Yuta plopped down onto his bed, with his cats curled up on his belly.
"Screw this," he muttered, as he absently scrolled on his phone. His friends' posts were on the main feed, filled with trips, dates, fun gatherings. Together with his brother's. Flooded with thousands of likes.
He let out a frustrated grunt, his eyes glistening with tears, but he blinked them away, taking turns in petting his cats. Another day where he was still alive.
After a few more minutes of making sure his tears dried, he got into his wheelchair, wobbling a bit. Almost fell, but if he was good at anything, it was staying controlled in high-pressure situations by coming to terms with the worst possible outcome before it could happen.
After getting into his wheelchair, he sleepily opened the door to quietly go and eat some breakfast. A bowl and a spoon, placed on his legs, and he moved to the table and set them down there. Just as he was about to grab his favourite cereal, his mom noticed him:
"Good morning, my sunshine," her tone was upbeat. "How did you sleep?"
"Was fine," muttered Yuta, as he put a spoon of cereal into his mouth. He made sure to sound at least positively neutral to avoid his mom prying. Thankfully, she didn't. She said she was glad and went on with her day.
Suddenly, opposite from Yuta's room, another door opened.
"Yo!" Yuta's brother, Haruki, made an effortless entrance. He was taller than Yuta and overall better off. Haruki was the Sun. Yuta, the moon.
Haruki walked to the refrigerator to grab himself some yoghurt with fruits and proceeded to fry himself an egg. His mother hugged him and started some small talk.
Yuta didn't listen. He was tired. The only thing on his mind right now was the cereal he mindlessly ate, and the cats, which he gently pushed away to avoid them eating his breakfast. When he finished, he gave some food to the cats, before silently going back to his room and into his bed.
He sighed, staring at the ceiling.
"Good morning, huh?" he whispered to himself, before going back to sleep.
---
He had a dream. In it, he was stuck in a crowd of people. They all pushed. Hurried. Brushed off.
And Yuta—he couldn't keep up.
He was younger. Six years old.
"W-Wait!" he shouted, his little voice shaking.
"I can't breathe, I can't—" he started drowning. It was getting hard to breathe.
When he woke up, he could feel his heart racing. He tried getting his breathing under control. He closed his eyes again and tried to feel his limbs. Hands, legs, the smell of heat in his room. God, he felt terribly hot. He wiped beads of sweat off his forehead before sitting up.
He thought for a bit before he got into his wheelchair again. This time though, he moved to his desk with his PC on. He opened up the browser—VideoTube—went to recently uploaded, and clicked the first video. He didn't care what it was. Just some background noise.
He opened up his social media apps, only to close them a few seconds later. He decided to go and watch some anime instead. After he spotted a new release anime on one of his sites, he decided to click it. Here, there was usually an embedded chatroom, where people shared their thoughts.
He watched them pop up for a bit. He found it strange how people could talk so effortlessly. He wondered if, maybe, he was just too broken.
After all, his mom was always telling him that to make friends, one must speak up. How his dad told him that most jobs do require some form of interaction with the world—be it comments, voice chats, messages, interviews, or meetings. He gulped in disgust. Tears stung his eyes. He wished he could hide. He didn't ask for any of this. But, to hell with it.
He ended up clicking the insert message box, before typing a simple:
"Hey. If you wanna talk, HMU at '*******'. Let's be friends?"
He hit send before he could have the chance to delete the message. Then, he just let the day bleed away, until he eventually went to bed again.
He put his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes.
The likelihood of his message being seen? Low.
The probability of the person being normal? He didn't know. Maybe lower.
The last thought before sleep took over was:
"Please, let this be my last night."