When I stumbled back home that night, I could feel the energy thrumming in my veins. I hadn't had a third drink after that glass of beer, aware that I had my first practical the following morning and would need to be prompt, but the excitement of the evening had me on a high. As nothing particularly exciting was occurring that evening, Wednesdays being the only days when bands didn't come and play, Matt organised a competition among the locals. Most of the students had sloped off at an earlier hour, returning home for dinner or even, shock horror, curfew.

The night ended up turning into something that vaguely resembled a karaoke night, with people during various stages of intoxication scrambling onto the stage and attempting to wow the crowd with their singing skills. I wondered to myself why Matt never got up and sung, but when he urged me to go up and I refused, I decided not to push him. Still, I amused myself watching them, sometimes going up in groups to do horrendous renditions of classic songs. I think somebody attempted to mimic the electronica currently being played on every radiowave existing, but it was such a miserable failure that most people couldn't see the funny side and kicked him off the stage.

After we'd cleared everyone out, Matt thanked me for helping him and I apologised again for dropping the glass.

"Oh, no, no," he'd said, frantically waving his hands around, "it was my fault. I jogged you and then you dropped it, I'm sorry." I merely raised an eyebrow, letting him believe what he wanted to. Perhaps he was aware that he was lying through his teeth, or perhaps he really believed he'd knocked it out of my hands. Usually this was what I loved in people, because you never knew what they were thinking, but of course I abhorred it when it turned against me.

Then again, I wasn't sure I wanted to get inside Matt's head. It was probably dark and twisted in there, a little too crowded to be safe.

Sleep welcomed me once again that night, and I began to sense a pattern growing. University life was exhausting me just as I'd suspected, but without the late night studying and over-consumption of alcohol I'd presumed came with it. I hoped that Matt would get a little more sleep as I was lying in bed. I'd noticed that the circles were disappearing from under his eye, but it truly made me wonder how much sleep he really had lost if a few hours napping couldn't solve his problem.

Hopefully we'd have figured out a way to override the system sooner or later and that'd resolve his anxieties.

When I was woken up by the rain the following morning, I sighed and ran a hand through my blonde locks, desperate for a shower. From that moment, my schedule turned hectic and I had barely an ounce of free time until the weekend. I had my practical that morning and then an important lecture on Friday, both of which required me to actually do some home study and write a few pages on what we'd learned in the lecture. I also had work at the Cavern both nights, so I was out late and up early the next day.

In turn, I began to develop my own dark circles, but I was much more worried about it than Matt appeared, peering in the mirror every morning and trying to smooth out my skin. I'd wrongly assumed that adulthood granted blemish-free skin but hadn't accounted for sleepless nights and so much work. How stupid of me.

I say that I didn't have any free time; this is a partial lie. Sure, I had work every evening, but it wasn't too strenuous. These two nights Matt had got a band to come in and play, so people were more focussed on listening to the music instead of arranging entertainment. It was slightly busier than the other night, but many more people after the band finished up at roughly nine o'clock. I'd remembered to bring my book this time around so I was free to delve into it when there was a break in the crowd.

Matt wasn't there on the Thursday night, so Paul took charge of the place. He appeared over-friendly to me, although I wondered whether that was simply because I already knew of his suspicions. Maybe I wouldn't have noticed anything out of the ordinary if I wasn't aware, but I did catch him glancing warily my way a few times. I put on my sunniest smile, hoping that I seemed as innocent as possible. With Matt back at home-or wherever he was-I couldn't be accused of manipulating him, and I could only hope that my behaviour that night would help him understand that I meant no harm at all. If I wasn't so terrified of being led away and used, I would've been amused that he even considered the possibility that I was spying for somebody else. Me? A spy? You've got to be kidding.

He did appear on Friday night, however, towing Dan along with him, but I hardly saw either of them. Once I caught sight of them disappearing through the door to the rooms out back, only to return merely five minutes later. I barely got to talk to Matt, and didn't even attempt to converse with Dan after Wednesday. The band playing that night was more popular than the kids from the night before, a little more mature and sure of their sound. It was the sort of music that I enjoyed listening to but didn't know too well, and I found myself bobbing my head in time with it for much of the evening. Matt was busy darting in and out the whole of the time, apparently restocking the back rooms. I wasn't sure why he would choose to do this on a busy Friday evening instead of the next day, but figured that there must be some sort of reason for it.

Then again, it could just be Matt acting impulsive, as I'd gathered he enjoyed to do. Although I indulged myself in a little impulsive behaviour every once in a while, I'd learned the hard way that more often than not, it ended up badly for me. I preferred to stick to carefully thought through strategies, but then everyone was different.

