Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I think I've made myself very clear, but no one's stepping forward to stop me."

You know when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you blackout? It's called voluntary apnea. No matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct not to let water in is so strong you won't open your mouth until your head's about to explode. And when you finally do let it in—when the water floods your lungs—that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's... peaceful.

"A lot of you cared, just not enough. And that... that is what I needed to find out."

Death—a constant thought in my mind. Like just this morning, I asked myself: Is today a good day to die?
I can think of a million ways to go—jumping off a cliff, drowning, getting shot or stabbed and bleeding out. But thinking of ways to live? That's the hard part.

I don't remember much about the incident that got me expelled and sent to a small town in California called Crestmont. Seriously, who names these places? This is day six of me being awake. I don't remember much from before that, either. It happens every time—blacking out, then waking up. Kind of like when you drink too much after a breakup and do something stupid with zero recollection of the night's events.

"And I did find out."

I stared out the car window as we passed trees, houses, and a café called Monet's. The town looked too clean, too staged—like it was hiding something under fresh paint and window boxes full of flowers.

"Hey, Eli, you okay?" Eleanore asked.

No. I'm going full-on Emily Dickinson—if she chain-smoked and couldn't stop thinking about death. But I didn't say that.

"Just nerves. New school, new people."

"And I'm sorry."

"You'll make new friends. The movers will be here tomorrow after your first day of school."

"I don't see why I have to go to school if I don't even have most of my stuff."

"Because you have to."

I rolled my eyes, put my headphones on, and hit play. "Wake Up" by NF started, the lyrics crawling into my head like they were meant for me. I leaned against the glass, the vibrations of the road buzzing through my skull, and closed my eyes.

When I woke up, Eleanore was grinning like a maniac and splashing water in my face.

"That's so not funny."

"Kind of is. Hey—bring your suitcase and pick a room, okay?"

"Yeah."

I stepped out of the car, the late afternoon air carrying the faint smell of the ocean. My green JanSport dug into my shoulder as I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk.

The house looked like something out of a family movie—the kind where everything seems perfect, but you can tell it's rotting under the surface. The dad's having an affair, the mom's fading away, the kids barely exist, and then a tragedy strikes. Someone dies. The family comes back together—at least until it falls apart again.

That kind of house.

I chose the first room on the right at the front of the house. The window gave a full view of the street. That's when I saw her.

A girl with short hair. Shoulders drawn in like she was holding the whole world inside herself. Eyes fixed somewhere far away, like she'd already left.

That look—I knew it. I've worn it.

I didn't think. I bolted out the door, Eleanore's voice trailing after me.

⸻

Here's the thing—I didn't have a plan. Walking into a stranger's house wasn't exactly the smartest move. But I knocked. No answer. Tried the doorknob. Unlocked.

And yeah, I walked in.

Don't give me that look. This was a life-or-death situation. Literally. Desperate times, desperate measures.

The sound of running water pulled me upstairs. My chest felt tighter with every step. I banged on the bathroom door.

In my head, my mom's voice played on loop: Now, Eli, that wasn't very nice of you. Don't ever do it again.
And I'd say: I'm sorry, Mom. It won't happen again.
Then she'd hug me, kiss my forehead, hand me a cookie she made earlier, and send me to my room to "think about what I'd done."

But this wasn't a lecture-and-cookie situation.

"Hello? Hello? I know you don't know me, but whatever you're about to do—don't. Please."

"Go away."

"No. If you do this, you'll do something you can never take back."

"Please, just go..."

Her voice... it sounded like someone who had already stepped off the ledge in her mind.

"Just hold on. For a little while longer—for me."

"You don't even know me. And I don't know you."

"How can we get to know each other if you leave? Do you really want me to start school not knowing a single person?"

Silence. A dangerous kind of silence.

"I'm going to tell you a story."

The water shut off. My pulse kicked up, like my body knew this moment could go either way.

"There was once a boy who had lost all hope. He thought about ending his life, so he made a list—reasons to end it, reasons why not. He laid them out in front of him, a puzzle of contradictions. If he had reasons to stay, why did he have reasons to go? He'd already made up his mind. Wrote a note apologizing over and over for what he was about to do—"

The door creaked open.

Her eyes were red and swollen. Tear tracks cut pale lines down her cheeks. Her hands trembled at her sides. She looked like she'd been hollowed out. But she was here. And that was enough—for now.

"What happened to the boy? Did he...?"

I dodged with a question of my own.

"Do you think there's such a thing as a perfect day?"

"What?"

"A perfect day. Start to finish. Nothing terrible or sad or ordinary happens. Do you think that's possible?"

"I don't know."

"Have you ever had one?"

"No."

"I've never had one either. But I'm looking for it."

Her mouth twitched into something that could almost be called a smile. And for a second, the air in that hallway didn't feel so suffocating.

"Elliot. Elliot Grayson. But you can call me Eli."

"Hannah. Hannah Baker.

Chapter Text

⸻

"Elliot, Elliot Grayson—but you can call me Eli."

