The walk home had been uneventful, after this morning, it felt like a mercy.

The streets were quiet.

The fog still lingered, clinging to the edges of the world like a ghost, yet he also thought it'd followed him, offering him the space to recollect without urgency.

Ryuya was sent home for the day. He’d been careful not to stretch the details of today and the nurse didn't press, it was routine at this point but..

I'll have to bring it up…

His doctor’s appointment was set tomorrow, a lucky happening.

Ryuya stepped to the front door of the house, taking breath before he pushed it open. 

“I’m home” he said not too loudly—stepping out of his shoes—lining them up carefully by the door.

He moved toward the kitchen in slow, unhurried steps.

Opening the fridge—he scanned its sparse contents:

Random leftovers, rice, pickled vegetables, some tofu.

He pulled it all out.

The rice went into the microwave.

He grabbed a knife then reached for the tofu, slicing it into neat cubes in a steady and methodic rythm, yet—

Why do they always need to ask stuff..

His thoughts lingered on the day. He didn’t like how Emi’s voice still echoed faintly, like a thread tangled in his mind. His grip on the knife tightened slightly. 

Then the sketchbook. Its absence.

His hand stilled.

A beat.

Whatever..

It’s not like I could draw anyway..

The thought was swiftly silenced.

The microwave beeped. He moved, getting two bowls from the cupboard. 

A faint creak in the hallway rose, paused him mid-motion,

Ryuya turned to see his little sister standing in the doorway.

Rika was wrapped in her quilt, her hair slightly messy from sleep, she blinked at him with groggy eyes. He looked at her for a moment, his thoughts softening.

“Are you hungry?” Ryuya finally said quietly.

Rika nodded, padding softly into the room and settling herself at the small table. 

“A little,” she replied, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

He nodded, dividing the food and setting her bowl in front of her.

The clink of chopsticks against ceramic was the only sound for a while.

A cocoon where time stood still.

“I'm eepy..” Rika spoke first.

“You mean sleepy ?” He answered.

She nodded.

“You go back to bed then” Ryuya said as he cleaned up the table.

She didn’t move, her eyes slipping shut as though she had given up on making it there herself. 

Ryuya stepped closer to her, crouching slightly to get on her level.

He pressed his palm against her forehead, Rika didn’t react, her breathing slowing as she seemed to be drifting off.

 Fever’s still strong.

Bending down, Ryuya slid his arms under her.

Slowly, he lifted her, she instinctively curled into him.

He carefully carried Rika through the hallway, to her room, dodging the minefield of plushies and toys littered everywhere.

He delicately set her up in her bed, wrapping the blanket tightly around her.

She fell asleep immediately.

Must be boring for her.

Rika had been sick for about a week with chickenpox, he’d thought 6 years old was too old to catch it. Turns out it’s not.

Ryuya reached into his bag, pulling out the can of strawberry milk  he’d bought earlier. He set it on the nightstand before he exited her room.

Back in the kitchen, Ryuya sat at the table.

For a while, he didn’t move, resting his face in his hands. he rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, letting the silence settle around him.

The weight of the day, the fog, the endless questions, they all pressed back in with quiet insistence.

They’re not going to change the meds again right..?

He closed his eyes for a beat.

Then—he rose—carrying the bowls to the sink. After rinsing them, he carefully made his way to his room, avoiding any noise that might disturb Rika’s sleep. 

Ryuya quietly closed the door.

His bed greeted him, his hands brushing the crumpled bedding as he leaned forward.

The day’s heaviness pooled again, an ache that felt both distant and immediate.

He exhaled sharply, his gaze drifted toward the box on the nightstand that waited with quiet inevitability. 

“I’m still here..”