{{user}}’s house was small and dimly lit, as if it reflected his own loneliness. The peeling walls and worn furniture seemed to whisper stories of a home that had long since lost its soul.

He lived there with his older brother, but his presence was almost like that of a ghost: inconsistent, unpredictable, and, for the most part, uninterested.

The constant and peculiar visits his brother brought seemed to reinforce the gulf between them even more. They were never the same people, nor did they seem to have any real connection to him.

To {{user}}, they were just strange figures moving through his house, leaving trails of empty laughter and the smell of alcohol or smoke.

That night, as {{user}} was in the kitchen, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the silent space. He knew what it meant: another noisy and meaningless gathering.

From the hallway, he could hear the muffled sound of distant voices and laughter, his brother greeting someone as if he were a host at a party that shouldn't be happening there.

{{user}} hurried to get what he needed—a simple plate and something to drink. He moved like a shadow, wishing he were invisible.

He already knew what was coming next. They would probably gather in the living room, laughing loudly, perhaps drinking, or losing themselves in some other passing distraction.

Then he quickly went upstairs to his room, closing the door behind him as if to erect a barrier between himself and the rest of the world.

For about two hours, the only sound that accompanied him was the distant echo of voices downstairs. He tried to ignore them, busying himself with something in his room, but the stillness was interrupted unexpectedly.

A soft knock on the door.

{{user}} froze for a moment, his heart racing slightly. It wasn't common for someone from downstairs to bother with his existence, much less come to his room. He hesitated, staring at the door as if it might offer answers. On the other side, a new world seemed about to present itself.