Orlet

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“Ryuu-ah, come eat.”

His mother’s voice came from the hallway. Firm, not yelling. Tired. Always tired lately.

“I’ll eat later,” he muttered.

No footsteps. No response. Just the quiet sound of her placing the tray down outside his door.

He waited for a full minute before unlocking it. The food was still warm—some rice, kimchi, egg roll, and seaweed soup. Nothing fancy. Same as always.

He brought it inside, closed the door, and sat on the floor. No table. No ceremony. His phone screen lit up next to him, showing nothing but the home screen. No notifications. Just the time: 1:13 AM.

The window was shut, blinds drawn, and a thick hoodie hung from the corner. It smelled musty. The room smelled like him. Sweat. Ointments. And something stale he didn’t even notice anymore.

His laptop was open on his bed, stuck on some paused webtoon. He hadn’t clicked next in hours.

The bathroom mirror was the only one he hadn’t covered. Just small and cracked near the edge. He looked at himself in it.

The skin on his chin had started peeling again—red and uneven like dried candle wax. His cheeks were swollen in patches. His forehead was oily and cracked at the same time. His lips looked bruised.

He touched the side of his face and pulled his hand away when it stung.

Disgusting.

It wasn’t just acne. It wasn’t even just eczema. The doctors called it chronic seborrheic dermatitis with bacterial overlay. Basically, his skin never healed. He looked sick all the time. Like a zombie halfway through turning.

He didn’t go out anymore.

Last time was three weeks ago—quick run to the convenience store at midnight. Hoodie up. Mask tight. But the cashier still glanced at his face for half a second too long. That twitch in her expression. That slight shift backward.

He’d seen it before.

“You need sunlight,” his dad said last week. “You need real air.”

“I’m fine here,” Ryuu replied, not looking up from his phone.

His dad stood at the door for a while, probably wanting to say more, then left.

Ryuu wasn’t always like this.

He used to take photos with friends at karaoke rooms. Used to play League at cafés until 3 AM. Used to text fast, laugh easy, walk outside without thinking twice.

Now he barely looked in the mirror.

Not because he hated himself. That would’ve been easier. No, it was because he didn’t even feel like a person anymore.

His phone vibrated suddenly.

Spam. Another skincare ad.

He tossed it aside.

He opened YouTube and scrolled. Girls dancing. Perfect skin. Vlogs of Seoul cafés with warm filter overlays. Study-with-me livestreams. Everything soft, aesthetic, curated.

Not him.

He clicked off.

Opened Naver. Typed in:
“Why do people disappear into their rooms?”

No answers that helped.

He lay back on the floor and closed his eyes.

“I wish I was someone else,” he whispered.

Not loudly. Not like a prayer. Just like… a thought that had nowhere to go.

Outside, a bus passed down the street. A dog barked once, then stopped.

Inside his room, everything stayed still.

And Ryuu stayed there. Breathing. Waiting for nothing.