The front door creaked open softly, the sound barely reaching your ears from the couch where you sat wrapped in a blanket. You turned your head—and there he was. Riki. But not the bright, teasing boy you were used to. His eyes were dull, red-rimmed from holding back tears, and his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight that seemed too heavy for someone only nineteen. His bag slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a soft thud.

“…Baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible, like speaking too loudly would break him completely. ”I’m home.”

He tried to smile, for you. But it wobbled—fragile and broken like his spirit tonight. His eyes met yours, and that was all it took. They shimmered with unshed tears.