"Hannah, Hannah Baker,"

We shook hands, and he smiled. Not the polite, fake kind people give just to be nice. It was real. And it was... nice. He seemed different. A good kind of different.

I offered him something to drink and a snack. He gladly accepted, and we sat there, the silence stretching between us like a rubber band. I waited for him to bring up what had happened, but he never did.

Part of me felt relieved. Another part—maybe the braver, more reckless part—wanted to know exactly what he thought.

"Aren't you going to ask?" I said finally.

He looked at me, calm. "Do you want me to?"

Instead of pressing, he pulled a small vintage cigarette lighter from his pocket and flicked it open and shut, the metal clicking in a steady rhythm. Then he reached into his hoodie and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds.

"Do you mind?"

"Only if you smoke inside," I said. "My parents would kill me if they smelled it."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Lead the way."

We went out to the backyard, far enough so no one could see and start rumors. I could already picture the headline in The Lost and Found—big, bold letters:

HANNAH BAKER GOING BAD.

"I know you probably think I was being dramatic," I said. "Like—what could I have possibly gone through to make me do what I was about to do?"

He looked at me for a moment, then ground the cigarette out under his shoe.

"Whatever you went through—whatever you're still going through—it's not for me to judge."

I held his gaze. There was something in his eyes that told me he'd been through something too. But I decided to give him the same courtesy he'd given me.

We sat in silence for what felt like forever, until pounding at the door broke it.

When I opened it, Tony rushed in.

"What the hell is this, Hannah?!" he shouted. Shoving the box of tapes I've made in my hands.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. Don't cry, Hannah. Don't you dare.

"Dude, lay off her, okay?" Eli stepped in front of me. His eyes flashed, and for a second, his protectiveness warmed something in my chest.

"It's okay, Eli..." I whispered.

"I heard part of the tapes, Hannah—were you going to kill yourself?"

The words made me flinch. The way he looked at me—it was too much.

"Tapes? What tapes?" Eli asked, brows furrowed.

Tony froze for half a second, then his expression hardened. "It's none of your business."

Eli stepped forward. "Seems like it's exactly my business if it's got her standing in a bathroom ready to—"

"Eli." My voice was firm, but quieter than I meant it to be. "Let it go."

He searched my face for an answer I couldn't give him. "You're not seriously gonna tell me there's nothing going on here."

"There's nothing you can do about it," Tony cut in, his tone sharp. "And you don't even know her."

Eli let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well... sometimes strangers give a damn when friends don't."

The room went still. Tony's jaw tightened, but he didn't take the bait.

Instead, he turned to me. "We'll talk later."

The door slammed behind him.

Eli stayed quiet for a long moment. Then he glanced at me. "You gonna tell me what that was about?"

I shook my head. "Not tonight."

But the way he kept looking at me told me he wasn't going to drop it. And I wasn't sure how long I could keep the truth from him.

"Shit—I mean, fuck—where's my phone?" he muttered, patting his pockets.

"Do you want to borrow mine?" I asked.

"Yeah, can I? I need to call my sister."

I handed it over. He stepped away to dial, one hand buried in his hoodie pocket, shoulders tense. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I could feel the weight of it hanging in the air between us.

"Hey, sorry—I have to go. My sister wants me home. But I put my number in your phone, so you can talk to me whenever you need to."

I nodded and walked him to the door. We said our goodbyes, but before he stepped outside, he gave me one last look and smiled. Damn, he's always smiling.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked.

"I'll be okay."

And just like that, he was gone.

Not long after, my parents came home—unaware they'd get to keep their daughter for a little while longer.

What I didn't realize was that, somewhere between the smile and the goodbye, Eli had taken the tapes.

Chapter Text

I watched as Hannah walked up to my porch, holding what looked like a box wrapped in brown paper.
She didn't knock.
She didn't ring the doorbell.
She didn't even glance up at the window where she knew I was standing.

All she did was place the box on the ground... and walk away.

I waited. Five minutes.
Five turned into twenty.
Twenty into forty.
Finally, I opened the door and picked it up.

The paper was plain, the tape carefully folded.
Each motion I made to unwrap it felt heavier than the last, like my hands knew something I didn't yet.
Cold washed over me. A deep, familiar chill.

Inside was a shoebox.
Seven cassette tapes.
And one note:

Please take care of these. Listen and you'll know how.

My heart clenched.

I grabbed my Walkman, sat down at the edge of the couch, and slipped in the first tape.

The click of the play button felt like dropping off a cliff.

"Hey. It's Hannah. Hannah Baker. Don't adjust... whatever device you're hearing this on. It's me. Live and in stereo. No return engagements, no encores, and this time, no requests. Get a snack. Settle in. Because I'm about to tell you the story of my life—more specifically, why my life ended."

I didn't finish. I just bolted — straight to my car, straight to her house. I kept calling her parents, but no answer.

"DAMN IT!"
I slammed my hands against the steering wheel, anger rushing through me

How could she do this—to me, to Clay?
Going to her house, I thought... I don't know what I thought.
All I knew was that I needed to see if she was okay.

