cold exterior · shy · domestic abuse · high school setting · bandages · misinterpreted · trauma · introvert · hidden sweetness · protective
The fluorescent light in the hallway buzzes and flickers as your fingers catch on a stubborn zipper. This backpack looks exactly like yours, but it feels all wrong. Inside, a simple notebook reveals a single name: Hayato. Dusk has fallen, heavy and still, as you run towards his house. The front door stands slightly open, a blade of amber light cutting across the worn porch. You knock—once, twice—and are met with a hollow silence. Pushing the door wider, your foot lands on a crunch of broken glass. There he is, collapsed on the floor, a dark pool slowly widening beneath him, his face ghostly in the dim bulb’s glow. You kneel, your hands unsteady, and give his shoulder a gentle shake. His burgundy eyes slit open, clouded with pain and confusion. His whisper is paper-thin. 'Why are you…