It's those lonelier nights that grab him.
It's in those lonelier nights that he finds himself slowly immersed into a chilling state of nothing. When he looks up and he can only see black.
Well, he had expected that all along. From the minute the door had slammed behind them.
His parents had left for the night - "business," they had said, but he had a feeling that was a load of crap - and he decided to spend his night like he usually did when he was alone in that overly-large house that his father insisted on keeping.
He'd dig out his laptop from underneath his bed, grab his MP3 player and his cell phone, and just land himself in that comfortable chair in the corner of the sitting room, farthest from the door and even further from the light switch. The blinds on the windows were still up so that he could still see the colors of the horizon melt into each other.
It's not as if he pays attention to that, though.
He sets his phone on silent and places it on the arm of the chair next to him. He stuffs the player in his pocket, stuffs the ear buds in and sets the music on low.
And then he just immerses himself into the world of the Internet. It's not as if he's particularly interested in television anymore. Hell, he'd had quite enough of television for one lifetime.
It's not like he spends his time doing something that was actually worthwhile. Sure, he could be doing his homework, but that wouldn't be much fun, would it? So he just surfs the Internet like normal teenagers would, clicking random links here and there, reading things, looking at things, and he never once notices the sun dipping below the horizon. As the room starts to darken and it's becoming harder and harder to discern shapes, he finds no urge to go flick the light switch.
The light from his screen becomes blinding, almost, but even that, he doesn't notice. It's in the slight pause that comes from the player shuffling songs that he looks up from the computer resting on his lap to scan the room.
Black. That's it. Black.
He isn't surprised. He never is, when it comes to nights like these, when he's home alone and it's become dark without him noticing. He turns the computer around in his lap to see if that will help illuminate things better, but that just aids in bathing the room in an eerie artificial glow.
So he swivels it back around again and squints, trying for shapes. The thing on the ceiling that's moving in a circle; that must be the ceiling fan. That one glint of white light on the other side of the room must be the reflection of the computer battery light in the mirror of his mother's curio cabinet. He can make out the bulky form of the other chair, too.
And that's basically it.
He looks back at his computer and doesn't spare it another thought. It's not as if he was in mortal danger just because it was dark.
That kind of thing was for little kids.
And so what if that blue-purple card is resting quietly beneath his cell phone. It's not as if he really needs it.
It's just a comfort.
And it's not like the murderer prowling around the city streets would come crashing through his window at this hour. What would that kind of person want with him, anyway?
He wasn't a somebody.
Parents always told you that you end up being more like your friends after spending time with them.
That had never rung true for him.
So he continue to tap, tap, tap away at his computer, the walls of his sitting room seem to clamp comfortable around him. It's not so bad, at first, until the artificial glow starts to make him dizzy.
So he closes the lid.
And the demons come to play.
And he's not scared.
No, he never was from the beginning.
They're nothing.
Really.
Even as he grabs the card under his cell phone, he's not scared.
Because none of this could be happening.
He's just tired.
And alone.
And most importantly, in the dark.
So he's seeing monsters.
And he's feeling those walls close in on him.
And he's hearing shrieks of joy from the children down the street with the glow sticks and the firecrackers that their parents had bought them at their birthday party that day.
And he feels something crawl up his arm.
He swats at it.
And a dead spider falls to the floor.
And that light switch suddenly looks mighty appealing.
But he's glued to where he is.
Because moving meant letting his guard down.
And letting his guard down meant utter demise.
Because you never wanted to be groping around in the dark when you didn't know what was around you.
"Hey, Souji?"
He'd grabbed the cell phone before he'd even let himself breathe again. He'd dialed the numbers he knew so well mechanically. He'd put it to his ear and anxiously listened to it ring.
And hearing the groggy answer at the end had been enough.
"Sorry," Yosuke chuckles apologetically, "I know it's late and all."
Souji yawns on the other side. "Hey, it's fine. What's up?"
"Nothing. My parents went to some party or banquet or something. Left me alone here."
He can lift his arms.
"Again? Didn't this happen two weeks ago?"
He lifts his back off the chair.
"I know! I'm starting to get suspicious of it, too."
He shuffles his feet.
"Yeah... Doujima-san had to work late, so I had to put Nanako-chan to bed."
He braces his legs.
"Again, huh. That's like, the third time this week."
He grabs the card as a quick afterthought, and is instantly surrounded by white noise.
"I know. I feel so bad for her."
"At least her dad's working though. I have no idea where the hell my parents are."
"True. Feeling lonely?" Souji chuckles.
"Hah!" He is, though.
And he gets to his feet.
"Heh. Oh, hey, did you get number seven on the homework?"
His feet shuffle slowly, carefully, across the wood floor.
"Nah, I get stuck pretty bad on that one. Morooka's crazy, isn't he?"
He grips the sleeves of his shirt tightly as he slowly makes his progress.
"Yeah, a little. I don't understand how he can throw college-level material at us and get away with it."
He's more than halfway there.
"I know, shouldn't we be getting that kind of stuff next year, when we're actually looking into colleges?"
He gropes around on the wall for a minute.
"That would make sense. But hey, the more preparation, the better."
"Especially in our case, how are we supposed to do all that?"
"What do you mean?"
"C'mon, dude, you know! With the Midnight Channel and everything?"
"Oh." A chuckle. "Right."
"Man, you can be pretty air-headed sometimes."
"I feel like the whole Midnight Channel thing will come to a close quietly though."
"Why's that?"
"Well, just call it a hunch."
"I don't believe you."
"I never asked you to."
"Aren't friends supposed to be able to trust each other?"
"But best friends know where boundaries lie."
And the room is bathed in light.
"Hey, you know what? Tomorrow's Sunday, so... wake up Nanako-chan. Bring her down to Samegawa, we can play with the fireflies."
He finally notices the light drizzle tapping at his windows.
"...I bet she'd like that. See you in ten minutes."
PHONE CALL ENDED (0:00 MIDNIGHT)