I’ve always hated long car rides.

Not because they were boring, although they usually were, and not because my uncle’s truck felt like it was held together by duct tape and pure spite, even though that was probably true too. Mostly, I hated them because they gave me too much time to think.

The countryside rolled past my window in an endless blur of green fields and distant forests. Telephone poles marched alongside the road like soldiers. Every now and then we’d pass a gas station or a small town that looked forgotten by the rest of the world, but for the most part there was nothing.

Just road.

Road and thoughts.

I rested my forehead against the cool glass and watched my reflection stare back at me. I’d gotten taller since the last time I’d visited my grandparents. My hair was longer too. Other than that, I looked pretty much the same.

Tired.

My uncle glanced over from the driver’s seat.

“Quit staring at yourself.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You looked like you were about to propose to the window.”

I sighed.

For a man in his thirties, my uncle, Masaru, spent an alarming amount of time acting like a teenager.

“Maybe I was.”

“Window would’ve said no.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask.”

“Still out of your league.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back toward the glass.

A minute later I felt something hit my shoulder.

I looked down.

A cold can of coke sat in my lap.

“Drink it before it gets warm.”

I stared at the can.

“Thought you said soda was bad for me.”

“It is.”

“Then why’d you buy it?”

Masaru shrugged.

“Because life sucks.”

I blinked.

“…What?”

“You heard me.”

He took one hand off the wheel and pointed toward the can.

“Life sucks. Doesnt last long. Drink your coke.”

I couldn’t help it.

A small laugh escaped me.

Masaru grinned victoriously before immediately pretending he hadn’t.

That was pretty normal for him.

Most people thought he was an asshole.

To be fair, he usually sounded like one… and acted like one on occasion.

Thing is, he’d tell me I was lazy while helping me carry groceries.

Tell me I’d never survive on my own while teaching me how to cook.

Tell me I spent too much time drawing before quietly buying me new pencils.

It was confusing.

Sometimes I wished he’d just say what he meant.

Then again, maybe he wished the same thing about me.

The truck rumbled over a bump in the road.

I looked outside again.

The scenery was becoming familiar.

The fields.

The old fences.

The forests.

My grandparents’ house couldn’t be far now.

When I was younger I used to love coming here.

Back then summers felt bigger, brighter, somehow.

Longer.

Warmer.

I remembered running through the fields until sunset.

I remembered laughing.

I remembered me and my—

The thought died there.

I looked away from the window.

Some memories were easier to leave alone.

A few minutes later the farmhouse finally came into view, time hadn’t been kind to it.

The white paint was peeling in places, the wooden porch leaned slightly to one side, the old windmill nearby creaked lazily in the summer breeze.

Yet despite all of that, it still felt familiar.

The truck rolled into the driveway and came to a stop.

“We’re here.”

“No way.”

Masaru looked at me.

“You know, sarcasm is supposed to be funny.”

“I learned from you.”

“Dont bad mouth my sarcasm skills.”

We climbed out of the truck.

The air smelled different out here.

Fresh grass.

Warm earth.

Pine trees.

Its a kind of smell you only notice after being away for a long time.

The front door opened before we could reach it.

My grandma stepped outside.

She hadn’t changed at all.

Somehow.

I was beginning to suspect she’d looked sixty years old since birth, or maybe she’s just a shapeshifter who happened to really like the look of an old woman.

“You’re late.”

Masaru checked his watch.

“We’re twelve minutes early.”

“Exactly.”

A vein twitched in his forehead.

“Good to see you too, mom.”

She ignored him completely and looked at me instead.

“You’ve gotten taller.”

“Hi grandma.”

“Don’t get taller.”

“…uhh I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“We’ll see.”

Then she turned around and went back inside.

Masaru sighed heavily.

“See where I get it from?”

Unfortunately, I did.

Inside, the house felt exactly the same as I remembered.

The old wooden floors creaked beneath our feet. Family photographs lined the walls. Somewhere in the distance a television played loudly enough for the entire county to hear.

Grandpa was fast asleep in his favorite chair, at least, I assumed he was asleep. The possibility that he’d died years ago and nobody had simply noticed crossed my mind briefly.

Then I noticed something strange that threw me off completely.

There were extra shoes by the front door.

Rather small shoes if anything.

Not quite adult sized…

Guests?

I opened my mouth to ask.

But before I could, Grandma called from the kitchen.

“Masaru!”

“What now?”

