BETWEEN WORLDS | Ryohei Arisu x Reader

May 3rd 2011

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the crack on my wall, tracing its jagged line with my eyes. The scribbled drawings from when I was younger, once full of life and color, had faded with time, much like everything else. I wasn't sure why I kept them there. Maybe it was the small part of me that still clung to the hope that the mess would somehow make sense. But everything—my thoughts, my life, my family—felt like a tangled mess, something I couldn't piece together no matter how hard I tried. And the cracks on my wall felt like they were a part of that broken puzzle. Something fractured, something irreparable.

The sound of the front door slamming shut broke the silence, sharp and jarring. My breath caught in my throat as I instinctively pulled my knees up to my chest. I didn't have to look to know who it was. I could hear the uneven, stumbling steps. It was my dad, again. He was home early, and I knew that meant trouble.

His voice roared through the house before I even heard his footsteps properly, the sound of him yelling carrying from the kitchen. I couldn't make out the words, but I didn't need to. I already knew what was coming—blame, anger, accusations. He was mad, and it was always me who felt the brunt of it. My name, once spoken with love, was now nothing more than a weapon, a way for him to channel his frustration.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the familiar noise, but it seeped through. His voice—slurred and harsh—crawled under my skin like an itch I couldn't scratch. I could hear him storming around, throwing things, getting louder. The more I tried to ignore it, the worse it got. I was used to it, but that didn't make it any easier. It was like being in the eye of a storm, where you knew what was coming, but you couldn't stop it.

I grabbed my headphones off the bed and shoved them in, cranking the volume until the music was a chaotic blur of noise, hoping it would drown everything else out. But it didn't work. The rhythm of the music was just a distraction, something to keep my mind from unraveling completely. The words didn't block out the suffocating feeling in my chest, the thoughts of guilt, like I was the one responsible for everything that went wrong in this house.

I hugged my knees tightly to my chest, trying to force myself to breathe. The tears came, even though I tried to stop them. The music pulsed in my ears, but it didn't help. It never did. I was trapped in this cycle of pain, unable to escape the reality of my life. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't outrun it.

The shouting continued, and then it stopped—suddenly, like a switch had been flipped. The silence that followed was just as unbearable, as if the anger had left a vacuum in the air. I stayed there, curled up on the bed, eyes wide open, unable to sleep. I knew I wouldn't sleep. I never could. The silence was deafening, and the weight of everything sat heavy on my chest.

Eventually, the sky began to lighten, signaling the start of a new day. I didn't want to be here anymore. I didn't want to deal with another day in that house, pretending that everything was okay when it was anything but. I grabbed my backpack, not bothering to make myself breakfast. It wasn't like anyone would notice. My dad was still passed out on the couch, and my mom... well, my mom never really noticed me. I wasn't even sure she knew I existed anymore.

I stepped outside into the cold morning air, letting it bite at my skin. The walk to school felt like it stretched on forever, each step heavier than the last. The world around me seemed so much brighter than my life, like everyone else was living in color while I was stuck in grayscale. The usual sting of being alone gnawed at me, but I kept my head down and walked faster, eager to get to school, where the reality was different. Here, it wasn't about yelling or broken things; it was about whispers and stares.

As I reached the school gates, I felt it—the familiar sense of being out of place. The kids in the hallway barely glanced at me as I passed, their eyes either focused ahead or locked in their own worlds. It wasn't that they hated me, but it was clear I didn't belong with them. I wasn't one of the popular kids, and I wasn't exactly invisible either. I was the kid everyone noticed, but no one bothered to know.

The bell rang, signaling the start of first period. I hurried to my classroom, trying to avoid the other students as I slipped into the seat at the back. Class 2-1 was always a battleground for me—too many eyes, too many whispers, and never enough space to breathe. English was first, and it was my least favorite. Not because I didn't enjoy the subject, but because I could never escape the feeling of being watched, judged for every little mistake.

"Y/N, can you read the next paragraph?" The teacher's voice cut through the silence like a knife. My heart dropped to my stomach.

I froze, the words on the page blurring together. I could feel the eyes of my classmates on me, their judgment sinking into my skin. I fumbled with the book, flipping through pages that suddenly felt too heavy.

"Um..." I said, barely above a whisper.

A voice from the front row snickered. "Hurry up, we don't have all day."

Someone else piped up. "Yeah, it's just reading. What's taking so long?"

The teacher's gaze was heavy on me. I could feel the pressure building, the heat rising to my face. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears as I forced the words out. I stumbled over every sentence, and by the time I finished, I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

At lunch, I didn't sit with anyone. I never did. The cafeteria was full of people laughing, talking, joking around—but I was always on the outside, watching from a distance. I took a seat at the furthest table, pulling my tray close and picking at my sandwich. My stomach twisted, but I didn't have an appetite. The murmurs, the pointed glances, and the occasional snicker were enough to make me want to disappear.

"Do you see her hair? It looks like she hasn't brushed it in weeks," one of the girls whispered, her voice loud enough for me to hear.

I flinched, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear in an attempt to hide it. The whispers continued, each one digging deeper into my skin.

"She's so weird," someone else said, and I could feel the weight of the words hanging in the air.

I tried to ignore it, but it was impossible. No matter how hard I tried, the words always found a way to stick to me, like sticky notes that wouldn't peel off. My heart ached, and I lowered my head, wishing I could shrink and disappear.

Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, the chair across from me scraped loudly, and someone slid into the seat. Haeru.

Her smile was the only thing I needed to see. She didn't look at me like I was some weird outcast. Haeru had always been there, through thick and thin, through the bullies, the judgment, and the loneliness. We'd been inseparable since we were little, our mothers best friends who planned our births together. It felt like we were meant to be sisters.

"Ignore them," Haeru said quietly, her voice firm as she pushed her fries toward me. "They don't know you like I do."

I finally managed to smile, the tightness in my chest loosening just a little. Haeru didn't care that I was different. She didn't care that I wasn't like everyone else. She was my constant, the one person who made the world seem a little less lonely.

"We're freaks together, right?" I said, my voice steadier than it had been all day.

Haeru laughed softly. "Freaks together," she agreed.

And in that moment, everything else faded. The whispers, the stares, the pain—they all seemed so far away. We didn't need anyone else. We had each other. And for once, that was enough.