I didn't see an ambulance.
Was that a good sign? Or was I too late?
Did the Bakers find her?

I banged on the door frantically—no answer.

I kept pounding, louder this time, until finally the door opened.
She was there. Alive. Breathing.
I felt a rush of relief so fast it almost knocked me over.

I pushed past her.

"What the hell is this, Hannah?!" I snapped, shoving the box of tapes into her hands.

She flinched, and I regretted it instantly. But I couldn't take it back. Not after what I heard.
My heart pounded. My stomach twisted. My hands were shaking.

Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she didn't let them fall.
Brave. Always trying to be brave.

"Dude, lay off her, okay?"

Some guy stepped between us—lean, tense, unfamiliar.
His eyes flashed with something fierce. Something real. Protective.

Who the hell was this?

"It's okay, Eli..." Hannah said quietly.

Huh. New kid, I guess.

Didn't matter. Not now. Not with her voice still echoing in my head—on those tapes.

"I heard part of the tapes, Hannah—were you going to kill yourself?"

She flinched again. Shoulders tensing. Lips parting, but no words came.
I hated asking. But I needed to know.

"Tapes? What tapes?" Eli cut in, glancing between us, brow furrowed.

I froze. Just for a second.
Then I snapped, "It's none of your business."

He didn't flinch. Took a step closer. "Seems like it's exactly my business if it's got her standing in a bathroom ready to—"

"Eli."
Hannah's voice was soft, but it landed like a command. Firm. Worn thin.

He looked at her—searching. For answers. For a way in.

"You're not seriously gonna tell me there's nothing going on here."

"There's nothing you can do about it," I cut in sharply. "And you don't even know her."

He let out a dry laugh, bitter. "Yeah, well... sometimes strangers give a damn when friends don't."

That one hit hard. Like a slap to the face.

I clenched my jaw but didn't respond. He wasn't wrong.
And maybe that's what made it worse.

I turned to Hannah, voice quieter now.
"We'll talk later."

I left, I just walked out the house forgetting about the tapes, forgetting about the way this Eli guy looked like me. Forgetting about how if he wasn't here things would've ended up differently.

I made it home, killed the engine, and just sat there.
Finally, I let myself cry. I almost lost one of my closest friends.

Hannah might be full of drama, but the thought of her dying — of never talking to her again...
I don't know if I could handle that.

And I wasn't sure what scared me more —
the fact that I didn't know what to do...
or the fact that someone else did.

Chapter Text

It started as a distant scream—shrill and relentless.
The alarm clock.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Each blast pierced through my skull like a needle. I yanked the blanket over my head, hoping the noise would vanish. It didn't.

Every teenager's universal enemy: the alarm clock. I swear mine has a personal vendetta. I groaned, sat up, and immediately regretted it.

Staying up late listening to the tapes was probably a bad idea, but it felt worth it. I needed to understand what Hannah was going to do.

My back hurts.

Note to self:
Sleeping on an air mattress isn't as comfortable as it sounds.

You'd think it'd be like sleeping on a cloud—because, hello, air—but nooo. It's stiff, squeaky, and unforgiving. But for now, it'll have to do. At least until the damn moving truck shows up. Seriously, how hard is it to follow directions? I just want my furniture.

And Lana.

(Just for the record: Lana is my motorcycle. And yes, I named her after Lana Del Rey. Because she's an icon. Duh.)

I rummaged through my suitcase like a raccoon looking for its dignity. Half my clothes were still packed in trash bags somewhere between here and the void moving trucks disappear into.

Eventually, I found the outfit I always go for when I want to look like I care—without actually caring.

Oversized brown and black plaid flannel? Check.
Faded olive green shirt I've probably worn three times this week already? Don't judge me.
Ripped black jeans? Obviously. The holes are for ventilation. Or trauma. Depends on the day.
Tan Chelsea boots—scuffed just enough to say "I have stories" without revealing what they are.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the old mirror the last owner left behind and gave myself a nod.

Grunge-lite.
Mysterious but approachable.
The kind of look that says "I have secrets" and "I've definitely cried to a Lana Del Rey song at 2AM." Which... I have.

Now all I needed was coffee, emotional stability, and my motorcycle.

But we can't have it all, can we?

⸻

I walked downstairs and found Eleanore making breakfast. It smelled amazing, but I had zero appetite. Not because of nerves—no, not exactly.

It's more complicated than that.
Food just feels like a waste of time when your brain won't shut up.

Eleanore smiled at me—the kind of smile moms give, but with a big sister twist.

"The movers came early," she said. "Which means Lana's here."

I lit up.

Lana.

I bolted out the door and saw her—parked by the curb in front of the house. Sleek. Familiar. Mine.

Eleanore followed with my backpack, holding it out like she already knew I was about to vanish. I snatched it, tossed it in, and mounted Lana.

"Hey, Eli! Don't forget—you need to talk to the principal today!"

Ah yes, the principal meeting.
I'm on academic probation, which means no fighting, no skipping school...

