---
The sun peeked through faded curtains as the alarm on Harukoo's cracked phone buzzed to life. It was 6:30 a.m. Sharp. Always sharp. His hand hovered over the screen before he silenced it with a sigh. A new day, but nothing changed.
The floor was cold against his bare feet. The kind of cold that settled deep, like it belonged there. He trudged toward the kitchen and opened the fridge—still half-empty. Three eggs, a small carton of milk, and leftover rice from yesterday.
It was enough.
By 7:00 a.m., three plates sat neatly on the table—his, his mother's, and Yuki's. The clinking of chopsticks would not follow.
They never did.
---
Footsteps.
Yuki entered the room like a ghost—silent, detached. Her long, silvery-black hair was tied lazily into a side ponytail. Still in her sleepwear, she barely glanced in his direction. Just walked past, grabbed the plate meant for her, and headed to the living room couch.
Not a word. Not even a nod.
Harukoo didn't take it personally anymore. He didn't have the energy to.
He stared at his food. His appetite had left him years ago.
Their mother arrived five minutes later. Maria walked in with the sharp clip of heels and a presence that used to command attention. Her hair was perfect, makeup light but flawless. A strong perfume trailed her like a warning sign.
She didn't look at him either.
Only Yuki.
"I left money on the counter. Don't be late," Maria said, voice clipped.
Yuki nodded.
Maria's gaze flickered toward Harukoo—brief and lifeless.
"You're eighteen now. You should start looking for a job or move out. You're just… lingering."
No "Good morning." No acknowledgment of the food he made.
She grabbed her purse and left.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence returned like an old friend.
Harukoo exhaled. Deep. Long. Hollow.
---
The Walk to School.
The air outside bit at his skin. Late March wind still carried winter's breath. Harukoo walked with his head down, hoodie pulled tight. Not to hide—he just didn't like how people looked at him. Or rather, how they didn't.
He blended in like shadows in the corner of a bright room. Always there, but never noticed.
"Harukoo!"
That one voice still found him.
He turned. Mika was running toward him, breath fogging in the chilly air. Her usual twin braids bounced with each step, and her bright eyes lit up at the sight of him.
He gave a small, tired smile. "You're late."
"Only because I waited for you," she teased. "You always leave without telling me."
Harukoo looked away. "Didn't want to bother you."
"You're not a bother, dummy."
They fell into step, shoulders just barely brushing.
---
On the Way to School.
Mika talked. She always did. About the upcoming cultural festival, the new cafe near the station, the gossip in class. Harukoo responded in low hums, occasional nods, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
Until her voice shifted.
Softer. Hesitant.
"Hey… can I tell you something kinda personal?"
He nodded.
Mika slowed her steps. "I think I like someone."
The words hit him like ice water.
"Oh," he said, trying to keep his tone steady. "Who?"
She hesitated. "Kaito-senpai."
Of course. The third-year golden boy. Star athlete. Model-level looks. Charisma. Girls flocked to him like moths to flame.
Harukoo's steps didn't falter, but his chest tightened.
"I didn't think much of him before," Mika continued, nervous fingers twirling her braid. "But that night when I was followed… Someone saved me."
Harukoo blinked.
That night?
Mika nodded. "It was dark. I couldn't see who pulled the guy off me. I dropped my phone. I was scared. Then later, Kaito-senpai showed up. He took me home. He didn't say much… but he looked really worried."
She gave a shy smile. "I thought maybe… it was him who saved me."
Harukoo said nothing.
He remembered that night vividly.
He had followed her, silently. The man who grabbed her had cornered her near the alley. Harukoo had jumped in without thinking, pulled the guy off and shoved him down. The attacker fled. Harukoo—afraid of scaring Mika—had left before she could see him.
He watched from a distance as Kaito arrived moments later and walked her home.
Kaito hadn't claimed credit. But he hadn't denied it either.
Mika had simply filled in the blanks.
And Harukoo… he never told her.
---
At School.
They parted ways before homeroom. Harukoo walked through the halls like a shadow. Teachers didn't remember his name. Classmates rarely greeted him. His seat by the window was as isolated as his presence.
He glanced across the room.
Mika was chatting with her friends, laughing.
Kaito stood near the lockers, surrounded by girls.
His eyes lingered a second too long on Mika's body.
Harukoo saw it. That hunger. Subtle, but there.
Kaito wasn't a hero.
He was a predator wrapped in charm.
And Mika was just… trusting.
Too trusting.
---
Lunchtime.
Harukoo ate alone on the rooftop. Mika didn't come this time.
Probably with Kaito.
He didn't blame her.
But something in him broke a little.
---
That Night.
Harukoo sat in the dark, sketchbook open in his lap. He drew without thinking. His mother's face. Cold. Uncaring. Then Yuki. Distant. Watching. Always watching him with unreadable eyes.
Then Mika.
Smiling. Radiant. Holding someone else's hand.
His pencil dug too deep. Tore the page.
The house was quiet again.
He heard Yuki's door open. Light steps down the hall. She paused near his room, as if about to knock.
Then retreated.
No one said "good night."
---
Later.
Maria returned late. Reeking of alcohol and perfume.
She stumbled inside, heels in one hand, phone in the other.
"Useless boy…" she muttered when she saw him still awake. "You just… sit there. Taking up space."
Harukoo didn't respond.
She swayed for a moment, then said flatly, "Your father died protecting that girl upstairs. His best friend's daughter. That's why I care for her. Not you."
The words weren't new.
But they still hurt.
"I didn't ask to be born," Harukoo whispered.
Maria stared at him with tired, hollow eyes.
"Then do us both a favor and disappear."
She walked into her room and slammed the door.
Harukoo sat alone in the silence, throat tight, heart burning.
Outside, the wind howled.
But inside him… something began to stir.
A decision.
---