The alarm clock on the bedside table was set for 6:30 AM, but Hiroto Aoi's eyes opened on their own at 6:12 AM.
He remained laying in bed for a few seconds, laying there motionless as he looked up at the ceiling of his small, solitary room. Outside of the small window, everything was shaded in a heavy, rainy season grey. It continued to rain heavily since last nights torrential rain, with it now drumming on the roof of the house and turning all of the streets in Yukihara into mirrors with their reflective surfaces flashing in the absence of direct sunlight. The darkness of the clouds in the sky partially obscured what little light made its way into his room, making it seem as though that light was damp and weak.
Hiroto yawned. He opened his mouth up wide, let the little drops of water come to the corners of his eyes as he closed them, just like when you yawn deeply. As he blinked his eyes shut, the feelings left, but the feeling still lingered in his chest for a moment in time. There was a time when Hiroto felt free from weight of the world, had the feeling of being a child, to be innocent, to be free, to not be worried about anything at all and to feel as if someone was taking care of him.
That feeling lasted only a heartbeat.
It had been two years since his mother died, and he had not felt that childlike warmth even once in all that time. After her death, the house became too silent. His father worked long hours and rarely spoke. Hiroto had tried to fill the emptiness with poetry, with studying, with anything. He had even tried to die once standing on the edge of the swollen river last rainy season, staring at the rushing dark water below. But something stopped him. Maybe fear. Maybe the faint memory of his mother's smile. He still didn't know.
He was completely alone.
He walked to the washroom, moving like someone carrying an invisible weight. The mirror showed a quiet 17-year-old boy with messy dark hair and tired eyes. He brushed his teeth mechanically, the sound of the toothbrush echoing too loudly in the silent house. Cold water splashed on his face once, twice but it did nothing to wash away the hollow feeling inside.
When he stepped out of the washroom. His father had already left for work, leaving behind an empty kitchen and a single note on the table: "breakfast in fridge. Don't stay out late."
Hiroto didn't even read it properly. He felt nothing when he saw it.
vLonely (and heavy) with that feeling of being fully and utterly depleted; the sense of being so weighed down by the loneliness you feel in your chest, you can barely breathe; the persistent rain outside your window, similar to your feelings inside there is no anger, no sadness which might make you cry; just…nothing, vast and quiet space in the universe.
After his mother died, he was never the person he used to be. He did not laugh. He did not smile. The old Hiroto who loved painting black raining clouds and dreamed of bright futures had disappeared along with her.