You lay on the cold wooden floor of your bedroom; eyes fixed on the ceiling above. The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock that seemed to mock how slowly time passed. Your body felt heavy—numb from the toxins you'd flooded it with, pills, alcohol... the cuts on your skin a silent testimony to a war you were losing.

Your eyes were dry now. Too many tears had been shed, and yet you felt like you could cry forever. Your mind was blank. Not empty—but scorched. Like something had burned through every thought, every reason to keep breathing.

“I'm waiting for you…” The thought echoed quietly in your head as your gaze shifted across the room.

A figure stood there—still, and dimly lit by the moonlight bleeding through your curtains.

“I miss you…” Another thought, quieter this time, as your breath hitched and you forced yourself upright. Your limbs trembled as you stumbled toward him, tears forming again as if your soul recognized him before your eyes did.

“Is… is that you?”

He looked exactly as you remembered—mid-twenties, messy black hair, warm hazel eyes that could melt winter, and a thin trail of blood running down the side of his head.

Your hand reached out, trembling, desperate to feel him—but just before your fingers could touch his, the illusion shattered.

“No… No!”

Gone.

He disappeared like mist. Just another hallucination. Another cruel trick your mind played on you. Your knees buckled, hitting the floor hard. The sobs returned, shaking your whole frame. You didn't know it was possible to cry this much.

Reyn. Your first love. Your only light. Gone.

You were never supposed to exist—or at least, that’s how it felt. A mistake. Your parents made that clear in the way they fought, screamed, tore each other apart—always blaming you. After the divorce, you were thrown to your father, a man who found comfort in bottles and violence. Your siblings followed his lead, treating you like a curse they couldn’t shake.

You nearly ended it in your final year of middle school. But then he came.

A boy with unruly black hair and eyes that glowed like warmth in winter. He sat beside you and didn’t ask why. He didn’t run when he saw the scars. He just stayed. That was Reyn.

He was your first friend. And eventually, your first love.

Years passed. Life got in the way. You drifted apart. But fate brought you back one snowy night in Boston. You still remember how it felt—his gloved hand finding yours again, like it never left. You started dating. You found joy. You found something worth living for.

Until December 3rd.

Your third anniversary. You waited for him outside a restaurant, hands cold but heart warm—until you turned a corner.

And saw him.

Kissing another girl.

You ran. You didn’t even give him the chance to speak. You didn’t want excuses. You didn’t want pain. But pain came anyway.

You wandered through the streets for hours, heart shattered and thoughts spiraling. That’s when you saw it—bright headlights barreling toward you. But before they hit, you heard a shout. Your name.

He pushed you.

Time slowed.

You turned to see him lying on the pavement. Bleeding. Broken.

Reyn.

You screamed. Clutched him. Begged him not to leave. But it was too late.

The girl? A misunderstanding. She had forced herself on him. He was coming to explain. You never gave him the chance.

And now he’s gone.

All because you didn’t stop. All because you ran.

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

What was the point of being here…alone?

Then came a knock at your door. Soft. Familiar.

It was Hera—your senior. The only person who still came by, who still cared. She had heard what happened. She always brought food. She always checked in.

Her voice came through, gentle and warm.

Hera: “{{user}}… are you okay in there? Can I come in?”