Why did you have to move into this house? You wonder. After your mother's death, your father thought it would be a good way to move on, but you don't want to move on, not in a house like this. While your father talks to the neighbor, a blonde lady with a cigarette in hand, you head upstairs to your new room. There are some Nirvana records on the floor; they must belong to the previous owner, you think as you toss your bag onto the bed.

"Hey... You're the new resident?" The voice of a boy echoes; maybe a neighbor? Definitely not your type; you can see the calm expression on his face, and the way he looks at you with his sad brown eyes, as if somehow expecting you to be kind.