Despite how tired I was when I made it to bed that night, I slept fitfully. With the slightest noise I'd be woken up, and when the rain began again at roughly 3am, I gave up all hope of getting any sleep at all, instead trying to look at my notes in a new light. That light being the insanity of the sleep-deprived, something which I hoped wouldn't ever affect the quality of my papers.

As you probably suspected, I didn't get very far with it, although I'll blame my bleary mind for the frequent daydreaming that occurred. If I can't dream in sleep, I should be allowed to dream up ridiculous fantasies when I had a spare moment, right? Besides, it wasn't like Matt would mind, with the way he'd been acting towards me.

Reaching into one of my suitcases, I found something that I'd conveniently forgotten to unpack. A few years previous I'd taken to writing in a journal every so often, just to let my feelings out about things. I'd gradually drifted away from it, especially when one of my school friends found out and claimed it to be far too girly. However, I felt like doing a bit of writing that morning, and where better than what was essentially a diary? Feeling ridiculously like a teenage girl, I cracked open the journal.

I was immediately assaulted by the sight of my own handwriting, pages and pages of words scrawled out in moments that were particularly emotional. I flicked through a few of the past entries and had to hide my laughter, some of the old entries far too petty and ridiculous to even be considered serious. There was something about somebody nicking my rubber, something about getting my first detention for not handing in homework, and a whole page of ranting about my sister. Looking back at it now, I felt the pangs of homesickness grasp me firmly and, for the first time, wished that I was back home.

I had prepared myself for the page that was coming, although I don't think I prepared myself enough. One of the other reasons that I discarded the journal was that it always fell open on the same pages, and unfortunately for me, I couldn't ever make it through this page without tears. It was crudely written, and there were blotches on the page where my pen had spontaneously exploded or run out of ink. However, I remembered writing it as clear as day. I remembered how I felt when I was writing it, how I looked when I was writing it, where and when and why I was when I was writing it, and that's what always came flooded back.

Of course, once I'd started reading it, I couldn't stop. Maybe it was in my nature to try and finish everything, or maybe I felt like it was an injustice not to finish it, simply out of respect. Either way, as soon as I read the first line and felt my heart sink, I knew I would have to man up and continue. Let me give you a brief recap of the story, because the quality of the writing is so atrocious that I'd be embarrassed to show it to you:

My father had just passed away. He'd struggled with lung cancer for several years after smoking heavily before my sister was born, and when I was fourteen, it had caught up with him. It was probably good for him that everything happened so quickly, and it didn't take me long to realise that, but when loved ones are taken from us, we immediately become selfish. I remember crying my eyes out because I would never get to play with my father again, never get homework help or life advice from my father again, but not once did I consider the fact that my sister wouldn't have a father figure to look up to, or that my mother wouldn't have somebody to hold her through the night. Only when I'd recovered from my own grief did I begin to extend my pity to those suffering around me.

I'd written the entry the day after he'd actually passed, simply because I couldn't drag myself away from the hospital room for the first twenty four hours. Even after they'd taken him away, I remained slumped in the seat beside his bed, imagining that he was there and that I was grasping his hand. In fact, I probably wouldn't have left for at least a week if one of the nurses hadn't forced me to get out so that they could use the room for somebody else.

That's one of my most vivid memories of the whole experience. If I'm being totally honest, I can't remember my father's dying words. I can't remember what he last did or felt or what the week before had been like. I couldn't remember the last thing I'd said to him without the journal entry to prompt me. However, I distinctly remember the nurse telling me to clear off. I knew her well, as she'd helped my father whilst he was in the hospital and she chatted to me every time we visited. She was always friendly and polite, so I was willing to do what she asked me to. When she told me that they were required to vacate the room for a new patient, I broke down into floods of tears. It shocked me that somebody else would be here so soon. My father had only died in that same bed a few hours ago, bathed in the same dim sunlight with the same fake flowers on the bedside table and the same hospital gown resting on his frail skin. And they arrived so quickly, too! Almost as if there was an endless queue of people waiting for my father to kick the bucket just so that they could have their own hospital bed and they could die in this poky little room too.

At least he didn't die alone. That's one comfort I allowed myself.

I sat there, wrapped in my duvet with tears streaking down my cheeks until my alarm clock went off, simply staring out of the window and allowing the misery of the weather to seep into my own sadness. I slammed my hand down on the alarm as soon as it went off, the buzzing sound far too annoying for so early on a Saturday morning when I hadn't slept and was light-headed from crying.

