Chapter 8: "Fading into the Gray"

Ren’s world had lost all meaning. The once-muted tones that surrounded him had dissolved into a suffocating gray, a thick fog that swallowed everything whole. Days blurred together in a haze of monotony and exhaustion. He had stopped caring about school. What did it matter, anyway? The few classes he did attend were spent staring blankly at his desk, the lessons a distant hum he could no longer comprehend.

At first, he skipped a day here and there, telling himself he just needed a break. But then one day turned into two. Then three. Soon, entire weeks passed, and he hadn’t set foot in school at all. No one seemed to notice his absence. Not his teachers, who likely assumed he was just another quiet student blending into the background. Not his classmates, who had always seen him as invisible. And certainly not his mother.

Ren’s mother was a kind woman, but she had always been distant, wrapped up in her own world. She worked long hours, often coming home late, tired and distracted. There was a time, perhaps, when she might have noticed the change in him—when she might have asked why he was skipping meals, why his room had become a dark cave of clutter and discarded clothes. But those days were long gone. Now, her attention was elsewhere, consumed by the demands of life, leaving Ren to drift through his own existence unnoticed.

He spent most of his time in his room now, the curtains drawn tight, blocking out any trace of sunlight. The silence was overwhelming, a crushing weight that pressed down on him from all sides. Sometimes he would lie in bed for hours, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts spiraling into an abyss of nothingness. Other times, he would sit hunched over his notebook, the pages filled with dark, disjointed thoughts that even he struggled to make sense of.

The scribbles had grown more frantic, more desperate. Each word felt like an attempt to claw his way out of the suffocating darkness, but the more he wrote, the deeper he seemed to sink. The notebook had become a record of his unraveling, the once-therapeutic act of writing now a mirror reflecting the emptiness inside him.

I’m so tired. What’s the point of any of this?

He couldn’t remember the last time he had written anything hopeful, anything that suggested there was a way out of the pit he had fallen into. His world felt entirely gray now, a lifeless expanse that stretched out before him with no end in sight.

Ren had always been good at pretending, at putting on a mask that told the world he was fine. But now, even that small act of defiance felt impossible. He didn’t have the energy to keep up the charade, didn’t see the point in trying anymore. Why should he? No one was paying attention. No one cared.

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His mother still asked him about school sometimes, but her questions were half-hearted, more out of habit than genuine concern. She was tired, and Ren didn’t blame her. He had learned long ago not to expect much from anyone. The answers he gave were vague and mumbled—enough to avoid suspicion, but not enough to invite further inquiry. It wasn’t hard to hide when no one was really looking.

The only person who still seemed to notice him was Aoi, but even her presence felt more distant now. She continued to sit with him during lunch on the days he did manage to show up to school, but their conversations had changed. She still talked about Kaito sometimes, but the enthusiasm in her voice had waned. Now, she often seemed distracted, lost in her own thoughts.

There were moments when Ren wondered if she sensed something was wrong with him, but she never asked. Maybe she assumed he was just being quiet, as always. Maybe she didn’t want to pry. Or maybe she was too wrapped up in her own world to see how much he was slipping away. Either way, it didn’t matter. Even if she did notice, what would she say? What could anyone say?

On the rare days Ren left his room, he found the world outside felt foreign, disconnected. The vibrant chatter of classmates, the buzz of school life—it all seemed so far removed from the quiet chaos that consumed him. He felt like he was moving through a dream, a slow-motion version of reality that didn’t quite belong to him.

Each day, he would pass by faces he had seen countless times before, but they were nothing more than strangers now. The laughter, the conversations—they felt hollow, like an echo from another life, one he could no longer touch.

He didn’t even bother with excuses anymore. When he skipped school, he stayed home, lying in bed with the curtains drawn, letting the hours slip away unnoticed. No one called to check on him. No one came to his door. The days stretched on, unmarked by any change, the gray fog growing thicker around him with each passing hour.

At night, the darkness in his room felt like an extension of the emptiness in his chest. He would lie there, staring into the pitch-black, his thoughts spiraling into places he didn’t want to go. The sense of isolation was so profound it felt like it was choking him, filling his lungs with a weight he couldn’t shake.

His notebook had become a chronicle of his descent. The pages were full of scribbles and fragmented thoughts, words that made little sense even to him. He would write feverishly, as if putting the pain into words might somehow purge it from his soul. But the more he wrote, the heavier the burden became.

I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere.

The words echoed in his mind, a refrain that grew louder with each passing day. He no longer recognized the person he had once been—the boy who had sat silently beside Aoi, secretly cherishing the moments they shared. That boy felt like a distant memory, someone who had disappeared long ago, replaced by this hollow shell that wandered aimlessly through life.

One morning, as Ren lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he wondered how long it would take for anyone to notice if he disappeared completely. How many days would pass before someone asked where he had gone? Would anyone even care?

The thought lingered in his mind as the hours ticked by, the weight of it pressing down on him like a stone. He couldn’t see a way out, couldn’t imagine a future where things got better. The gray fog had consumed everything, and Ren was no longer sure he had the strength to fight it.

Maybe this is all there is.

He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the silence that surrounded him, his heart heavy with the weight of his own despair.