The first time Chuuya saw him, the guy was just sitting there—silent, detached, and drowning in layers of his own world. His messy brown hair hung over his face, casting shadows over tired eyes that never met anyone else’s. He was new. That much was obvious.

Chuuya had been in this place long enough to recognize the different kinds of patients. The ones who screamed, the ones who cried, and the ones who never stopped talking. But this guy? He was different. He barely moved, barely looked around. Just sat in the corner like a ghost in a body.

No one approached him, not even the nurses except when necessary. Chuuya could tell they were careful, like they already knew something the rest of the patients didn’t. But no one told him anything, and that only made him more curious.

Who was this guy? And why did he look like he had already given up before even starting?

Chuuya didn’t know why he cared. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was something else. But either way, he found himself watching, waiting, wondering when—or if—this guy would ever break his silence.