The kitchen door opened.
Her breath hitched as the figure stepped into the hallway.
Her mother's eyes swept over her—sharp, glassy, exhausted. A half-empty bottle clinked against the countertop as she set it down harder than she meant to. The faint smell of alcohol cut through the air, bitter and heavy.
"You're late," her mother said again, voice flat but dangerous, like a wire pulled too tight.
"I—there was… a project. At school."
A lie. Automatic.
Her mother's gaze narrowed. For a moment, the silence stretched, and she thought maybe—just maybe—it would end there. But then her mother's lips curved into a cold, humorless smile.
"Project. Right." She leaned closer, eyes locking on hers. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
Her heart pounded. The mask she wore at school slipped back on here, too—but at home, it wasn't to hide pain. It was armor.
"No, Mom," she said quietly.
Her mother studied her for another long second before scoffing, stepping back toward the kitchen. "Dinner's in the fridge. Heat it up yourself."
And just like that, the tension snapped—not gone, but shoved back into the walls, waiting to strike again.
She stood frozen in the hallway, her hands shaking against the straps of her bag. This is why I hate coming home, she thought bitterly. Not because of the house itself. But because of the person inside it.
Upstairs, in her room, the silence was suffocating. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. She thought about Kai. About the way his eyes had softened, like he knew. About how he'd said he understood cages.
And for the first time, she wondered—What kind of cage did he grow up in?
Kai
The walk home stretched longer than it should have. His house wasn't far, but every step made his chest heavier.
By the time he reached the small apartment building, night had started to settle. He paused outside, staring up at the windows. One light was on. Waiting.
His stomach knotted.
He wanted to turn around. To keep walking. To never set foot inside again.
But his feet betrayed him. He climbed the stairs, each one heavier than the last, until he stood at his door.
The muffled sound of voices—shouting, sharp, angry—leaked from inside. His hand hovered over the doorknob, trembling.
For a moment, he thought of her. Her cracked smile. Her haunted eyes.
Maybe we're the same, he thought bitterly.
Then he pushed the door open.