Tomorrow will be... an interesting day."