Lana Del Rey's song is playing softly in the background, "White Mustang."
A boy is sitting in the car, leaning back in his seat, staring out of the window like a misunderstood movie hero. Headphones are plugged into his ears, volume turned all the way up. The driver is calmly driving, occasionally glancing at him like, "Is this guy even on planet Earth?"
The driver finally stops the car and says,
"We've arrived, sir."
No response.
The boy—whose name is Alice—doesn't hear a thing because his headphones are louder than his life problems.
The driver sighs dramatically.
"Ugh, this sir again. Every single day, same story."
Then he smirks and says loudly,
"Sir! Your girlfriend number nine is calling!"
Alice instantly snaps back to reality.
"What?! Where?!"
The driver bursts out laughing.
"Relax, sir. I was joking. We're home."
Alice removes his headphones, embarrassed.
"Oh gosh… you could've just said that!"
The driver grins.
"Where's the fun in that, sir?"
Alice shakes his head, smiling despite himself, and steps out of the car—music still playing, drama still alive.
Alice steps out of the car.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, slowly, like he's trying to recognize the air—like he's smelling memories. Old memories. Childhood memories.
When he opens his eyes, he freezes.
The same old house.
The same familiar walls.
Everything feels unreal, like a memory playing in front of him instead of real life.
He picks up his bag and walks inside.
The moment he opens the door, memories hit him all at once—flashbacks of his childhood. Laughter, running around, small fights, tiny happiness. He stands still for a second, lost in the past.
Then reality slaps him.
He looks around carefully.
Dust.
So much dust.
Everything is covered. The furniture is wrapped in plastic, the floor looks like it hasn't seen a broom in centuries. The room looks less like a house and more like an abandoned museum.
He turns to the driver.
"Uh… what is all this?"
The driver shrugs casually.
"I don't know very well, sir. My job was only to drop you here. Now I'll leave. Bye."
He starts walking away.
"Wait!" Alice calls out.
Too late.
The driver is already gone—like a ghost who completed his duty.
Alice sighs and pulls out his phone.
"Mumma," he says on the call, "what is this? Everything is dusty. The house is a mess."
His mother replies calmly,
"Yes. Now you have to clean it."
Alice's soul leaves his body.
In a half-crying, half-dramatic voice, he says,
"Mummaaaa, please!"
"No way," she says firmly.
"You made a mistake, so now you'll get punished."
"Mumma, I swear, I'm innocent," he says seriously, like he's standing in court.
"I don't know anything," she replies.
"Clean properly. Best of luck."
Call cut.
Alice stares at his phone.
Silence.
He looks around the room again.
"…I hate my life," he mutters.
After a long dramatic sigh, he finally starts cleaning.
He opens a window—cough cough.
Dust flies everywhere like it's attacking him personally.
"Okay… easy… I didn't do anything to you," he says to the dust while sneezing nonstop.
He removes the plastic covers, wipes the furniture, cleans the floor. His hair gets messy, his shirt gets dirty, and his energy slowly disappears.
While cleaning, he finds an old toy.
He stops.
Smiles softly.
For a moment, the mess doesn't matter anymore. The house feels warm again—alive again.
He wipes his sweaty face and laughs quietly.
"Fine… I'll clean. But you better be worth it."
The house stays silent, but somehow, it feels like it understands.
While cleaning, Alice suddenly finds a toy in his room.
He freezes.
Picks it up slowly.
Smiles.
"Oh my Captain Button-Eyes," he says softly, laughing.
"Are you still here?"
He sits on the floor and looks at the toy.
"So… you survived all these years and I didn't?"
He pauses, then adds,
"You know, you were a better listener than most humans. You never judged me. Just stared. Silently. Creepy, but supportive."
He chuckles.
"Life got messy, huh? Just like this room."
For a moment, the joke fades, and his voice softens.
"I wish things were still simple… like when you were my biggest problem."
He puts the toy carefully on the shelf.
"Stay here. Don't move. I'll finish cleaning."
After a long battle with dust, plastic covers, and his own laziness, the cleaning is finally done.
Alice collapses on the sofa, exhausted.
Talking to himself, he mutters,
"Finally… I survived. Mumma should give me an award."
Just then—
The door bursts open.
"Aliceeee!"
His friends rush in happily and hug him tightly.
"Hey—hey—HEY!" Alice panics.
"Your shoes! Your shoes are covered in mud! I literally JUST cleaned!"
One of them laughs.
"So what? Don't worry."
Alice groans.
"I swear, I cleaned this place with my soul."
The friend grins.
"Relax. Anyway, Lucien is also coming."
Alice's eyes widen.
"WHAT? Lucien?!"
Before he can react—
Lucien walks in.
Completely wet.
Covered in mud from head to toe.
Within seconds, the freshly cleaned room looks like a disaster zone again.
Alice stares at the mess.
"Oh no… not again."
They all sit on the sofa in silence.
Finally, Alice asks softly,
"How did all this even happen?"
Lucien sighs dramatically.
"Actually, I was walking, and there was mud on the road. A car drove right through it and—boom—my clothes were ruined."
He clenches his fists.
"And the worst part? Some idiot was sitting in the car, wearing headphones, staring out the window like he was a hero in a movie."
"I screamed. I shouted. Nothing."
"Headphones too loud," Lucien adds angrily.
Alice slowly swallows.
"Uh… what was he wearing?" Alice asks carefully.
Lucien thinks.
"A black T-shirt. Just like yours."
Silence.
Alice whispers,
"Oh… man."
Lucien turns slowly.
"…Wait."
Alice looks away.
"…Yeah."
Lucien's eyes widen.
"YOU?!"
"So that was YOU?"
Alice buries his face in his hands.
"I swear, I didn't hear anything."
Lucien laughs despite himself.
"I knew it. Only you could do something like this."
They all burst into laughter.
Alice leans back on the sofa, tired but smiling.
"Guess this house really wanted everyone back… even the mess."
The room is ruined again—but somehow, it feels full.
Alive.
Like home.