All because of a few minor... incidents.

(Some involving a desk, a chalkboard. Here's a tip: don't break school property unless you're rich enough to replace it. Chalkboards are weirdly expensive.)

Other alleged offenses:
•    Guitar smashing during an assembly
•    Illegal use of fireworks (which I stand by)
•    One or two (or four) fights

Anyway.

First: caffeine.

⸻

First stop: the gas station.
Two twenty-four ounce Monsters.
And—surprisingly—string cheese. Jackpot.

⸻

(Play "Trigger" by Chase Atlantic)

I'm driving too fast in my Lincoln Town car
And I think I just might flip it over
I've been in a rage and I'm headed your way
With the devil on my fucking shoulder!

I screamed the lyrics like a prayer and a warning.
Wind clawing at my face. My head spinning with caffeine, confusion, fury, and something I couldn't name yet.

Then I saw her street.

I slammed the brake.
Parked in front of Hannah's house.
Killed the music.

Deep breath.

Then I marched to the door and knocked.

⸻

The door opened.

And there she was.

Not in pajamas. Not crying. Not like I imagined. Not like yesterday.

Hannah Baker stood there like she'd stepped out of someone else's story—maybe even her own.

A forest green top under a black leather jacket. Black ripped jeans. Black heeled boots that clicked softly on the porch. A beanie pulled low over messy waves. And her eyes—still that same cutting blue.

She looked...

Different.

Like she was choosing to be seen again—but this time, on her terms.

The great thing about this messy life of ours? You get to become something different to everyone.

And for a second, I didn't know what to say.

Was this the same girl I met quite literally yesterday?
Or someone burning that version to the ground?

"You look... different."

"Good or bad?"

"Good."

Just then, her parents appeared behind her in the doorway.

I stood up straighter and gave them the smile I reserve for adults I want to impress.

"Hi. I'm Elliot, but you can call me Eli. I'm here to take Hannah to school."

"On a motorcycle?" her dad asked, skeptical.

"Yes, sir. It's safe, I promise. My sister wouldn't let me drive it if it wasn't."

They didn't exactly smile.

But they didn't slam the door either.

She gave them a pleading look and the dad gave in, the mom looked at him like he just grown three heads but sighed and walked away. Hannah let out a squeal and rushed over to Lana.

"Hey! Be careful with her!" I called out

"Her?" She laughed

I walked over to her and introduced them to each other.

"Hannah, Lana, Lana, Hannah"

She laughed again

"Lana?"

"Yes after Lana Del Ray don't you dare laugh at my baby, Baker" I said in fake sternness

That caused her to laugh even harder.

I handed her a helmet. And got on.

"Safety first, Hannah Banna"

"When are you gonna quit with that nickname?" She asked

"Neverrr"

She got on Lana holding my waist, and we drove off into the sunset, not really but sure was funny to say, no we went to school, which is boring because half of school will graduate some wont others will stay here forever while some with leave never looking back.

I pressed play on my phone, blasting Trigger again and screamed the lyrics again behind me I can hear Hannah laughing just a bit.

Getting so high, that I think, I might die
And I couldn't give a shit about it
Uppin' all night, it's a clear damn sky
But my head is feeling super clouded
I've been drinking, while I'm driving down the highway
Haven't blinked in like a minute yeah, it's quite strange
I've been thinking 'bout all of the things I might say
Or might do to ya

We arrived and I could feel eyes on me, ah yes new mystery guy on a motorcycle with a girl sitting behind him, I parked Lana and took the helmet off, some girls were gawking at me or was it Hannah? Who can tell but who was really looking was a guy and not at me at Hannah. He seemed angry? Confused? Hurt? Or all three, Hannah froze looking at him.
On instinct I wrapped my arm around her protectively and lead her inside.

"Can you show me to the principals office Hannah?"

"Yeah"

She led me to the principals office.

Now let me give you a preview of our conversation.

He will say.

Elliot Grayson just because you're new doesn't mean the terms of your probation are not forgotten.

You see I agreed involuntary of course with these simple conditions.

Weekly counseling

Keep or attempt to keep a b average

And participate in at least one extracurricular.

At my old school it was dance, just because of the girls... okay not my best moment as a man, but I'm a flawed person and I don't pretend to be. But I am still a gentleman and respect girls or else my sister would beat my ass.

Walking into the principals office I didn't expect this conversation to go like this at all like come on I just told you I will be giving only one warning.

Principal Bolan

More like principal boring

All he told was to get my schedule and go to class which I did. And they handed me a signature slip for all my teachers to sign.

First class of the day.

Mrs. Bradley communications class

What the fuck is communications class? We didn't have this in my old school, I gave her my slip that she's has to sign.

"Why don't you go sit with...." She looked around the room "ahh, with Mr. Foley, Mr. Dempsey, and Mr. Pratters"

I looked at Hannah who gave me an apologetic smile and I walked back to the seat I was assigned.

Foley so that was his name.