When I heard footsteps padding through the flat, I cursed. Get yourself together, Dominic. I crawled out of the bed, shrugging on my dressing gown and tiptoeing into the bathroom. I rinsed away any trace of tear tracks from my face, planning to pass off the slight puffiness of my eyes as lack of sleep. It wasn't entirely a lie. As I crept out of the bathroom, however, I glanced down the hallway. Luke was stood in the middle of the lounge, staring out of the window and peering down at the street.

My brow furrowed as I watched him for at least five minutes. Not once did he move a muscle, and I don't even think he blinked. I could just about see the miniscule movements of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled, but other than that, there was no sign that he was even alive. Curious, I padded into my own room and pressed myself up against the window until it fogged up from my breath.

There was nobody out there. The street was clear, which wasn't surprising given the hour. Although I could barely see through the drizzle, it was clear that nobody was around. Backtracking, I could see that Luke was still gazing into the nothingness. It seemed a strange thing to do, that was for sure, but he'd only just convinced us that he was a normal human being. Did Chris and Tom know about his early morning habits?

I shook my head, appalled at my own behaviour. No wonder Paul and Morgan thought I was spying on them! I just couldn't keep my nose out of other people's business, could I? However, with one last look out the window, my eyes settled on what Luke was staring at.

Matt's curtains were wide open. From my bedroom, I could see right into his window. He was pacing the room shirtless, a green hat wedged tightly on top of his head, and his arms were flying about all over the place. I presumed that he was arguing with somebody, as he continuously paused to say something and then continued roaming his room aimlessly. Who was he talking to? What were they arguing about?

There was a moment when he glanced out of his window and I ducked my head, but when I returned to the window, I could just see him grinning at me through his own, bemused. I didn't want him to notice me and draw attention to the fact that I could see him, as Luke's peculiar actions had me on edge yet again. I chanced a wave at Matt and then jabbed my thumb in the direction of the lounge. He took a second to catch on, but I could see the exact moment the fury hit. He kept his temper well, but you could see in the way that his eyebrows drew towards each other, his eyes as hard as flint and his lips pressed tightly together that he definitely wasn't happy. He drew his curtains closed roughly and disappeared from sight.

I jumped back into bed, hearing footsteps in the hallway, and slowly closed the bedroom door with my toe. It sounded like Luke paused outside my bedroom door, as if he was going to come in and greet me, but thought better of it and returned to his own room. I let out a relieved sigh and pulled my phone from my desk, only remembering after I'd composed the text that I didn't actually have Matt's number. Did he even have a phone? It wouldn't surprise me if he didn't. And he'd said that all the lines were monitored, so I presumed that the rule also extended to emails and texts too. Either that or the government really needed to get with the times.

I waited for a few hours until it seemed like a suitable time to be turning up at somebody's house. When I knocked on Matt's door at nine o'clock, wrapped in two scarves and a winter coat, the door was opened as soon as my hand left the knocker.

"Do you fancy going for a walk?" he asked me hastily, shutting the door behind him. I must've pulled a face because he then added, "If you don't, I can probably find a place for us to go."

"No, no, walking is fine, I was just thinking about the weather," I told him. "Aren't you cold?" He was dressed in a thin long-sleeved shirt like the ones I'd seen him sporting around the club and inside his own house, but it seemed insane that he could wear so little on a day like this. The wind whipped straight through me and I was chilled to the bone.

"Nah, I'm fine, Dom." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and began walking swiftly down the street. I raced to keep up with him, trying to match the speeds of our legs.

"Why are you in such a rush? Aren't walks supposed to be leisurely?"

"Yeah, I'll slow down in a minute. I just want to get as far away from the house as possible. You called at exactly the right time actually, because I was just about to head out anyway. Now I have somebody to stop me from venting to random strangers in the streets and getting mixed up in all sorts of trouble. Not that I've done that before, but it's the sort of thing I'll probably find myself doing one day. You seem sensible; you can stop me from doing something stupid." All of this was blurted out at lightning speed and I found him clinging onto my coat, his fingers curled simply around the material. I didn't mind him being there, but it seemed odd that he would choose the material instead of a warm, human hand.

Oh, well.

As soon as we were a few blocks away from his house, Matt slowed down noticeably. I caught my breath and began to look around, not having ventured into this part of the city before now.

"So, how've you been? We haven't spoken much," he said, turning towards me.

"Busy," I admitted. "Had a bit of studying to do already so I've been trying to get ahead so I won't lose time later on, you know what I mean?" He nodded. "But we learned about our main practical for this term and I had to write a little essay on what I'd learned so far, blah blah blah."

