Darkness.

"I'm sorry!"

There was pain.

It started as a small seed by the base of his jaw, but as potent as it was, the fiery sensation blossomed into a whole new world of agony. He wished for it to be over, yet he desired to absorb all the blows and cuts as a form of repentance for the sin he had conjured. The dichotomy of his thoughts was nearly foolish even for him. The pain being inflicted upon his body stopped, the points wherein he'd been hit threatening to eat away at his flesh, and blood, and bones.

There was light.

Albeit muffled, he knew the voice. He'd been hearing the warmth and radiance of this voice for quite a while, which he now doubly regretted as he heard the same soothing tone cry out in a guttural sound of anguish.
It came again.

And again.

And again.

The cacophony of fist and shoe and metal against bone was the accompaniment to the bittersweet melody of concern and the consequences that lay by this innocuous sentiment. He couldn't see anything. He wanted to, but movement was all but a distant memory to his aching mortality. He initially wished for it to end. Now he realized tossing the fire away had passed it on to someone else who didn't deserve to suffer the consequences of his crime of involvement.

He wanted air, but his lungs recoiled from the jagged protrusion of broken ribs. It's funny how the human body fights itself with the complexities it's been built with. Whoever designed this anatomy must have found the idea of vulnerability amusing enough to be a plaything.

What kind of God...?

He choked. Wheezed. Gasped. His swollen eyes would barely open, but he willed them to crack just enough for him to asses his surroundings. He wished he had not. The hot stone he passed on caused pain, this time to his mentality. He no longer heeded any mind to the burning in his body and his battered jaw, which he tried to move as he spoke with the last of his consciousness.

Nothing.

It burns, he thought. It burns like a motherfucker.

Please.

He just wanted to stop them.

Only one thought circled through his cloudy mind as his cheek scraped against the rough ground, sandpaper against his throbbing flesh.

"I'm sorry."

He blinked.

"Ah."

He realized his lashes were heavy with sleep and tears. He breathed deeply, exhaling shakily as he rolled onto his side, a hand reflexively flying up to his face, covering both his mouth and nose. Kuro then passed his palm over his eyes to dry them before he buried his face onto the covers. Light filtered through the gaps in the curtains, the early brilliance of morning teaming up with the sound of activity from the other rooms to wake him.

The pale individual reached for the phone atop the small drawer just beside his bed, and it lit up his side of the dark room. The momentary blindness ensued by his hyperdilated pupils was an almost welcome sensation as he sighed once more, letting his arm hang limply by the edge, still holding the glowing device. It's been a long time since these images had come back to haunt him in his sleep. It made him remember the first few times where he had so often thrashed around screaming and struggling against an unseen force until he fell, screaming at them to stop.

"Your fault," he mumbled to himself as he shifted over to the other side.

He opened his phone, not exactly knowing what to do with it, and he stared at the time for as long as his eyes could go without blinking, the sounds of his waking neighbors droning from the other side of the walls. It was twelve minutes past six. His eyes gave out, and he tossed the small object to the side, now turning on his back as he closed his eyes again. Going back to sleep was the only option he could think of. Numbed by the recurring nightmare, he slowly transitioned to a state of unconsciousness, his ears slowly muting out the sound of pans clanging against the stovetop.

Students, most likely. The warming June weather made it easier for them to wake up compared to the cold months of the beginning of a new year. It didn't make any difference for Kuro; he'd barely managed to graduate high school, and he'd long since scrapped the idea of going to university.

That wasn't a choice for a lost cause to make.

As soon as he was about to slip away from the waking world, a knocking interrupted his smooth exit.

What in the world?

He shut his eyes, still, certain that whoever was rapping loudly on a metal door didn't come for him. He had shut everyone out and moved apartments after the graduation ceremony he didn't want to attend, thus, no one from his old school knew where he lived.

Unless someone tailed him.

The knocking started again, excited knuckles against an uninviting doorstep, and Kuro wondered whether or not this person had respect for other people who weren't awake, alive, and kicking at six in the goddamned morning. What was it, rent? Landlord being an absolute b—

"Excuse me!" a young male voice interrupted his train of thoughts, and his eyes shot open before narrowing. He was certain the ceiling wanted to know what it did to deserve being glared at so early in the morning.

Blame him, Kuro thought as he squinted, the cogs in his brain turning. Blame whoever this kid is, who sounds somewhat familiar.

One of Kuro's 'talents' was being able to distinguish and remember voices, which was why he knew who was behind him covering his eyes and asking him to take a guess, or how he knew which teacher or whatever creature was preparing to shame him infront of the class for sleeping during a lesson without raising his head. It was a convenient thing to have, but not as much when you would hear the sounds of certain people in class doing weird crap at the back of the building. He was certain he could have started millions of controversies had he chosen to open his mouth.

But he was past sticking his nose in business he shouldn't even touch on.

"Uhhh," the voice outside drawled, then knocked— this time lighter— on the door again. "Excuse me, does Kuro live he—"

On reflex, the latter grabbed the closest object and threw it at the door, relieved to see it was a small, hardbound notebook and not his phone nor one or both of his drum sticks. He'd been putting weird notes on it way back, and as he flipped through the pages last night, he wondered why he hadn't thrown it out yet. The interruption was apparently a surprise to whoever was out there at 6 A.M. with as much vigor as a five-year-old at luncheon, as he silenced himself immediately. The pause was long enough for Kuro to cross the floor littered with junk and get to the doorknob. He left the bolt latched as he pulled a crack to the outside world open.

"Please leave. It's so early in the morning. And there's no Kuro in here." he announced without so much as sparing the uninvited guest a glance. He slowly closed the door to dilute his hostility, but before the lock could click into place, fingers appeared at the edge of the door, admittedly startling Kuro. The face that greeted him through a narrow crack matched the sunlight in his voice and the ball of gas that gradually rose to rouse the world from sleep.

"It's me!" Mahiru grinned. "It's nice to see there's definitely a Kuro in here."

The other stared, unimpressed.

He didn't acknowledge the small feeling of bubbling welcome that stirred in his gut, nor did he like the idea of entertaining a ghost from a life he stepped out of.

"I said there is none."

He shut the door.

this is oficially the last chapter i have ever written under the luxurious idleness that summer vacation brings.

it's ironic how this book will transition to summer vacation sooner or later contrary to my transition to out of it.
:') this is released literally a week after classes started.

i hope you're intrigued or entertained so far! see you next week~