"Hi I'm Justin, Justin Foley"

"Oh here I thought it was just Foley, James dean"

I didn't like him, not after the tapes, not after the look he gave Hannah earlier.

He leaned over and said, low but sharp, "You might wanna be careful around Hannah Baker."

I blinked. "Come again?"

He nodded toward the hallway, like Hannah was right outside. "She's not what she seems, alright? Just... trust me."

I looked at him fully now. There was something behind his eyes—guilt maybe—but I didn't owe this guy anything. And I knew his type. The ones who played with girls like toys and then called them crazy when the damage didn't fade fast enough.

I tilted my head, voice calm. "I don't listen to rumors. Especially if they come from assholes like you."

That shut him up. For a second.

He stared at me like I slapped him in public, his mouth half-open like he was gonna say something else—but then Mrs. Bradley called on him, and the moment snapped like a rubber band.

He sank back into his chair, eyes burning holes into the side of my face for the rest of class.

And me? I didn't care. I saw Hannah smile when I offered her a ride. That wasn't the smile of a monster. That was a girl who hadn't smiled in a long time.

And Justin Foley could choke on his guilt and rumors for all I cared.

Chapter Text

It started like it always does.
A sound that could only be described as a war crime:

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The alarm clock.
Proof that time is fake and mornings are personal attacks.

I groaned, rolled over, and smacked the snooze button like it had personally wronged me. My body felt heavy—like sleep wasn't rest anymore, just something to get through.

I sat up, blinked through the blur, and caught my reflection in the mirror across the room.

Oh.

Right.

New day, new me. That's what I told myself when I picked out my outfit last night.
That I wasn't going to be that girl anymore—the one who walked through halls like a ghost, who didn't fight back, who let them decide who she was.

Today I'd choose. Just for once. Even if I wasn't sure who I was picking.

⸻

I pulled on the forest green top and leather jacket. Black ripped jeans, black boots. The beanie was for comfort. The messy waves? That was less aesthetic, more "I didn't have the energy to care."

But weirdly... I liked how I looked.

Not pretty.
Not "hot."
Just—like someone I could become.

I was brushing out my hair when I heard the knock at the door.

⸻

And then he was there.

Eli.

Still too tall, still too sarcastic, still too... him. He had this energy, like the world had dared him to care about nothing—and he almost succeeded.

But not with me.

He saw me—really saw me. Not like I was broken glass people were too afraid to sweep up. Not like I was a warning sign.

"You look... different," he said.

"Good or bad?"

He paused.

"Good."

I wanted to smile—but I didn't want to scare it away.

⸻

Of course, my parents appeared. My dad already looked like he wanted to tackle Eli off the porch.
"On a motorcycle?" he asked, like Eli had offered me a ride on a firework.

"Safe, I promise," Eli said with that too-perfect smile. "My sister would kill me if it wasn't."

I gave them my best please-don't-embarrass-me look.
Somehow, it worked.
(Okay, barely.)

I squealed when I saw the bike— I couldn't help it. It was sleek and ridiculous and perfect.

"Be careful with her!" Eli shouted like a dad dropping off his only daughter.

"Her?" I laughed.

"Lana. Meet Hannah. Hannah, meet Lana."

"You named your motorcycle?"

"After Lana Del Rey. Don't judge me, Baker."

I laughed harder than I had in days.

He handed me the helmet. "Safety first, Hannah Banna."

"When are you gonna drop that nickname?"

"Neverrr."

⸻

I got on behind him, my arms wrapping around his waist without thinking.

The engine roared. Music blasted. A band I never heard before. Loud, angry, chaotic.

I didn't know all the lyrics, but I didn't care.

I just held on.

And for a moment, I let the wind take everything—my fear, the whispers, the shame—and scatter it across the road.

⸻

We pulled into the school lot and parked. I could already feel it—the stares. The judging. The fake curiosity. The whispers waiting to be born.

And then I saw him.

Justin.

He looked at me like I was something he wasn't expecting. Like I didn't have the decency to stay hurt forever. Like I'd ruined his memory of me by coming to after everything that happened

I froze.
I couldn't help it.

Eli stepped in. Arm around my shoulder. A silent shield.

"Can you show me to the principal's office, Hannah?"

"Yeah."

⸻

I walked him there, trying to focus on the tiles instead of the fire in my lungs. Every step felt like a question: Why did I come back? Am I ready? Can I even do this?

But when he looked at me again with that stupid little smile—like we were just two idiots in a world that didn't know what to do with us—I remembered.

I'm not alone anymore.

Not today.

After I left Eli at the principal's office, I stood in the hallway for a second too long, trying to collect myself.

I should've known it was going to be one of those days.

By the time I got to Communications class, the usual buzz was already there. Not the academic kind. The kind where people whisper just loud enough to be heard.

"Was that Hannah Baker on a motorcycle?"
"Who's the guy?"
"Damn… He was hot… I wonder if I can get his number?”

I took my seat and kept my face still.

Let them talk.
Let them guess.

I had bigger things to focus on. Like surviving the day.

And then Mrs. Bradley looked up from her attendance list with that tight teacher-smile that always meant something awkward was coming.