“Stop leaving your boots by the door.”

“I literally JUST walked in.”

“Move them.”

Masaru looked toward the ceiling as if praying for strength.

Then he moved the boots.

I hid a smile.

That was when I heard a voice.

A girl’s voice.

Soft.

Distant.

Coming from upstairs.

I froze.

For some reason my heart immediately decided this was a life-threatening situation.

The voice laughed at something.

Then fell silent.

I should’ve ignored it.

Instead, I looked toward the staircase.

Curiosity won.

A terrible decision.

Every bad thing in history probably started with curiosity.

I headed upstairs, the hallway looked exactly as I remembered.

Three guest rooms.

The bathroom.

The old grandfather clock.

A partially open door near the end of the hall.

And sitting inside that room was a girl.

She was around my age.

Dark long hair.

Sketchbook resting in her lap.

A pencil moved steadily across the page while she worked.

I stared for exactly two seconds before my brain short-circuited.

Pretty.

That was my first thought.

My second thought was that I should leave immediately.

The girl looked up.

Our eyes met.

My survival instincts activated.

I turned around and started walking away.

Fast.

“Hiro.”

I froze.

That wasn’t the girl.

That was Masaru.

Somehow he’d appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“What?”

“Go back up there.”

“No.”

The girl blinked.

Masaru folded his arms.

“Don’t make this weird.”

“I’m not making it weird.”

“You looked at her and fled.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I was walking.”

“You were retreating.”

I considered throwing myself out the nearest window.

The girl was trying very hard not to laugh.

Traitor.

Masaru pointed toward the room.

“Go introduce yourself.”

“No.”

“Hiro.”

“No.”

“Hiro.”

I sighed.

Defeat.

Slowly, painfully, I turned around and walked back.

The girl looked equally uncomfortable.

Which somehow made me feel slightly better.

Maybe we were both suffering in embarrassment.

“Uh.”

Fantastic start.

The girl smiled awkwardly.

“Hi.”

“…Hi.”

Another brilliant contribution from me.

The silence stretched for several seconds.

Then she held out a hand.

“I’m Shiori.”

“Hiro.”

We shook hands.

Neither of us seemed to know what happened next.

Thankfully Masaru finally left.

More like abandoning me.

Coward.

The moment he disappeared downstairs, Shiori let out a relieved breath.

“…That was embarrassing.”

“Yeah.”

“Your uncle always like that?”

“Unfortunately.”

Quietly, under her breathe i heard a light laugh

It wasn’t loud, nor was it likely intended to be heard, yet it felt genuine and real.

And somehow that made me feel a little less nervous.

Not by too much,

Just a bit.

Neither of us seemed particularly interested in continuing the conversation after that. Or maybe we were interested and just didn’t know how. There was probably a difference. She just glanced down at her sketchbook while I awkwardly looked around the room pretending the wallpaper had suddenly become fascinating.

Eventually my attention drew back toward the sketchbook and a thought dawned on me.

“You draw?”

Shiori looked down at the page in her lap before nodding.

“A little.”

The page was mostly hidden from where I stood, but I could make out trees, a river, and what looked like the outline of a fox sitting near the water’s edge.

“A little?” I asked. “That looks pretty good.”

The moment the words left my mouth she looked genuinely surprised.

Almost suspicious.

Like compliments weren’t something she received often.

“Oh… uh…”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Thanks.”

I immediately looked away.

Mission accomplished.

One mediocre compliment delivered without stuttering.

Without another word I retreated toward my room before my brain could force me to say something stupid.

Once inside, I shut the door and collapsed onto the bed.

The ceiling greeted me like an old friend.

Some things never changed.

I stared up at the cracked paint above me while the sounds of the house drifted through the walls. Grandma was yelling at someone downstairs. Grandpa’s television was still trying to shatter every window in the building. Somewhere in the hallway I could hear faint footsteps.

Normal sounds.

Comforting sounds.

For the first time in a while, I found myself remembering older summers.

Back when coming here felt different.

Back when there were more voices in the house.

Back when I wasn’t constantly exhausted.

The memories came in pieces rather than complete pictures. A hand resting on my shoulder, not quite my uncle or grandparent’s but someone else’s. Someone laughing. Sitting on the porch while fireflies drifted through the grass.

The harder I tried to remember, the more distant everything felt.

It was like trying to grab smoke.

I closed my eyes.

There wasn’t much point dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.