"By 'little essay', what exactly do you mean?"

"We had a word limit of a thousand words. That might've been the most difficult bit for me, actually, because I struggle to get in everything I want to say with such a small amount of space." He hummed in response, directing me down a road when I made to turn in the opposite direction. A patch of land appeared beside us and I felt my lips part slightly as I gazed around happily. It wasn't as well tended as the green behind the library, but it looked homely and more as I'd expected Exeter to be. In the middle of the field there was a small pond and a few ducks were swimming around among floating slices of bread. "I didn't know this existed!" Matt shrugged.

"A lot of people never find it. Usually in towns they tell you to go and visit the park, but here they pretty much encourage you not to. They don't like the open space because it's difficult to hide a security camera in the middle of a patch of grass." I chuckled at him as he led me towards a bench beside the pond. I wiped away as much of the water pooling on the slats as possible with my sleeve, perching myself on the edge of the bench and leaning forwards to rest my elbows on my knees.

"I love to come here," Matt murmured. "It's so nice and peaceful. Reminds me of home."

"Where is home?" I inquired, having never asked before.

"Teignmouth. It's about half an hour from here, a little coastal village. I always used to hate it as a kid because it was just so boring, but I guess I never thought that coming to Exeter would mean I was trapped here. Even just a few years ago we came here on our shopping trips and I never suspected a thing. Nobody did, I guess. Just like everybody else that passes through here."

"I did. I've been really on edge from the moment that I arrived here." He frowned at me, eyes searching my face.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I felt a little ill after crossing the border, almost as if my body was telling me that it was the wrong thing to do. And then when I was walking around I just felt that the town was sort of...well, dead. Even though I could see people around and all these advertisements for events and what have you, I just couldn't find any life in the place." Matthew was watching me intently as I spoke, and I grew more nervous as I finished speaking.

"That's really strange. I've never heard that from anybody before. Even the locals can't sense that something is off, despite knowing that there's something wrong. We all know it here, but we also know that we would never be able to tell if we didn't live here. It's why the students never guess anything. And that's also why we often can't get students to help us, because they simply don't believe we're speaking the truth."

"Well, I definitely do. I knew there was something wrong with that border the moment I arrived here, but I guess I just didn't think anything of it. It didn't really mean anything to me. "

"You know what," he mused, rubbing the side of his nose, "I think we're going to have to explore that a little more. Maybe, when we're done here, do you want to go down to the border and check it out for a bit? Just to see what it feels like to you?"

I shrugged.

"I'm up for anything, really."

We sat in silence then, watching the ducks paddling around in the murky water, and I wished I had some bread to feed to them. I noticed Matt jiggling around beside me, rubbing his hands down his arms, and pretended not to notice him. However, after five minutes I was feeling sorry for him, and I began to take my coat off.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, and I bit back a snicker.

"I'm giving you my coat. You look like your nose is going to drop off."

"No, no, I don't want your coat. You'll freeze without that, Dom." He held his hands up, pushing the coat away when I tried to force it upon him.

"Seriously, Matt." I reached out and grabbed one of his hands, wincing and rubbing it between my fingers. "You're absolutely freezing. At least take one of my scarves. I don't really need two." He still protested and I scowled at him. "Listen, I'm the older one here, so you have to do as I say."

"I'm the one who runs his own club, so I think you should listen to me," he insisted playfully.

"C'mon, Matt. At least share it with me?" I offered, opening up the coat. I could see the hope for it shining in his eyes and gestured to him to move up closer to me. He shuffled up beside me and I wrapped the side of the coat around him. It didn't quite close with Matt wrapped inside it as well, but it was enough to keep the warmth in both of us. With my coat wrapped around him, I was technically cuddling him, as I had my arm wrapped around his torso. He buried his face in my shoulder and I shuddered as his cold face touched an exposed bit of skin.

"You smell weird, Dom," he mumbled into my skin.

"Cheers," I muttered, pulling the coat tighter around us. He snuffled laughter against my skin and twisted his fingers in my jumper.

"This is nice."

"Mhm."

I lost track of how long we sat there. Was it a whole hour? It could even have been more. I don't know, and to be honest, I don't really care. I wouldn't even have minded if Matt had fallen asleep on my shoulder during such a long period of silence, but it was comfortable, the feeling of another person in my arms the most soothing thing I could imagine. My longing for human company had finally been satiated, and as Matthew buried his face deeper into the gap between my shoulder and my neck, his breath dancing on my skin and making me jump, there wasn't anywhere else I'd rather be.