"We have a new student," she announced. "Elliot Grayson. Why don't you take a seat with... hmm... Mr. Foley, Mr. Dempsey, and Mr. Pratters."

My stomach flipped.

I looked back and caught Eli's eye. He raised an eyebrow like, Really?

I gave him an apologetic smile. A small one. The kind that says sorry in advance for everything about to happen.

He made his way to the back of the room and dropped into the seat next to Justin. I held my breath.

⸻

I couldn't hear every word, but I saw the way Justin leaned in. Saw his jaw tighten, the way his leg bounced under the desk.

Eli was still. Not intimidated—just... watching. Like someone waiting for a fight they've already won.

Then I saw Justin's mouth move. Just a few words.

Whatever he said, Eli blinked. Then turned his head. And said something back—something that made Justin go stiff. Mouth slightly open, like someone had slapped him without touching him.

Mrs. Bradley started the lecture, but I wasn't listening.

Justin kept his eyes on Eli. Not in a casual way. Not in a who's-the-new-kid way.

In a why-are-you-defending-her way.

⸻

And here's the truth:

I wanted to be mad at Justin.
After the rumors of me letting him, get to first base, after what happened with Jessica the night of her own party.
But I know his home life, I know him or at least I thought I did before everything went to shit.

But I also saw a small part of me saw the way his shoulders dropped. The way he looked at me when we walked in.

And it wasn't hate.
It was guilt. Confusion. Maybe even sadness.

Still, that didn't excuse anything. It never would.

And Eli? He didn't even flinch.

He sat there like someone who'd already made his choice. And the choice was me. Without even knowing the whole story.

⸻

Mrs. Bradley asked a question and called on Justin. He fumbled through some half-answer. Not like him. Usually he could coast through class with charm and confidence.

But not today.

Today, the air between him and Eli was thick with things unsaid. I could feel it from three rows away.

Chapter Text

"I don't listen to rumors. Especially if they come from assholes like you"

I'd just gotten home from basketball practice, completely wiped out and ready to relax, when I noticed a brown package by the door.

My name was written in black ink.

Justin Foley

No return address. No note. Just... my name.

I brought it inside and headed to my room, dropping my basketball bag and backpack on the floor. I sat on my bed and tore the package open.

It was a blue shoebox. Inside were seven cassette tapes, each one decorated and numbered one through thirteen in blue ink. Along with it a map.

I froze. A sense of dread washed over me.

I went to my drawer and grabbed the old Walkman Bryce gave me for my birthday—an "antique," he'd called it, like he was doing me a favor.

I headed to the kitchen to look for batteries. Nothing.

Back in my room, I grabbed my phone and searched what kind of batteries it needed—AA. I left for the corner store as fast as I could.

When I got back, I sat on my bed again, slipped the batteries into the Walkman, and surprisingly, it worked.

I inserted the first tape. Pressed play.

"Hey. It's Hannah. Hannah Baker."

What the fuck?

Why would Hannah send me cassette tapes?

That voice—familiar. Too familiar. My stomach dropped.

I couldn't listen to this here.

I got up and walked out of my room. My mom was asleep on the couch, blanket half off. I quietly covered her back up and kissed her forehead.

Then I left.

I wandered for a while, trying to calm the shaking in my hands. Eventually I ended up at an old apartment building. I climbed the fire escape and sat on the edge of the rooftop, careful not to fall.

I rewound the tape and played it again.

"Hey. It's Hannah. Hannah Baker. Don't adjust... whatever device you're hearing this on. It's me, live and in stereo.
No return engagements, no encores. And this time, absolutely no requests.
Get a snack. Settle in.
Because I'm about to tell you the story of my life—
More specifically, why my life ended."

I gripped the edge of the roof until my fingers went numb.

"And if you're listening to this tape... you're one of the reasons why."

What the fuck.

What in the actual fuck.

Is this some sick joke? Something Bryce cooked up to fuck with me?

Because this—this isn't funny.

I wanted to stop. I should've stopped.

But I didn't.

"I'm not saying which tape brings you into the story, but fear not—if you received this lovely little box, your name will pop up. I promise.
Anyway, the rules are simple. There are only two:
Rule number one: you listen.
Rule number two: you pass it on.
Hopefully, neither will be easy. It's not supposed to be easy, or I would've emailed you an MP3.
When you're done listening to all thirteen sides—because there are thirteen sides to every story—rewind the tapes, put them back in the box, and pass them on to the next person.
Oh, and the box should've included a map. I'll be mentioning several spots around our beloved city.
I can't force you to visit them... but if you'd like a little more insight, head for the stars.
Or, you know, just throw the map away.
And I'll never know.

Or will I?"

I want to throw up, because this could not be happening right now, Hannah isn't dead, she couldn't be... right ???

You see, in case you're tempted to break the rules, understand I did make a copy of these tapes, and I left them with a trusted individial, who, if this package doesn't make it through all of you, will release those copies in a very public manor. Which is not a spurr of the moment decision. Do not take me for granted. Not again. Do what I say. Not more, not less. You're being watched.

