Your house sat silent behind you. The door was open just a crack, enough to see the darkness inside. You hadn’t gone back in.

Your knees were pulled up to your chest on the wooden bench outside. The wood was warped and splintered, damp against the backs of your thighs.

Your stomach groaned. Loud. Empty.

You didn’t have the words for what you were feeling anymore. You’d run out of tears hours ago, maybe yesterday, and now all that was left was a hollow quiet and the way your fingers kept picking at a loose thread on your shirt.

Footsteps on wet ground.

You didn’t look up at first. You’d learned not to. Adults came, made sounds, then left. Or they didn’t come at all.

A boy stood a few feet away. Tall, with white hair that stuck out in every direction like he didn’t bother with it. He was wearing some kind of dark uniform, hands shoved into his pockets, head tilted.

Behind him, another boy. Dark hair pulled back, watching you with quieter eyes. He stood with his arms crossed, not smiling, but not frowning either. Just looking.