Kaname sank into the couch of the studio's break room, setting down his backpack on the floor before running his hand through his hair in frustration.

It had been several days now since his father had kicked him out of their run-down home in a fit of rage. Kaname had been sick of funding the old man's drinking habits, of watching his hard-earned money disappear into thin air whenever his father decided to gamble it all away. His father had called him an ungrateful wretch and started throwing things in drunken fury, and Kaname had barely had enough time to grab a few essentials before running out of the house.

With nowhere to go and hardly any money left that his father hadn't taken, Kaname had made his way to the studio that his group, Prism, rented. It had a couch, a vending machine, a shower, and heating—better than being out in the streets, and he could get water, cheap snacks, and clean himself and his clothes if nothing else.

No one in the group knew that he was homeless. The studio was a temporary solution until he got his next paycheck and could afford to rent a room or a small apartment somewhere. He didn't want to rely on his friends and bother them with his problems, so he'd kept his mouth shut and suffered in silence.

The others were used to his quiet and distant behavior, but they'd still noticed how tired he'd been lately. He'd been excusing it as insomnia, but the excuse was starting to wear thin. He could only hope no one would press him too much about it.

"I need to figure something out," he muttered quietly to himself, using his jacket as a makeshift blanket and lying down on the couch. He refused to go back home, back to his father's angry fists and demands for money.

Kaname was drifting off to sleep when the break room's light suddenly came on. He sat up with a start, green eyes widening at the sight of his manager standing there staring at him.

"Uhh," Kaname said eloquently, heart hammering against his ribcage. He scrambled to his feet, straightening his jacket. "Good evening."