He pulled the hood lower as the rain softened into a whisper, sliding down the walls of the city like smoke.
By the time he reached the gray block he called home, his breath had already turned to fog.
The door groaned when he pushed it open. Inside, the air was stale — no light, just the hum of the fridge and the flicker of a television that never really shut off.
He kicked off his shoes, water dripping from his hair onto the floor. A dull pop came from his shoulder.
"My shoulder's out again," he muttered and pressed his palm against it until it snapped back into place.
No sound. No reaction.
"You're late."
The voice came from the living room — slurred, soft, and tired. His mother was there, half buried in the couch, one arm hanging over the side, a half-empty bottle of vodka within reach. Ashes covered the table like gray dust.
She turned her head slowly toward him. "Was it those guys again?"
He shrugged. Didn't answer.
A dry laugh escaped her. "You're just like your father. Never say a word.
One day I'll be picking your body off the stree—"
"WHERE'S MY PACKAGE, YOU LITTLE B***ard?"
The shout tore through the apartment.
A tall man stepped out of the bathroom — unshaven, eyes hollow. Jean. Her boyfriend. Her mistake.
He'd been there for years, the kind of man who needed fear to feel alive. She stayed because she believed him when he said he'd kill Kai if she left.
Kai didn't move.
"Nah. Didn't feel like moving," he said quietly.
Jean seized him by the hoodie and slammed him against the wall. The sound of impact filled the small room.
"Already got your ass beat, huh? What's left for me to fix?"
He grinned. "Go wash up. Tomorrow you bring my money.
Or I'll throw your ass out and make sure you hear every sound she makes when I'm done with her."
He released him. Kai stayed where he was.
Didn't blink. Didn't breathe faster.
Anyone else would have killed him for that, he thought. So why can't I move?
He turned and walked to the bathroom. The mirror was cracked, thin lines running through his reflection. He splashed cold water on his face; the cut on his lip reopened, a thin red trail spiraling into the sink.
He stared at himself — pale skin, calm eyes, too calm for someone still alive.
A flash. Rain. Voices.
Kai, run!
A hit. A scream. Darkness.
His chest tightened; his heart stuttered once, then twice, before finding rhythm again. Not pain. Something else.
Yuto… what did you think when they hit you?
Was I in your head too?
The hum of the fridge filled the silence. He looked back at the mirror.
"Two years," he whispered.
Water kept running — drip after drip, slow and mechanical. He turned it off and walked to his room.
The room was small. A bed. A desk. A torn mattress.
An old monitor balanced on a pile of books, wallpaper peeling at the edges.
He dropped his bag and sat down.
On the desk lay a broken controller — cracked plastic, a missing button.
Next to it, a game case without a cover, the label faded but still readable:
"Co-Op Save 1 — Yuto & Kai."
He picked it up, holding it for a moment before the console clicked to life.
That old start-up tone filled the room like a pulse from another life.
Rain. Neon. Two boys sitting on the floor, cables tangled around them.
Yuto laughed — too loud for the hour.
"Bro, you still suck at this game."
"Shut up. I'm learning."
"Three years and still learning?"
They laughed until their sides hurt.
Yuto bumped his shoulder.
"When we win, we win everything, yeah?"
Kai had smiled too — not because he wanted to, but because he knew that's what people did.
He remembered another night: one of his mother's boyfriends dragging him into a boiling tub. Pressure. Heat. No pain.
That was when he realized something inside him was broken.
And somehow, he learned to live with it — the nothing, the silence, the second skin.
Most people feared pain.
Kai feared never feeling it again.
"You can die even while you're still breathing," he thought.
"Emptiness is death. Pain means you're still human."
He lay back and watched the cracks in the ceiling until they blurred together.
"Two years…" he whispered again.
"and everything pisses me of"
Outside, the rain kept falling — slow, patient, endless — until its sound melted into his breathing and carried him into sleep.
But sleep never held him for long.
The rain had stopped hours ago, but the room still smelled like it — damp air, metal, dust.
A faint orange light leaked through the blinds, slicing the darkness into crooked lines.
Kai opened his eyes. For a moment, he didn't know if it was morning or just another kind of night.
His body felt heavy, but not sore.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling, tracing the cracks with his eyes like they might lead somewhere.
The hum of the fridge was still there, steady as a heartbeat.
He pushed himself up. The blanket slid off his shoulder, cold against his skin.
Every movement felt slow, deliberate — not because of pain, but because there was no reason to hurry.
He sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
The old monitor still glowed faintly, screen frozen on the title of the game he'd fallen asleep to.
Two names blinked in the corner: YutoandKai.
He watched them for a long time, until the screen dimmed.
Outside, a siren wailed somewhere far away.
He could tell by the sound — another fight, maybe another body.
His stomach growled, but he ignored it.
He'd learned that hunger passed if you just waited long enough.
He rubbed his face, feeling the faint sting where the cut on his lip had closed overnight.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Jean was gone.
His mother too, probably asleep or pretending to be.
Only the empty bottles kept watch.
He stood up, the floor cold under his bare feet.
His breath fogged slightly in the air.
The heater had been dead for months.
He walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside.
Gray sky. Wet streets.
Same city. Same rot.
Somewhere below, a car engine coughed to life.
Somewhere else, someone screamed.
It all blended together into one sound — the kind you stop noticing after a while.
Kai rested his head against the glass.
The chill crept into his skin, but it was the only thing that felt real.
"Morning, huh…" he muttered.
It didn't sound like a question — more like a confession.