The front door of the villa closed softly behind Ehito. The peaceful stillness inside stood in stark contrast to the unrest of his day. He set his bag down by the entrance, slipped off his shoes, and walked with a calm, deliberate pace toward the living room. As always, a faint scent of tea lingered in the air.
His sister was there, curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her and her eyes lost in a half-open book.
She glanced up briefly when he entered, offering a silent, knowing smile, then returned to her reading. Ehito responded with a small nod, then disappeared into his room without saying a word. They didn't need to speak — their silence was a shared comfort, a familiar rhythm.
In his room, he lay down on the floor for a moment, eyes fixed on the plain white ceiling. The stillness of the space wrapped around him like a blanket. After a few minutes, he sat up, peeled off his shirt, and began his evening routine. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Pull-ups. His body moved with mechanical precision — focused, measured, unbroken.
His breaths were steady. Muscles tensed and released in practiced harmony. Each movement was controlled. This wasn't just about staying fit — it was his meditation, his release. A way to drive out the noise.
Once finished, he headed to the bathroom. The warm water flowed over his skin, loosening the knots in his shoulders, melting away the weight of the day. He closed his eyes. Images from earlier returned to him — Natsuo's expression during their confrontation, the flicker in Tilan's eyes. Words spoken and left unsaid echoed faintly in his mind.
He stayed under the water for longer than usual.
Later, he settled into the kitchen, quickly reheated a bowl of chicken noodles, and ate in silence. Soft music drifted in from the living room where his sister had chosen something calm, ambient. But he didn't listen. He rarely ever did. His thoughts were elsewhere — in places no melody could reach.
Once done, he returned to his room. The main light stayed off; he only turned on the small lamp on his desk. Its warm glow bathed the room in a soft, intimate hue. Shadows danced on the walls, quiet and motionless.
He picked up his phone.
A name appeared almost instinctively: Lia.
He hesitated before tapping the screen. Then, slowly, he began to type.
Ehito:
What are you doing?
Her reply came almost instantly.
Lia:
Was watching a show, but it sucks haha.
Want me to send you a better one?
Ehito:
No need. Not watching anything.
Lia:
Wanna talk a bit?
I had a weird day.
Ehito:
What now?
Lia:
Eh… could you answer a little more gently, maybe?
Ehito:
I'm listening. Go ahead.
Lia:
It's nothing serious. Just some drama at the club. Some girls talking behind my back. But it's not a big deal.
Ehito:
If it gets to you, it's not nothing.
Lia:
I can't tell if you're trying to comfort me or if you actually care.
Ehito:
I'm listening. That's enough, isn't it?
A brief pause. The screen showed the three dots — she was typing.
Then nothing.
And finally, a message.
Lia:
Sometimes I don't know what you're feeling, Ehito.
Ehito:
No one understands anyone, Lia. We're all just guessing.
Lia:
Is that how you see me too? Just a guess?
Ehito:
No. You're a fact. You're in my life — that's what matters.
He placed the phone face down on his desk, not waiting for her next reply. His gaze drifted toward the soft orange glow of the lamp, tracing the shadows that stretched lazily across the room.
Something inside him had shut itself off. Just a little. Barely noticeable. But it was there.
And it stayed quiet.
Ehito stared at the phone in his hand, the light of the screen casting a pale glow across his face in the dim room. The warmth from the meal he had just eaten still lingered faintly in his chest, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Focused. Sharp.
Lia's last message hung on the screen like a question he didn't know how to answer. It wasn't anything dramatic or complicated — just a simple line, a casual reply — but Ehito's fingers hovered over the screen, unmoving. Something in him had shifted recently, even if only slightly. Barely enough to notice. But it was there.
His room was quiet. The only sound was the faint hum of the heater and the occasional passing car outside his window. The sky beyond the glass was dark, clouded, with no stars in sight. Even the moon seemed tired, veiled in a thin layer of mist.
He finally replied. Just a few words.
Then, immediately after, another message. Then one more.
They began to talk again — casually, like before — but the energy wasn't quite the same. Not on his end. There was no harshness in his words, no clear distance. But there was less… warmth. His replies were a little shorter. A little more delayed. A little less playful. His tone, though still kind, lacked its usual softness — replaced with something neutral. Colder. Subtly.
Lia didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she did, and didn't want to show it. She continued talking like always, filling the silence with stories from her day, photos of something she cooked, or screenshots of a funny meme she had found. She even asked him what he thought about one of the songs she was listening to. The same kind of things they used to exchange without a second thought.
Ehito responded to all of it. Never ignored her. Never dismissed her.
But his mind was elsewhere.
Not out of cruelty. Not even consciously. It was as if something had closed within him. A door that used to be cracked open just enough to let in a little light… now silently shut.
He read her messages several times before replying to any. Sometimes he just looked at them and said nothing for minutes, staring at the words like they belonged to another world. Then, finally, he typed back.
"That sounds nice."
"Cool."
"I didn't know you liked that kind of music."
Simple. Straightforward. Safe.
And then silence again.
He leaned back in his chair, letting the tension in his shoulders melt into the cushion. His body was tired — he had pushed himself harder during training tonight. Maybe too hard. But it wasn't just physical exhaustion that sat heavy on his chest.
Something deeper.
The room was cast in soft blue shadows. His desk lamp glowed faintly, giving the space a strange warmth that contrasted with the chill inside him. His phone buzzed again. Another message.
He picked it up and read it.
"Are you okay? You seem… different tonight."
He didn't reply right away.
For a moment, his expression broke. Just for a second. A shadow passed behind his eyes, something raw and unreadable.
Then it vanished.
He typed.
"Just tired."
A lie. But the kind of lie people accept. The kind of lie you can't question too much without overstepping.
"I get it," Lia replied a moment later. "Don't overdo it, okay? Good night, Ehito."
He stared at that message longer than the others. His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a long time.
Then he replied:
"Good night, Lia."
He didn't add a smiley. Or an emoji. Or even a second sentence.
He put the phone face-down on the desk and stood. Walked to the window. Stared out into the night.
It was strange.
He liked Lia. She was the only one who ever really tried to know him. The only one who talked to him without expecting something in return. The only one who listened, even when he wasn't speaking.
But maybe that was the problem.
The more she got closer… the more dangerous it felt.
Not for her.
For him.
Because something about her presence threatened to thaw the parts of him he'd kept frozen for so long. And he wasn't ready for that.
He wasn't sure he ever would be