A small rubber ball fell from the top shelf and hit him on the head.
Kyle looked up from the pile of clothes in his lap and shot an annoyed glance first at the box on the shelf, then at the colorful ball that had bounced off his head and rolled under the desk.
Tomorrow was already his birthday.
If he was going to clean his room, he might as well do it properly — this kind of deep cleaning was supposed to happen at least once a year. Though judging by the piles of clothes on the floor and bed, the scattered notebooks, and old toys lying around, it was still hard to call whatever was happening 'cleaning'.
He slowly looked around the room and let out a heavy sigh. Then his eyes drifted back to the top shelf of the closet — to that old box. Kyle couldn't even remember what was inside anymore.
Probably time to find out.
Pushing the clothes off his lap, he stood up and stretched; his back cracked quietly.
Balancing on his toes, he pulled down the box — surprisingly heavy — nudged the same miserable pile of clothes aside with his foot, and set it down in the cleared space. Then he crouched in front of it and stared at the lid.
The box was cracked, dusty, faded in places. The cardboard corners had frayed into thin threads.
Under the layer of dust, Kyle didn't notice the nearly erased writing right away. Filling his lungs with air, he blew hard across the surface.
The dust lifted obediently, but the words were still almost impossible to make out.
His nose tickled. The tip twitched.
"Achoo..!!"
He sniffed and grimaced.
"Yeah… guess it's been a while since I cleaned this closet."
Rubbing at his watery eyes, Kyle leaned closer again. He carefully brushed the lid with the back of his hand.
A ray of sunlight slipping through the gap in the curtains caught the faint outlines of the letters.
Ky…'s B…x.
Next to the writing was a tiny drawing — though "drawing" might've been giving it too much credit.
A penguin? A fish? A dolphin?..
Kyle frowned and looked upward as if he could physically dig through his own brain for the answer.
…Oh.
His eyes widened slightly with sudden recognition.
A shark.
It was a shark. More specifically — a whale shark.
A fascinating creature: terrifying in its appearance, harmless in nature.
The largest fish in the world — and despite thousands of tiny teeth, it never used them to bite. Only to hold.
A smile appeared on Kyle's lips. A real one. Genuine. The kind that hadn't touched his face in a very long time. But it didn't last long. Soon the corners of his mouth slowly lowered again — even lower than before.
His gray-green eyes darkened, a shadow settling between his brows. Traces of an old grief flickered across his expression
When he was little, he used to love all kinds of fish. But sharks especially.
Those powerful, deadly, strangely graceful creatures had fascinated him from the very first moment he saw them.
He still remembered that morning clearly.
Sleepy and barely awake, he'd been sitting on the living room carpet way too close to the TV — close enough that it was probably ruining his eyesight.
One program on National Geographic faded into another, the wide screen dissolving into deep ultramarine shades before a huge toothy snout appeared right in the center.
At first, little Kyle had jerked back in fear. He'd nearly toppled over.
Then he looked closer — and froze in awe.
The narrator's calm voice spilled out scientific facts far beyond what a child his age could understand. But Kyle still pressed himself toward the screen.
His palms rested against the warm, faintly humming surface of the television while the tip of his nose nearly touched the shark's snout through the glass. Like he was trying to dissolve into the screen itself. To slip into that cold blue ocean beside the creature that had captivated him so completely.
Of course, back then he didn't understand how dangerous those beautiful animals could be.
"...Kyle!" a soft voice came from above him, warm with gentle concern. "Don't sit so close to the screen. It's bad for your eyes."
He was carefully pulled farther back.
"What are you watching?" the same voice asked a minute later.
Kyle excitedly pointed at the screen where the enormous fish swam past.
"Fishie!"
The woman laughed quietly and stroked his hair.
"Oh… so you like sharks?"
The little boy frowned in confusion at first — sharks? what were those? — but then understanding sparked across his face. He broke into a huge smile and nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah! I like 'em!"
After that, he constantly begged his parents to take him to the aquarium whenever possible. And when he finally got to go for the first time, he'd been happier than ever.
One visit hadn't been enough. They kept going every few months for years afterward… until—
Kyle abruptly shook his head, yanking himself out of the memory.
Finally, he opened the box.
Among the pile of old toys and childhood things, his eyes immediately caught on a familiar shape.
A plush shark.
Of course.
Its seams were ripped open in places, stuffing poking out through little holes; the fabric was dirty and worn smooth with age. The entire thing looked painfully loved.
Kyle carefully picked it up and simply stared at it for a while.
Back then it had seemed huge to him. Almost real.
Taking a deep breath, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the shark tightly against his chest. He wanted to wrap both arms around it like he used to, but now the toy was too small.
The inhale kept going until it turned into a held breath.
The plush body pressed tighter and tighter against him, as though he were trying to bring back the feeling of a warm closeness he'd lost long ago. Safe. Real.
A sharp exhale.
His grip loosened, and the shark fell onto his knees, its tail brushing against the edge of the box.
Kyle raised a hand to his face — to the eyes hidden behind his long bangs. The part of his appearance that irritated almost everyone in the family. The part that looked most like his mother.
Too many emotions mixed across his face at once, until his expression became nearly unreadable.
Kyle lowered his hands onto his knees and clenched his fists as his lips pressed into a thin line. He deliberately tensed every muscle in his body before forcing himself to let go again.
An old coping mechanism. One he'd learned a long time ago.
After blinking slowly a few times, he looked at the toy a little longer — the toy that had long since forgotten his love — then exhaled again.
And placed the shark back into the box. Closing the lid immediately.
Back onto the shelf. Into the farthest corner of the closet. Back into the depths of almost-forgotten memories.
Kyle looked at the box one more time, now shoved farther back than before.
"Mom…" he whispered. "I miss you."
Only with effort did he finally return to cleaning.
The clothes scattered around the room gradually turned into neatly folded stacks and made their way back into the closet. Some were hung up properly.
Kyle slowly let his gaze travel down the open closet. And when it reached the top shelf, it caught on the old box one last time.
The closet doors shut with a firm thud.
Then came the noise of the vacuum cleaner. The desk was cleared of cups and dust, scattered stationery returned to its proper places on the shelves. The room slowly settled into an unfamiliar kind of order.
Finally, Kyle stopped in the middle of the room with his arms crossed and let out a breath of relief.
It hadn't been this clean in a long time. And somehow… it also felt strangely empty.
Without the usual chaos scattered everywhere, the room looked almost bare. All those things had hidden parts of it — served as some kind of shield. And now that shield was gone.
Of course, they probably wouldn't even sit here tomorrow. Most likely they'd stay downstairs in the kitchen.
If it were only him and Megan, that would've been different.
But Darren would be there too.
And for some reason, at that thought, Kyle pictured him in this room with startling clarity. Just for a moment — but it was enough to remember the distinct feeling of his presence here.
And how strangely natural it had felt.
The room hadn't spat him out. And Kyle, apparently, hadn't either.
He dropped heavily onto the bed, finally letting himself do absolutely nothing.
But his unblinking gaze pierced the ceiling.
The crack above the closet — the one that looked like a bolt of lightning frozen in the middle of a stormy sky.
Another long minute passed.
Tomorrow, he would finally turn eighteen.