The sound of an engine dying outside briefly blended with the steady hum of the PC.
Kyle clicked his mouse once more and stilled, listening.
The front door lock clicked. Footsteps drifted up from downstairs, along with fragments of conversation and laughter.
He frowned and switched on the desk lamp. Dim light spread across the surface and caught the edge of his T-shirt.
Kyle glanced down. On the faded face of the character — Megumi Fushiguro, barely recognizable now — there was a stain, impossible to miss.
The thought of changing flickered and disappeared just as quickly. He shook his head, brushing it off — he wasn't supposed to run into anyone anyway.
Kyle turned the lamp off. The shifting glow of the keyboard backlight was enough. He turned back to the screen and buried himself in the lines of code.
Time slipped away — he was fully absorbed in the task.
Voices and laughter drifted up from downstairs now and then. At some point, the doorbell rang — probably delivery. The pizza Megan had mentioned, maybe.
Then he put on his headphones. And everything disappeared.
After a while, his gaze caught on several glasses on the desk — ones he still hadn't taken back to the kitchen. Empty. No water left. The bottle beside them was empty too.
He pulled off his headphones. Paused, listening. A faint crease formed between his brows.
Silence. No voices anymore.
So Darren must have left.
Kyle exhaled, stretched — his body finally loosening — and stood up.
He moved down the stairs almost on autopilot, still caught somewhere in his thoughts.
The kitchen light was on. Megan often forgot to turn it off.
He took another step.
And the next moment, he walked straight into something.
A wall— ?
The impact pushed him back. Taken by surprise, his body lurched. For a moment, he lost his balance —but didn't fall.
A warm hand caught him by the back.
"Careful."
The voice was low, quiet. Still, enough to recognize instantly.
Kyle froze. Slowly lifted his gaze.
The face in front of him was far too close. Pale blue eyes looked straight at him — calm, unreadable. The hand was still holding him.
The tips of his ears burned.
Kyle clenched his teeth and shoved him away.
"Don't touch me."
Darren stepped back slightly, running a hand over his reddening chin.
His gaze swept over Kyle, slow and deliberate: messy hair, faded T-shirt with a stain on it, worn-out baggy sweatpants, slippers.
"You ran into me," he said calmly, lifting his eyes back to Kyle's face.
They held each other's gaze for a few seconds.
Kyle was the first to break it. He drew in a short breath.
"Where's Megan?"
"In her room. Went to grab a charger."
"And why are you walking around the house like you own it?"
"Needed the bathroom," Darren replied. "Problem with that?"
Kyle didn't answer.
"Mind telling me where it is?"
The corners of Darren's mouth twitched, just slightly.
Kyle shot him a brief glance and replied coldly:
"Down the hall. Further. Door on the right."
"Thanks."
Darren headed in that direction. As he passed Kyle, he slowed for a second — and brushed his shoulder.
Not by accident.
Their eyes met again for a fraction of a second. Irritation — in Kyle's. A faint, almost mocking spark — in Darren's.
Kyle pressed his lips together, turned away, and went straight into the kitchen.
He grabbed a bottle of soda in one hand and a couple of bags of chips in the other. Turned to leave — just as Megan walked in.
"Oh, Kyle. Want to hang out with us?"
"No. I'm busy," he replied. Too fast. Too flat.
Megan looked at him, a hint of disappointment in her expression.
Darren appeared in the doorway again, leaning his shoulder against the wall, arms crossed.
"What are you busy with, if you don't mind me asking?" he said. "You could join us."
Kyle didn't even look at him. Didn't answer.
"Don't be too loud," he said to Megan. "It's late."
Avoiding Darren's gaze, he headed for the exit, his steps quicker than usual.
Only when passing him did Kyle slow down for a split second — and lightly, but noticeably, bumped his shoulder.
As if by accident. But not really.
The movement came out before he had time to think it through.
He didn't turn back.
Just kept walking, eyes forward. Up the stairs, sharp steps, back to his room. The door shut a little harder than necessary.
He set the bottle down on the desk with a dull thud and almost tossed the bags of chips beside it before dropping into his chair.
He squeezed his eyes shut. His fingers curled into fists one by one, nails digging into his palms. A sharp exhale.
He inhaled slowly through his nose. Then exhaled through his mouth.
Again.
"…That Darren…"
The words, heavy with irritation, hung in the silence.
The room didn't respond.
Kyle reached for the bottle and took several long gulps. The cold slid down his throat, finally dulling the tension.
He set it down, put his headphones back on and returned to the screen.
The steady clatter of keys filled the space again.