Cyrus Hale hated mornings,
But he still rolled out of bed at 6:47 AM on instinct—no alarm, no motivation, just habit. The dorm room was a mess of half-read books, untouched assignments, and the faint smell of instant noodles. A single framed photograph sat on his desk: him, Kaito, and Ethan, arms thrown around each other after winning last year's inter-club debate tournament.
Back when they thought life was simple.
He splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection.
Blonde hair messy.
Dark circles permanent.
Eyes sharp, too sharp for someone his age.
"Another day," he muttered. "Let's suffer."
He grabbed his bag and stepped into the hall.
Kaito was waiting outside the dorm building, leaning against the railing, scrolling through his phone with the kind of bored grace only he could pull off.
"You're late," Kaito said without looking up.
"I'm literally six minutes early."
"I know," Kaito nodded. "Late."
Cyrus smirked. "Touch some grass."
Kaito finally looked up, fox-eyed and amused. "I will. At your funeral."
They walked together down the campus path. Students flooded around them, half awake, half dead inside.
Ethan joined them halfway down the stairs, jumping the last three steps like an excited puppy.
"Morning, delinquents!" he shouted.
"Too loud," Cyrus groaned.
"Too cheerful," Kaito added.
"Too broke," Ethan shot back.
He slung his arm around both of them and dragged them forward with a grin that could power the entire country if harnessed properly.
Ethan was Always buzzing.
Always moving.
Always laughing.
Cyrus secretly envied him.
-
Their professor droned on about microeconomics. Students yawned in synchronized agony.
Cyrus didn't take notes.
Kaito pretended to take notes so he wouldn't get scolded.
Ethan spent the whole lecture drawing stupid sketches of Cyrus as a medieval emperor, complete with cape and crown.
He shoved the drawing into Cyrus's hands when the bell rang.
Cyrus stared at it. "Why do I look like I'm about to commit tax fraud?"
"Oh, you definitely would," Kaito said.
Ethan gave a proud thumbs-up. "It's your vibe."
Cyrus rolled his eyes, but he kept the page.
---
The three of them ate lunch in their usual spot under the old oak tree.
Ethan teased Kaito.
Kaito roasted Ethan.
Cyrus watched them banter, pretending he wasn't enjoying it.
If anyone asked, they were just three dumb college kids messing around.
But Cyrus knew better.
He wasn't like them.
Never had been.
Where they laughed, he listened.
Where they dreamed, he calculated.
Where they trusted, he doubted.
Cyrus was always thinking two steps ahead—about money, power, survival.
And he did it quietly, invisibly, behind a calm mask his friends never questioned.
Sometimes he wondered why they stayed by him at all.
Sometimes—on darker days—he feared they wouldn't.
But today wasn't one of those days.
Today was normal.
Warm.
Stupid.
Alive.
Ethan shoved the last sandwich piece into Cyrus's mouth to "stop your emo monologue," and Kaito almost choked laughing.
Cyrus swore he'd kill them both one day.
They didn't believe him.
--
As they were heading back to the dorms, Cyrus paused.
Just paused.
A flicker of dizziness washed over him—fast, sharp, gone in a blink.
He blinked and rubbed his eyes.
"You good?" Ethan asked.
"Yeah," Cyrus lied. "Just hungry."
Kaito raised a brow. "You're always hungry."
"Then I'm consistent."
They accepted the joke and kept walking.
Cyrus stayed quiet.
The moment had felt… strange.
Like the world took a breath.
Like something far away had shifted.
But he brushed it off.
Life went on.
Just another ordinary day.
His last one.