Three quiet taps.

I sat up.

“Come in.”

The door opened slightly.

Shiori peeked inside.

Immediately she looked like she regretted it.

“Sorry.”

I blinked.

“What for?”

“I don’t know.”

That actually got a laugh out of me.

To my surprise, she laughed too.

Some of the tension vanished.

Not all of it.

Just a bit.

She stepped inside and looked around the room.

There wasn’t much to see. A backpack. Some clothes. A sketchbook sitting near the window.

Her eyes landed on it immediately.

“You draw too?”

I followed her gaze.

“Oh. Uh, yeah I do.”

She walked over and picked it up.

“Can I look?”

Every instinct in my body screamed no.

Showing your drawings to another person was basically suicide.

Especially unfinished drawings.

Especially to a cute girl.

Especially to a cute girl who was also an artist.

But somehow I found myself nodding anyway, maybe if she was an artist like me, ,she wouldn’t judge too harshly.

Shiori carefully opened the sketchbook.

The room became very quiet.

I watched her flip through page after page while my anxiety steadily climbed toward dangerous levels.

Eventually she stopped.

Then looked at me.

Then back at the drawing.

Then back at me.

“What?”

“You’re… really good.”

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Neither of us spoke.

Finally I glanced away.

“…Thanks.”

Shiori smiled.

The kind of smile people make when they’ve realized something.

“You don’t get compliments very often, do you?”

I immediately felt attacked.

“No.”

“Me neither.”

The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

For some reason that answer felt heavier than it should have.

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

Then Shiori sat down on the floor.

A few seconds later she patted the empty spot beside her.

I hesitated.

Then sat down too.

The next few hours disappeared.

Looking back, I couldn’t tell you exactly what we talked about first.

Games.

Drawing.

Movies.

School.

Random things that didn’t matter.

The strange thing was that talking to her became easier the longer we spoke. At some point I stopped worrying about saying the wrong thing. She stopped apologizing every thirty seconds. We still stumbled over our words sometimes, but it stopped feeling awkward.

Before I knew it, sunlight had begun turning orange.

The entire afternoon had vanished.

“Hiro!”

Masaru’s voice echoed up the stairs.

“Dinner!”

I glanced toward the window.

“…How long have we been talking?”

Shiori followed my gaze.

“Oh.”

The two of us stared at the sunset.

Neither of us had noticed.

Somehow that felt nice.

Like finding out you weren’t the only one who was enjoying the moment to the point you lost track of time.

Downstairs, dinner was already waiting for us.

Grandma had cooked enough food to feed a small army.

Masaru was helping carry dishes to the table.

Or at least pretending to help, although it clearly was fooling no one as grandma started chasting him.

“You’re holding one plate.”

“I’m supervising.”

“You’re unemployed.”

“I’m managing resources.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m a visionary.”

I sat down while the two of them continued arguing.

Shiori sat beside me without a word.

Grandpa hardly looked away from the television once.

It was strangely comforting.

Like stepping into a moment that had existed long before us and would continue existing after we left.

For most of dinner, I listened more than I spoke.

Masaru did enough talking for everyone anyway.

At one point he noticed the sketchbook tucked beneath my arm.

“You two draw together?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Yet.”

I frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means if you’re gonna spend all summer hiding in your rooms drawing, you might as well do it together.”

“That’s not—”

“Besides,” Masaru continued, pointing his chopsticks at me, “your art’s getting better.”

I blinked.

The compliment caught me completely off guard.

Then he immediately ruined it.

“Still not good enough to make money though.”

There it is.

I knew it was coming.

The universe demanded balance.

“You know,” he continued, taking another bite, “if you don’t work hard you’re gonna end up broke.”

“Okay.”

“Probably homeless too.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe living under a bridge.”

“Okay.”

“You should aim higher.”

I sighed.

Beside me, Shiori was trying—and failing—not to laugh.

Traitor.

Again.

Yet despite all the complaining, I noticed Masaru had already put an extra serving of food onto my plate when nobody was looking.

Funny.

For someone who never stopped criticizing me, he seemed awfully concerned with whether I was eating enough.

The rest of dinner passed surprisingly quickly. Most of the conversation consisted of Masaru arguing with Grandma over things that didn’t matter while Grandpa occasionally chimed in with a single sentence before returning his attention to the television. Shiori mostly listened, though every now and then she’d quietly add something to the conversation when she thought nobody was paying attention.