Fuck you Hannah! For fuck sakes this is messed up, why am I still listening to this shit. I can burn it . . . Yeah maybe I should.

I paused the tape.

I pulled out a lighter that was in my pocket.
And flipped the lighter open with my thumb, the metal clicking like a warning shot.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then—flick—a small flame danced to life, trembling in the air like it wasn't sure it wanted to exist. It cast a warm, shaky glow over my fingers, shadows jumping against the wall behind me.

The smell hit me next—gasoline, faint and sharp, like danger in a bottle.

I stared at it.

Such a small flame.

And yet it could burn everything down.

Because this was all fake there's no fu- what if it was true and whatever is on this make me lose my chance at any scholarship.

Putting the lighter away, I presume listening to the tapes.

Put your finger on C. Your other finger on four. Bring them together. That's our first red star. I know, right? A map. Old school, again. No Google Maps, no app, no chance for the interweb to make anything worse, like it does. You've arrived at my first house in this shitty town. Where I threw my first and only party. And where I met Justin Foley. The subject of our first tape.

Why the fuck am I first?

It was just a party. I didn't know it was the beginning of the end. Justin, you were in love with my friend Kat. My only friend.

I closed my eyes and I'm back to that day, it was me and Zach went, to the party. Because Kat invited us. She wanted Hannah to meet some people before she left.

So you see, that's where the trouble began. That smile. That damn smile. The one and only Kat moved away before the start of school. She was the kind of friend that couldn't be replaced. Even by falling in love with the boy she left behind.

I couldn't help but let out a sarcastic laugh.

Everything about this is bullshit.

"Being Kat's boyfriend was kind of the only remarkable thing about you, but Justin, you were my kryptonite. I was an office assistant third period. So, I knew where you were third period. I even decided to like basketball for you, Justin. I know what you're all thinking; Hannah Baker is a slut. Oops, did you catch that? I just said 'Hannah Baker is.' Can't say that anymore"

The more I listened to this the more pissed off I become.

"I dreamed our first kiss would take place in a park. I never told you that. The dream starts with me on top of the rocket, holding onto the steering wheel. It's still a playground rocket, but, every time I turn the wheel to the left or the right the trees lift up like they're taking flight. And I'm scared, because I don't know how to fly. But you're there at the bottom of the slide to catch me when I fall. And that's all that happened; we kissed. Why? Did you hear something else? Nope. We just kissed. Sorry to disapoint you, but I guess now we're even. Sort of."

I didn't even post the photo, it was Bryce, he took my phone, I tried to stop him.

'Not hard enough' said a voice in the back of my head.

"See, I've heard so many stories about me now that I don't know which one is the most popular. But I do know which one is the leasr popular. The truth. See, the truth isn't always the most exciting version of things, or the best or the worst - it's somewhere in between. But it deserves to be heard and remembered. 'The truth will out,' like someone said once. It remains."

I tried to apologize, I sent multiple messages but she never responded, then I tried at Monet's. But she was being a fucking bitch.

"So thank you, Justin. Sincerely. My very kiss was wonderful. What came after my first kiss? Not so wonderful. I'm not angry you betrayed me. I'm angry that I trusted you in the first place. A rumor based on a kiss ruined a memory that I hoped would be special. In fact, it ruined just about everything. As you'll soon see."

I laughed to myself without any humor . . . tears started to stream down my face a little.

"And stick around, Justin, I'm not through with you yet. I know you probably didn't mean to let me down, in fact, most of you listening probably had no idea what you were truely doing - but you'll find out."

What the fuck does that even mean?. . . Stick around for what?

"Turn the tape over for more."

And I did, I listened to Jess's, Alex's, Tyler's, Courtney's, Marcus's, Zach's, Ryan's and then . . .

"I've got a question for you, Justin. Not the one you might think. Not yet. What's the best part of high school? The great friends you make? The romance? We both know the answer to that . . . Is summer break"

I threw up off the roof I know where this is going.

"It's a great rest button. And after everything that happened to me sophomore year . . . . . I couldn't wait for a fresh start."

I wiped away the throw up with my sleeve.

"To tear away the pages from my journal and forget it all. Except I didn't get very far. At work my usual partner in crime. Was spending the summer with his grandparents"

Jensen?

Everyone knew Hannah and Clay worked together some thought he was lucky.

"His temporary replacement was nice enough, but entirely too normal. No, we didn't make the switch. You did."

Just get to the point!

"I needed a change. I needed to be someone new. Have you ever felt like that? I wasn't going to be invisible anymore. I was going to start brand new. I was going to cut away the past and leave it all behind. I was going to work harder. Be smarter. And be stronger. Because you can't change other people, but you can change yourself."

I remember her short hair.

