Rikuto stepped down the narrow, creaky staircase, his hands buried deep inside his jacket pockets. Outside, a few neighbors had gathered in the dim common area, old plastic chairs creaking under them as they laughed and passed around cheap beer. He kept his head low, slipping past before any of them could notice him—or worse, call him over.
The night air was thick and heavier than usual. The darkness felt suffocating, almost alive, like it was ready to swallow the whole world whole. Across the street, near the battered iron gate of the adjacent apartment, he spotted her.
Liora.
She was leaning against the cold wall, a cigarette between her fingers. Her long dark hair—loose and wild—spilled over a simple, faded grey hoodie and ripped black jeans. The glow from her cigarette flickered against her face, casting brief shadows as she stared silently up at the sky.
Rikuto approached quietly, but the soft crunch of his footsteps made her flinch. She turned her head sharply, caught off guard, and was about to toss the cigarette away.
"Wait," he said, lifting a hand.
She hesitated, then caught sight of his bluish-grey eyes, calm and unreadable even under the ghostly streetlight. He stopped beside her, shoulders brushing the wall.
"Give me one too," he said casually.
Her brows shot up. "What?" she blurted, almost laughing.
"What, never had a guy ask for a cigarette before?" he teased, a small smirk playing on his lips.
"I have," she admitted, "but not from you."
Still looking amused, she fished a cigarette out of the crumpled box and handed it to him along with her lighter. Rikuto fumbled awkwardly, trying to light it, but the flame kept dying or missing its mark entirely.
"You don't even know how to smoke, do you?" she asked, half amused, half exasperated.
"I'll learn," he muttered, determination flashing stubbornly across his face.
Rolling her eyes, she took the lighter back. She demonstrated, inhaling slowly—the cherry end of the cigarette glowing red—then exhaling a thin, silver ribbon of smoke into the chilly air. Her movements were slow, practiced, almost hypnotic.
Before she could hand the cigarette back, Rikuto snatched it from between her lips.
"Don't do it," he said, frowning. "You look like a delinquent."
His gaze dropped briefly to the fresh, angry bruises decorating her cheekbone, visible even in the poor light.
Liora chuckled dryly. "What's there to look like? I am a delinquent," she said, smoke curling around her words.
"I don't believe it," Rikuto said, looking away, the cigarette still smoldering between his fingers.
"Why?" she asked, voice softer now.
"I just can't imagine someone as dumb as you being a delinquent," he said bluntly.
"Am I dumb?" she asked, almost amused.
"The dumbest person in this whole apartment building," he said with a slight grin. "Always smiling like an idiot. Always enduring everything with that fake tough face."
They stood there in silence, watching the heavy sky sagging above them.
"Looks like the sky's ready to swallow everything," Liora murmured.
"Good," Rikuto said. "It can start with this crappy apartment."
She narrowed her eyes and turned to look at him. "You know... if it swallows the apartment, it'll swallow you too."
"No," he said flatly.
"Why not?"
"Because by then," he said, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, "I'll already be gone."
She blinked. "You're leaving?"
"Yeah," he said. "Found a place better than this dump."
"Nice," she said quietly, a tiny, unreadable smile crossing her face.
"You should leave too," Rikuto added after a pause. "I know you hate this place."
"I would," she said, looking away. "But this place is the cheapest I can find. If I move, the rent will shoot up. And then..." she trailed off.
"And then?"
"I won't be able to keep doing what I'm doing."
He frowned. "What are you even doing?"
She smiled at him, a secretive little smile that made him uneasy. "Something special."
"Not like... saving people or anything?" he said dryly.
"And what if I said yes?"
She tossed the answer out so casually that for a moment, Rikuto didn't know if she was joking or dead serious.
He scoffed, a hollow, dry laugh slipping from his mouth, and turned away.
Saving people, huh? he thought grimly.
People like her—too honest, too soft, too stubborn—were the first ones to be devoured by this world. And they usually didn't even realize it until it was already too late.
...
Rikuto slung a towel over his shoulder and made his way toward the communal showers. The floor was damp, the ceiling cracked in places, and the fluorescent lights flickered with an annoying hum.
As he turned the corner, he spotted a man standing near the stairwell—a figure hunched under a baggy hoodie, face completely hidden.
Rikuto slowed for a second.
He'd seen him before. Not a neighbor, he was sure of that. He would have remembered. The man had been hanging around yesterday too, lurking near the mailboxes before vanishing when Rikuto looked twice.
For a brief moment, their eyes—or at least, their attention—met.
Then the man turned sharply and disappeared down the hallway, his steps silent.
Rikuto watched him go, indifferent. He could guess that whoever he was, he didn't belong here. But honestly, he didn't care. It wasn't his problem.
He wasn't going to stay in this miserable place any longer than necessary. Two, maybe three days at most, and he'd be out. Finally free of the crumbling walls, the shady neighbors, the whispered conversations behind half-closed doors—always laughing, always hiding something.
He tightened his grip on the towel, shoved the door to the showers open, and stepped inside, the peeling paint and mildewed tiles greeting him like an old, unwelcome friend.
Just a few more days, he reminded himself.
Then this hellhole would be nothing more than a bad memory.