The school bell rang, its sharp chime slicing through the end of the day with mechanical finality.
As always, a small crowd clustered around Nero's desk, their voices overlapping with excitement and questions about the test. He answered absently, his mind already slipping away, offering vague fragments of information—just enough to satisfy them, just enough to avoid suspicion—until, eventually, the group thinned and he could disappear without anyone really noticing.
Outside, the evening air was warm and soft, wrapped in the dying glow of a sun that was slowly sinking beneath the horizon. At exactly 6 PM, he met up with his two closest friends, Mark and Rayan, as they always did. The three walked together down the street, shadows stretching long behind them, their laughter light and careless—seventeen-year-olds clinging to the illusion that everything was okay, that the world wasn't already cracking beneath their feet.
"You know, Rayan, the new event in XXX is fire," Mark said with a grin, nudging his friend playfully. "You've gotta update your game and come back. You're missing out."
Rayan shrugged, noncommittal. "Not sure, man. What about you, Nero?"
"I'm kinda busy these days," Nero replied, voice low, eyes distant, as though he were speaking from another world entirely. "I'll hit you up when I'm free."
Mark frowned, his laughter fading into something quieter. "Man, you're always busy. You're no fun anymore. We just finished our final test, too."
"Don't push it," Rayan said gently, sensing the tension and stepping in. "Let Nero rest."
"Sorry, guys. Next time," Nero murmured, and though the words were polite, they sounded hollow—an echo bouncing through the silence he kept tightly wound inside.
He walked home alone after that, head bowed slightly, hands in his pockets. When he arrived, the house greeted him with a familiar stillness—quiet, dim, empty. Not peaceful. Just… absent.
Nero was tall for his age, with sharp features and dark, unreadable eyes. His hair was soft, black like spilled ink, and it fell slightly over his face. His skin was pale, which made his gaze seem even deeper—like something bottomless. He was handsome, yes, but in a forgettable sort of way. The kind of beauty that made people glance once, then move on. A face that stirred interest but not emotion.
His room was lined with books stacked along the walls and windowsills—fiction, philosophy, science. His sanctuary. He collapsed onto his bed without bothering to change, burying his face in the covers like he could hide from the world.
And then it came.
That first thought. Always the same.
I'm tired.
His phone buzzed relentlessly on the desk beside him—seventeen unread messages, twenty-three missed calls. He didn't even flinch.
With a heavy sigh, he grabbed it only to turn on music—his favorite playlist, the one that felt like rain and forgotten dreams. He let it wash over him, drowning out the world, silencing the static inside his head. For a brief moment, he let himself disappear into the sound, into the lie of peace.
Then… he heard it.
The front door opened with a familiar groan.
He sat up slowly, removing one earbud. His voice was flat when he spoke.
"Father, Mother, you're home."
"Yeah, son. Come help your old man with the groceries," his father replied, his voice tired, worn thin by life.
Nero stood and moved to help, his body on autopilot.
As he reached the door, a blur of motion darted past their mother—and suddenly, his little sister sprang out from behind her.
"Boo!" she shouted with all the enthusiasm a child could muster.
"You can't scare me, Len," Nero said, and though his words were soft, a rare genuine smile—small but real—flickered across his lips.
"Oh, just wait," she grinned. "I'll make you scream someday!"
He laughed, barely, and ruffled her hair with one gentle hand. Despite the numbness that colored most of his world, he loved her—more than anything
After dinner, Nero returned to his room. He lay on his bed once more, staring at the ceiling like it might someday answer the questions he was too tired to ask.
He reached for his earphones, craving silence wrapped in sound—but before he could put them on, a loud crash exploded from the kitchen.
Plates. Shouting. Glass.
"…It starts again," he muttered, his voice dull, like he had seen this storm a thousand times before.
His parents were fighting again.
The words didn't even reach him anymore. He didn't care what they were saying. The meaning had long since died, drowned in repetition and pain.
It only started getting worse since he stopped to be always a golden child
Then—his door creaked open.
She stood there.
Len.
Small and shaking, clutching the fabric of her shirt like it could hold her together, tears spilling down her cheeks with no end.
Without hesitation, she ran to him, buried herself in his arms, sobbing like the world was ending.
He held her close. Gently. Steadily.
"It's okay, Len… I'm here."
He whispered the words into her hair, voice soft like falling snow.
She cried harder.
And he stayed still—his arms around her, his expression blank.
Because she was still a child. Still hoping things could be fixed. Still believing in love and promises and good endings.
Even after everything she still loved thier parents.
He did too,even to this day,they were his family after all,
'what do we have without a family?'
Once a thought that never leaved his restless mind
But Nero was older.
And tired.
And he had nothing to break anymore.