I noticed she tended to shrink a little whenever attention shifted toward her.

Not dramatically.

Just a bit.

Like she was expecting people to judge her.

It was strange.

Because every time she spoke, everyone listened.

Yet she still seemed nervous.

I understood that feeling more than I’d like to admit.

By the time dinner ended, the sky outside had gone from orange to a dark blue.

The fields beyond the windows had become little more than silhouettes beneath the evening sky. Crickets had already begun their nightly chorus somewhere beyond the walls of the house.

Summer nights always sounded different out here.

Calmer, yet louder all the same.

Like the world never really went to sleep, its just changed a bit.

I helped carry dishes to the kitchen mostly because Grandma’s glare suggested refusing wasn’t an option I could survive. Masaru disappeared out back with a drink in his hand while everyone else settled into their usual routines.

Eventually I found myself wandering toward the porch.

The old wooden boards creaked beneath my feet as I stepped outside.

The damp night air was cool against my skin.

For a few minutes I just stood there staring out at the fields.

The stars were brighter out here than in the city.

Hundreds of tiny lights scattered across the darkness above.

I remembered looking at them years ago.

Back when things were simpler.

Or maybe I was just remembering them wrong.

People always seemed happier in memories.

The porch door opened behind me.

Masaru stepped outside carrying two cans of soda.

He tossed one toward me.

I caught it.

“You know those things are bad for you.”

He immediately opened his own.

“I know.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Neither of us acknowledged the hypocrisy.

For a while we sat in silence.

It wasn’t uncomfortable.

Masaru wasn’t really the type to force conversations.

When he spoke, it was usually because he’d already spent ten minutes thinking about it.

Eventually he leaned back in his chair.

“You seem less miserable.”

I nearly choked on my drink.

“What kind of observation is that?”

“A correct one.”

I looked out toward the fields.

The darkness stretched endlessly beyond the property.

“I wasn’t miserable.”

“Sure.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Hiro.”

I sighed.

There was no winning.

Masaru took another sip before speaking again.

“You’re young.”

That immediately sounded like the beginning of some terrible life lesson.

I braced myself.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t interrupt.”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

Fair enough.

For a few moments he remained silent.

When he finally spoke again, his voice sounded different.

Softer.

Not weak.

Just tired.

“You spend too much time in your own head.”

I frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means the world’s bigger than your problems.”

I looked away.

Immediately defensive.

“You don’t know my problems.”

“I know enough.”

The irritation rose before I could stop it.

People always said things like that.

Like understanding someone was easy.

Like pain could be measured.

Like everyone somehow knew exactly how you felt.

“You don’t.”

Masaru glanced at me.

Then looked back toward the fields.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

The answer caught me off guard.

For some reason I’d expected an argument.

Instead he simply nodded.

“I don’t know exactly how you feel.”

The night wind stirred the grass.

Crickets continued singing in the distance.

For a moment neither of us spoke.

Then Masaru sighed.

“Most people are carrying things they don’t talk about.”

His gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the fields.

Far away.

“You’ll figure that out eventually.”

Something about the way he said it made me think he wasn’t talking about me anymore.

Maybe he was thinking about someone else.

For the first time all evening, he looked old.

Not physically.

Just tired.

Not something sleep could just fix.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the moment vanished.

Masaru stood up.

“Anyways.”

Aaand there it is.

The emotional vulnerability limit had been reached.

“Keep moping around and you’ll definitely end up homeless.”

I groaned.

“And we’re back.”

“Just looking out for you.”

“That’s not what looking out for someone sounds like.”

“It is if you’re funny.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Before I could respond, he headed back inside.

Leaving me alone on the porch.

For some reason I found myself staring at the spot he’d been sitting moments earlier.

Then I shook my head.

Masaru was weird.

That was the simplest explanation.

Eventually I headed upstairs.

The hallway was quiet.

Most of the lights had already been turned off.

When I reached my room, I changed into a t-shirt and collapsed onto the bed.

The mattress wasn’t particularly comfortable.

Neither was the pillow.

Yet somehow it still felt familiar.

I closed my eyes.

Waited.

Nothing.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Then thirty.

Sleep remained as distant as ever.

I rolled onto my side.

Then my back.

Then my other side.

Still nothing.

Wonderful.

Insomnia and I had been enemies for years.

At this point we were practically family.

A quiet knock interrupted my suffering.

Three soft taps.

I sat up.

