“I’m home.”

He said. No one answered. 

Rika’s shoes weren’t there, and her bag was missing,

Ryuya's toes pressed against the floor as he lined his shoes by the door, exhaling to himself.

He moved toward the kitchen.

The table was clean. No dishes in the sink. 

He opened the fridge for no real reason. 

Cold pressed against his face for a moment. 

Empty shelves stared back. 

He closed it again. 

"..."

He headed toward his room, the hallway pipes groaning softly.

He reached for the knob, His bag sliding from his shoulder, pressing on.

Inside light was dim, the outside glow catching the furniture in a soft embrace that asked for nothing, his bag dropped easily by the desk, he didn't bend.

The sketchbook waited there, quiet, inevitable.

He didn’t sit. Just lowered enough to pull the notebook from his bag.

It opened easily, pages curling toward him.

A few scribbled numbers. One half-done assignment. He skimmed, barely reading.

The notebook fell onto the desk without aim.

He turned, pulling out his hoodie.

The fabric dragged; the tie slipped loose.

Then he let himself fall.

The bed met him.

"..."

The mattress felt stiff or maybe his back did. 

He stayed there, eyes open, waiting for nothing,

The ceiling stared, he stared back.

Flat white pressing on unbothered. 

His head turned left —

the sketchbook still waited on the desk, corner sagging over the edge just enough to notice.

He exhaled, rolling to his side...

A sliver of light bled softly through the curtains across from him.

His eyes clung to it — a single ray spilling thin across the floor, barely reaching the bed.

His mind lingered there, unfocused.

The pipes softened.

The ray blurred, or maybe his eyes did.

It didn’t matter.

He closed them anyway.

...

A second passed.

Maybe more...

...

His eyelids trembled — a familiar restlessness stirring.

Light pressed faintly through.

He opened them again, slowly.

The glow burned sharper now, cutting against his pupils with quiet insistence.

He reached, sitting up.

The curtains drew shut.

Darkness settled.

White, lots of white

White is my favorite, it’s so white..

What am I doing here again ? 

Oh right, I was drawing something for Shun.

I hope he’ll like it.

The door made a sound.

Mom came back.

She went to the kitchen.

I called mom “Mom” but she didn’t like it..

I think she hates me..

I don’t know what to do..

…

Dad’s not here.

…

Mom’s belly is bigger..

I told her..

Mistake.

No.. I called her mom again..

She didn’t like it..

I can tell..

Why are you here ?

Go away.

Where’s my drawing ?

DISSAPEAR !!

I’m drawing in white.

I can’t see it now, I’m so clumsy haha !

A noise, the door..

Shun ?

A voice, unsure.

We’re getting a little sister.

“I’m home.”

He said. No one answered. 

Rika’s shoes weren’t there, and her bag was missing,

Ryuya's toes pressed against the floor as he lined his shoes by the door, exhaling to himself.

He moved toward the kitchen.

The table was clean. No dishes in the sink. 

He opened the fridge for no real reason. 

Cold pressed against his face for a moment. 

Empty shelves stared back. 

He closed it again. 

"..."

He headed toward his room, the hallway pipes groaning softly.

He reached for the knob, His bag sliding from his shoulder, pressing on.

Inside light was dim, the outside glow catching the furniture in a soft embrace that asked for nothing, his bag dropped easily by the desk, he didn't bend.

The sketchbook waited there, quiet, inevitable.

He didn’t sit. Just lowered enough to pull the notebook from his bag.

It opened easily, pages curling toward him.

A few scribbled numbers. One half-done assignment. He skimmed, barely reading.

The notebook fell onto the desk without aim.

He turned, pulling out his hoodie.

The fabric dragged; the tie slipped loose.

Then he let himself fall.

The bed met him.

"..."

The mattress felt stiff or maybe his back did. 

He stayed there, eyes open, waiting for nothing,

The ceiling stared, he stared back.

Flat white pressing on unbothered. 

His head turned left —

the sketchbook still waited on the desk, corner sagging over the edge just enough to notice.

He exhaled, rolling to his side...

A sliver of light bled softly through the curtains across from him.

His eyes clung to it — a single ray spilling thin across the floor, barely reaching the bed.

His mind lingered there, unfocused.

The pipes softened.

The ray blurred, or maybe his eyes did.

It didn’t matter.

He closed them anyway.

...

A second passed.

Maybe more...

...

His eyelids trembled — a familiar restlessness stirring.

Light pressed faintly through.

He opened them again, slowly.

The glow burned sharper now, cutting against his pupils with quiet insistence.

He reached, sitting up.

The curtains drew shut.

Darkness settled.

White, lots of white

White is my favorite, it’s so white..

What am I doing here again ? 

Oh right, I was drawing something for Shun.

I hope he’ll like it.

The door made a sound.

Mom came back.

She went to the kitchen.

I called mom “Mom” but she didn’t like it..

I think she hates me..

I don’t know what to do..

…

Dad’s not here.

…

Mom’s belly is bigger..

I told her..

Mistake.

No.. I called her mom again..

She didn’t like it..

I can tell..

Why are you here ?

Go away.

Where’s my drawing ?

DISSAPEAR !!

I’m drawing in white.

I can’t see it now, I’m so clumsy haha !

A noise, the door..

Shun ?

A voice, unsure.

We’re getting a little sister.