"Part of me knew I shouldn't go to Jessica's house that night. But another part of me couldn't help but wonder what...or who I might be missing out on. I thought maybe starting over didn't have to mean cutting myself off completely. Maybe I'd been hanging with the wrong people. Maybe I could start over with the right person. But, if I'd have known what was going to happen, I never would have walked through that door. I might never have walked through that door. But parties have a weird magic. They're like an alternate universe. They can make you believe that maybe anything is possible. Maybe you do fit in, after all. But she didn't. Did she, Justin? And people don't really change. Welcome to your second tape, Justin Foley."

Please. . . please for the love of god . . . Anything other than that night.

"That night, for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel invisible. I was nervous 'cause I felt so I good, and I didn't want to screw it up. I was trying to act normal, but I didn't really know how anymore. There are three stories to tell about that night. I'll tell this one first."

I can feel tears pour down my face even more, I continue to listen. I need to listen.

"How did I end up in that bedroom? That's another story. But, for now, Justin, you'd been with the same girl all night. But I'm not gonna call her out by name, even though, if you were at that party, you already know. I realized two things in that moment. Number one: I was drunk. And number two: so was this girl. But I figured you'd just give up and leave her alone...At least I hoped you would. I know what you're thinking. 'Maybe if this girl hadn't had so much to drink, what happened next never would've happened.' But it was a party. Everyone had too much to drink. And besides, how can you blame someone for something that happens while they're unconscious?"

A wave a nausea washed over me again and I threw up and got off the edge.

"I had to do something. I had to make him stop. But I couldn't get my feet to move. It was dark in there, and the music was loud but I saw his face, and I recognized his voice as clear as day...And so would all of you. But this tape isn't about him. It's about you and me, Justin. You called him a friend, but your girlfriend needed you. That girl had two chances that night, but we both let her down. How do I live with that? How do you, Justin? How does she live with what happened?"

I put my hands to my head, pacing, Hannah's voice was repeating in my head.

"That girl had two chances that night, but we both let her down"

I grabbed an empty beer bottle that was up here and smashed it against the concrete.

"FUCKKKKKKKKKK"

I screamed.

Damn you Hannah!

I fell to my knees.

"FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK"

And I cried. Until I wasn't able to.

___

The next day I woke up to my alarm going off and I got up to get ready for school. Everything felt like nothing.
I went to my closet and picked out my clothes.

A oversized light grey, sweater, black ripped jeans, and black converse.

Before I went to school I carefully wrapped the shoe box with the tapes and sent it to Jessica's house. . . When I arrived at school I went to Alex, Zach, Bryce, and Montgomery.
I pretended everything was fine.

I heard a roar of an engine and saw a motorcycle drive past us, two people were on it. There was music blasting with a band I couldn't recognize I watched as they got off and what shocked was one of them was Hannah.

What the fuck - what the actual fuck! She died! But why was she here, I can tell she noticed me. The boy with messy hair noticed me too and wrapped his arm around her.

I clenched my jaw and walked to my class, which is Mrs. Bradley's and he came in and Mrs. Bradley seated him with me Zach and Pratters.

"Hi I'm Justin, Justin Foley" introducing myself trying to be civil.

"Oh here I thought it was just Foley, James dean" he replied

I leaned over and said, low but sharp, "You might wanna be careful around Hannah Baker."

He blinked. "Come again?"

I nodded towards Hannah who was sitting at her desk "She's not what she seems, alright? Just... trust me."

He tilted his head, voice calm. "I don't listen to rumors. Especially if they come from assholes like you."

Chapter Text

Guys I’m stuck! IDK IF I GO BACK TO HANNAHS POV OR TO CLAY’S POV 😭😭

Chapter Text

What remains of Us

Summary: Ryan was asked to come to Liberty High to help in a troubled youth program, which he agrees to attend and meets Justin Foley a troubled kid, and sees himself in Justin a boy who uses his anger as armor.

Ryan was passing back and forth, with Seth by his side, today was the first day of the mentor program and he was nervous about it, he wasn’t sure what to expect from this.

“Ryan, you good?” Asked Seth

“What am I doing here Seth, I’m not - I’m not good at this kind of thing what if I mess up? What if I fail?” Ryan rambled clearly panicking

“Hey- hey rambling is my thing not yours, didn’t you mentor a kid before?”

Ryan looked down remembering the last time he mentor someone, a kid no younger than twelve years old sitting by himself, looking lonely. He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Alright fine, I can do this, I mean I have you here and if I need help, you and captain oats will come save me?”

“Yeah, man you know me and captain oats got your back” said Seth with Captain Oats in his hand

Ryan watched as Seth made his way to the back and sat on one of the stacked chairs getting comfortable, he gave a thumbs up to Ryan and watched one by one kids come into the classroom.

“Clay why the fuck do I have to do this?” Asked Justin not really understand the meaning of this program.

“Mom, said that it’s a mentoring program for kids-“

“For screw ups like me” interrupted Justin

“Justin, one don’t interrupt me again, two you are not a screw up” said Clay

“Then what am I”

“A troubled kid” replied Clay who had stopped at the classroom the program is in clearing reading from the sign.

“Fuck it I guess, I mean it’s better than doing math homework at home”

“That’s the spirit!”