The room was silent enough that I almost thought I’d imagined it.

Then the knock came again.

“Hiro?”

Shiori.

I blinked.

“What?”

The door opened slightly.

Moonlight from the hallway framed her silhouette.

She looked nervous.

Actually nervous wasn’t the right word.

Embarrassed.

Like she already regretted whatever she was about to say.

“Sorry.”

“Why does everyone keep apologizing to me?”

“…Sorry.”

I laughed.

A small sound escaped her.

Not quite a laugh.

Close enough.

“What is it?” I asked.

She hesitated.

Long enough that I wondered if she’d forgotten.

Then she looked down at the floor.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A pause followed.

I glanced at the clock.

Past midnight.

Not surprising.

“I can’t either.”

That seemed to catch her attention.

Her eyes lifted slightly.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Another pause.

Neither of us seemed entirely sure where the conversation was going.

Then Shiori took a deep breath.

The kind people took right before jumping off a cliff.

“Can I ask something weird?”

That was never a good sign.

I leaned back against the headboard.

“Depends.”

Immediately she looked mortified.

“That doesn’t help.”

“Then probably yes.”

The silence that followed felt strangely fragile.

Like one wrong word would break it.

Finally Shiori looked away.

“When I was younger…”

She stopped.

Then started again.

“When I was younger, I used to sleep better when somebody was nearby.”

I listened quietly.

“My mom was always busy, so it wasn’t often. But whenever she was there, I guess I just felt safer.”

Her voice grew quieter toward the end.

“So now sleeping alone is hard?”

She nodded.

“Kind of.”

For a moment neither of us spoke.

I already knew what she was trying to ask.

She knew I knew.

Which somehow made it more embarrassing for both of us.

Eventually she forced the words out.

“Would you maybe…”

The sentence died halfway through.

She covered her face.

“Forget it.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

Not because she was funny.

Because I understood.

That feeling of wanting something simple and being terrified to ask for it.

I knew it well.

“Shiori.”

She peeked through her fingers.

“What?”

“You can just ask.”

Several seconds passed.

Then, finally—

“WouldYouMaybeStayInMyRoomTonight-?”

The words came out so quickly they nearly merged together.

I stared.

She stared.

The silence lasted exactly one second before panic overtook her.

“Not like that!”

Her face turned bright red.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

The more she tried to explain, the worse it sounded even to her own ears.

I was laughing openly now.

The first genuine laugh I’d had in a long time.

Shiori looked horrified.

Then offended.

Then, eventually, she started laughing too.

A few minutes later we found ourselves sitting on opposite sides of her bed.

Neither of us quite sure what the proper procedure was for this situation.

“So…”

“So…”

Excellent conversation.

Shiori rolled her eyes.

Then carefully laid down beneath the blanket.

I did the same.

There was still plenty of space between us.

Neither of us seemed interested in changing that.

The room slowly fell quiet.

Outside, crickets continued singing beyond the window.

The moonlight painted pale shapes across the ceiling.

For a while neither of us spoke.

Then, just as I felt myself beginning to drift—

“Hiro?”

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you came this summer.”

I opened my eyes.

The words were simple.

Yet something about them settled warmly in my chest.

Nobody had said something like that to me in a very long time.

I stared up at the ceiling.

Unsure how to respond.

Eventually I settled on honesty.

“…Me too.”

The room fell silent once more.

This time neither of us broke it.

Somewhere during the night, sleep finally found me.

For the first time in longer than I could remember, I didn’t feel alone.

And for a little while, that was enough.

{uh hi author note, just wanted to say hi to anyone who comes across this little project and well, yknow, SAY HI OR SMTH I DUNNO, anywho i just wanna say this was written and will continue to be written with ai, thats not to say that i just told chatGPT “yo cook me up a novel to copy paste” im heavily involved and the ai is more so to assist in writing as i have lots of ideas i like to get out i would simply make it look worse if i did the writing myself, so i typically think about where i want the story to go, if im stuck i might ask it for some ideas and from there ill have it do a rough draft then i go over everything and edit it in a way i like that doesnt feel uninspired, does it make the fact that i use ai any better? Nah. Do i care? Also nah. Anywho thats all from me for now, your unlikely to see this story finished as i usually lose motivation to write after a few chapters once i realize no ones gonna see it, if you do see this tho and like it please offer me encouragement lord knows i need it xd, anyways happy reading dear viewers,

Freya out!}