Rayden Grey sighed, leaning against the cold, cracked wall of his rented box room, the ceiling fan above him spinning just enough to remind him it still worked better than he did. His reflection in the dusty mirror wasn't flattering—blue hair sticking out in stubborn tufts, pale skin from too many days inside, and a skinny frame courtesy of instant noodles and cheap convenience store sandwiches. Even his half-grown stubble looked tired.
His phone buzzed.
[Nick: Bro, open up, big news!]
Nick, or Nicolas Scarlet, was Rayden's childhood friend, the one with messy blond hair that somehow made him look carefree rather than homeless. The door rattled as Nick knocked like a woodpecker on sugar.
Rayden dragged himself over and opened the door a crack.
Nick beamed, holding up a slip of paper like it was a winning lottery ticket.
"Rayden! I got a job!"
SLAM.
Rayden shut the door. Instinctively.
Silence.
One… two… three… four… five…
The silence was so thick even the street dogs outside seemed to pause.
The door creaked open slowly, revealing Rayden's forced, shaky smile.
"Ah… that's… great, Nick. Congrats."
Nick blinked, lowering the paper. "Dude, what was that for?"
Rayden shrugged, stepping back to let him in, trying to look casual while a small part of him was screaming internally.
(Why is it so easy for him?)
Nick flopped onto the floor, pulling out a can of cheap coffee from his bag and tossing it to Rayden. Rayden caught it, staring at the dented can like it was a rare treasure.
"They hired me at this small marketing firm downtown," Nick continued, eyes shining. "I start tomorrow."
"That's… really good." Rayden cracked the can open, forcing himself to take a sip. It tasted like metal and cheap sugar, but it was free.
They sat in silence for a moment. Rayden's room was small, barely big enough for the two of them, with stacks of rejected application letters shoved in the corner and a single futon rolled up against the wall. The stale smell of instant noodles clung to the air.
Nick looked around, rubbing the back of his neck. "You'll get one too, bro. Just keep trying."
Rayden didn't respond immediately, taking another sip of coffee. The words were meant to comfort, but they felt like lemon juice in an open wound. He'd been trying. For months. Part-time jobs came and went, the pay never enough to cover rent, and every interview ended the same way:
"We'll let you know."
They never did.
Nick's phone buzzed again. "Ah, gotta run. Mom wants me to buy eggs."
He stood, grinning, ruffling Rayden's hair before Rayden could dodge. "Hang in there, okay?"
"Yeah."
Rayden closed the door behind him, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. The silence returned, pressing against his ears. He glanced around the room, eyes falling on the small calendar pinned to the wall. The rent was due in five days.
He took another sip of coffee. It was already lukewarm.
Rayden dropped onto the futon, lying back and staring at the ceiling fan. It spun, wobbled, squeaked, spun again. A rhythm of squeaks that matched the thoughts in his head.
"Congrats, Nick."
He meant it. Sort of. But envy was a bitter taste he couldn't wash down, no matter how much coffee he drank.
His phone pinged with a message from the job site.
"Thank you for your application. Unfortunately—"
Rayden turned the screen off before finishing the sentence, tossing the phone onto the floor. It bounced once, landing face down, the glow from the screen blinking out.
"Unfortunate. Yeah."
Outside, the city continued its evening hum. People were returning from work, laughing, living, moving forward. Meanwhile, Rayden lay in a room that felt like it was shrinking by the second, the air stale and heavy.
The ceiling fan squeaked again, spinning just a little slower, almost as if it was tired too.
"Tomorrow," Rayden whispered to himself, eyes closing, the coffee can slipping from his hand. "Tomorrow will be better."
But even he didn't believe it.
Rayden's alarm screamed at 6:00 AM, a cheap, shrill buzz that rattled him out of the one hour of sleep he managed to catch. He slapped it off and stared at the cracked ceiling, letting out a breath that fogged in the morning chill.
> "Alright. Time to be a functional adult."
He forced himself up, washed his face in the cold water of the tiny sink, and pulled on the blue apron for his part-time job at the local convenience store. The mirror reflected dark circles under his eyes, but at least his hair was behaving today, falling neatly around his ears.
The streets were quiet at this hour, the cold breeze biting through his thin jacket as he made his way to the store. He passed by closed shutters, stray dogs rummaging through trash, and a salaryman jogging with a look of death in his eyes. Misery loved company.
Rayden swiped in at the small employee entrance, forcing a smile for the old manager, Mr. Toh, who always looked like he was one bad day away from giving up.
> "Morning, Grey," Mr. Toh grunted.
> "Morning," Rayden replied, slipping behind the counter.
It was the usual routine. Restocking shelves, sweeping the floor, replacing the expired onigiri, ringing up sleepy customers buying canned coffee and cigarettes, dealing with the occasional shoplifter too slow to outrun him.
He didn't mind the work. It wasn't exciting, but it kept his mind busy, and every yen earned felt like a tiny victory against the world. The steady beep of the scanner and the hum of the refrigerator were comforting in their consistency.
> Beep. Beep. Beep.
Days blurred together like this. Rayden would clock in, clock out, go home, check emails for interview replies that never came, eat instant noodles, scroll social media, sleep, and repeat.
One morning, as Rayden arrived at the store, he found the shutters down and a handwritten sign taped to the metal:
"Store Permanently Closed. Thank you for your patronage."
Rayden stood there for a moment, the cold morning wind flapping the edges of the paper. The street felt too quiet, the world too still.
"...You're kidding."
His phone buzzed. A message from Mr. Toh.
["Sorry, kid. We went under. Couldn't pay the bills. Good luck."]
Rayden slipped the phone back into his pocket, staring at the closed store with a numb expression. It wasn't like it was the best job in the world, but it was something. Now it was gone, like everything else.
He turned around, hands in his pockets, and started the walk back to his apartment, the morning sun just beginning to rise, painting the sky in tired shades of blue and grey.
Back in his room, Rayden dropped onto his futon, the silence pressing down on him. He stared at the ceiling, counting the stains, trying to think about what to do next.
"Alright. It's fine. Just another job. I'll find another."
His phone buzzed with job site notifications:
["Part-time Dishwasher Needed"
"Courier Needed: Must Have Bike"
"Apply Now!"]
Rayden scrolled, thumb moving mechanically, eyes glazed. The words blurred, the images of smiling workers looking more like stock photos than real people.
"...I don't even have a bike."
He closed the app, tossing the phone aside. His stomach growled, reminding him that he skipped breakfast, but he ignored it, pulling the thin blanket over himself. Sleep was easier than hunger, and cheaper.
As the sun climbed higher outside, Rayden lay there, drifting in and out of restless naps, his dreams filled with the beep of scanners and the hum of refrigerators, sounds that were now gone.
That evening, he finally dragged himself up, making a cheap dinner of rice and a cracked egg, eating it in silence. He scrolled through social media, seeing Nick post a picture of himself in a suit, smiling with a peace sign outside his new office.
["First day at work! Let's get this bread!"]
Rayden hit "like," forcing a crooked smile. It wasn't Nick's fault that Rayden was like this, but it still stung.
"Congrats, Nick," he muttered to himself, poking at the last bit of egg in his bowl.
Outside, the city lights flickered on as the world moved forward without him, and Rayden wondered how many more "tomorrows" it would take for him to catch up.