A/N: Ahahaha, no one is ever going to read this because the chapter's are too short. I just don't care.
It's silent.
Too silent.
Every light in the house is on, but there is no noise. No television or radio. No branches scraping against a window. No bird-song from outside or drip of a leaking faucet.
Just silence.
Complete silence.
Ryou sits on the couch with his feet pulled up to his chest. A soft, white blanket is strewn over his shoulders, standing stark against his black pajamas but blending in with his hair. It is warm and adds a little bit of comfort to the bleak night.
A little bit.
Not much.
Never much.
There's too much silence.
The young boy's eyes wrinkle, mouth opening wide in a yawn. Panic laces through his chest when he cannot fight it back, and then he's shrugging the blanket off. His night shirt follows, both hitting the floor and landing in a pile.
Cold air hits Ryou's skin and he shudders, fighting off the urge to wrap his arms around himself. The cold is good, after all. It helps keep him awake.
Tonight? He needs all the help that he can get.
"I'm not tired." he tells himself, but his voice is weak and soft. So he says it again, stronger this time.
"I'm not tired."
Still too soft. Ryou doesn't believe himself. The urge to sleep fills his mind and exhaustion laces through his veins.
He tried again.
"I'm not tired."
Louder this time, and a hand comes up, curling into the soft locks of hair that lays across one shoulder. Fingers twine around the white strands and then he's pulling, pain pricking across his scalp at the action.
"I'm not tired."
But he is.
Ryou is so tired that it is no longer funny. Every fiber of his being aches for rest, but he doesn't want to give in. Not so soon after the last time, when slumber finally took him - and, oh God, even thinking about it sends his stomach twisting.
The feeling of nausea, at least, keeps him awake for a while longer.