I wake up to the same gray light filtering through the curtains, just like every other day. The clock on the nightstand blinks 5:30 AM, and I don't need to check it again. My body knows the drill. It's not that I want to wake up, but I've learned that staying in bed only makes things worse. The memories linger in the silence, and I can't afford to let them drown me. So, I push myself out of bed. Slowly, as always. My body feels heavy, but that's nothing new. It's easier to carry this weight than to let it crush me.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I run a hand over my face. There's always a slight ache in my muscles, a reminder of the tension that's never quite left. But it's manageable. I've learned how to deal with it. The emotional pain, though? That one never really goes away. But I buried it long ago. It's buried deep, under layers of numbness. I'm not about to let it resurface now.

I stand up and stretch, feeling my back crack with the effort. It hurts, but it's familiar. Pain is something I understand. It's easier than silence, easier than the chaos in my head. I head straight for the kitchenette, my movements automatic. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and down it in one go, then peel a banana, eating it quickly. No time to waste.

In the bathroom, the face staring back at me in the mirror doesn't seem like mine anymore. It's strange, how you can grow older, but still feel so detached from who you were. My eyes are cold—always have been, always will be. There's no trace of the boy I used to be. There's no trace of the hope, the warmth. It's all gone now. I don't need to waste time staring at it. I wash my face, then head back to the closet for my workout gear. A black shirt, shorts, nothing flashy. Just something to get the job done. That's all I need.

Lacing up my sneakers, I step outside. The air is still crisp, and the streets are quiet. It's the best time to be out here—before the world wakes up and starts demanding things from me. I don't want to think about anyone else, not right now. Not today. Out here, it's just me, the pavement, and the rhythm of my own footsteps. No one can touch me here. No one can ask for anything from me.

I begin jogging, setting a steady pace. The burn in my legs feels good. It's almost like a reminder that I'm still alive, that I'm still capable of doing something. The pace picks up as I run through the park, passing the empty benches and the swings that sway in the morning breeze. I don't need to think about those things. The park, the people, it all feels like a different world—one I've long since stepped out of.

As I push myself further into the wooded area, my breath quickens. The air feels cooler here, the trees blocking the sun. I run harder, faster, trying to outrun everything else. The physical exhaustion is easier to handle than the mental kind. It's an escape, a way to not think. When I'm running, I don't have to remember everything that's wrong with me. I don't have to think about the people who turned away, the ones who hurt me, the ones who will never understand. I just focus on the next step, the next breath.

By the time I'm done, my chest is heaving, and sweat drips down my face. The pain feels sharp, but it's the good kind. It's the kind that reminds me I'm alive, that I'm not completely numb. I stand still for a moment, hands resting on my knees, catching my breath. The sky above is starting to turn pink and orange with the sunrise. It's the same sky, the same world, but it all feels so distant.

I straighten up and move toward the open area near the park, where I start my light exercises. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Stretching. Nothing complicated. Just the basics. My body aches, but I push through it. I can't stop now. I won't. If I stop, then the world starts to catch up, and I can't let that happen. I don't let myself slow down, not for a second. The exhaustion is manageable, but I can't afford to let it overwhelm me. Not today. Not ever.

When I finish, I wipe the sweat from my forehead and take one last look at the sky. The sun is fully up now, the city beginning to stir. It's just another day. Another day I'll push through, just like the last one. Another day I'll keep pretending that I'm fine, that I'm okay. The world doesn't care if I'm okay. No one cares. I don't expect them to.

I turn and jog back toward my apartment, the familiar ache in my legs a small price to pay. No one is waiting for me, but that's fine. It's better this way. The world is quieter when you don't expect anything from it. And in the silence, I keep moving forward.

*Akihiko's features*

Akihiko is a tall, lean young man with sharp, angular features that give him a striking, almost sculpted appearance. Standing at around 6 feet, his athletic build is the result of his daily routines, though his muscles are defined rather than bulky. Although his clothes often hide it, he has a very well-balanced and proportionate physique. His dark, nearly black eyes are his most captivating feature—cold, piercing, and distant, they seem to look through people, reflecting a depth of sorrow, anger, and resignation. His messy black hair falls just above his eyebrows and the nape of his neck, adding to his disheveled, indifferent appearance. His fair skin, almost porcelain in hue, is smooth, though occasionally marked by the faint signs of exhaustion or the remnants of past scars. While his overall look is captivating, it carries an air of detachment, an impenetrable barrier that keeps others at a distance, much like the emotions he buries deep within.

Thank you for reading this far hope you enjoyed it.