Chapter 40.5: Whispers Through the Window (Ryuga pov).
On the other side of town, morning didn't arrive softly-it punched its way through the cracked windowpane, slicing across Ryuga's eyes with a raw, unforgiving glare. The curtain-a torn T-shirt hung sideways-barely held it back. The scent of rust and mold mixed with stale smoke and something vaguely metallic. The apartment-if one could call it that-was a cracked cement box on the edge of collapse.
Ryuga sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, lacing up his scuffed sneakers. The soles had worn thin, and the right tongue was torn. His jacket, threadbare at the sleeves and missing a button, did little against the cold creeping through the walls.
He turned to look at his younger sister, curled tight under their blanket-a faded fleece with cartoon bears, now gray from years of washing. Her breathing was soft.
He left a slice of bread and half an orange beside her on a chipped plate.
"You eat it today," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Mmnh..." she murmured in her sleep, not waking.
Ryuga lingered a second longer. Then he stood and opened the door with a soft creak that still managed to sound loud in the silence.
Outside, the wind bit. His breath fogged the air as he walked past rusted railings and trash cans that overflowed despite never being emptied. The alleyways were familiar-a collage of busted bikes, old mattresses, and graffiti like hieroglyphs from the streets.
"Yo, Ryu!" someone called from the steps of a corner building.
It was Kai, hoodie up, cigarette dangling from his lips. "You headin' out already?"
"Yeah," Ryuga said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Ain't even light out. Y'all some kinda ghost, huh?"
Ryuga smirked faintly. "Maybe."
Kai chuckled, the sound more wheeze than laugh. "Hey, y'comin' down to the lot later? Jax bringin' speakers, said he got that new beat from Red-"
"Not today," Ryuga said, already walking.
Kai blinked. "Huh? Yo, you good, man? You been actin' real off lately."
Ryuga didn't answer.
"Aight... just sayin', if you start floatin' off into them clouds, you gon' hit the ground hard, bruh."
Ryuga kept walking.
His path to school took him through the streets no one put on maps. Past old men lighting cigarettes on broken stoops. Past junkies asleep beside grocery carts. Past dogs digging through trash, tails twitching with cold and hunger.
There was a busted vending machine on the corner-someone had spray-painted "HOPE IS A LUXURY" across it in black. The words always got stuck in Ryuga's mind.
He stepped into his school. It wasn't really a school-more a shelter with desks and a whiteboard that had gone yellow from age. The windows were cracked or gone entirely, with plastic sheeting flapping in the wind. Half the fluorescent lights flickered like haunted things.
The halls smelled like mop water and sweat.
"Ryuga," a boy muttered as he slumped into the back of the classroom, "you pullin' up to the court after?"
It was Taro, one of the few who didn't mess with Ryuga too much.
"Nah," Ryuga said, dropping into his seat. The chair creaked, wobbling like it might snap.
"Word? You always ballin' though."
"I got stuff."
Taro raised an eyebrow. "You mean her again?"
Ryuga didn't answer. He just stared at the broken window near the front of the class.
"I knew it," Taro said, shaking his head with a grin. "You got that 'I seen a ghost and she pretty' look. Boy, you in trouble."
From across the room, another voice chimed in-Mari, braids tied up, hoodie oversized. "Y'all talkin' 'bout that rich girl again?"
Ryuga looked away.
"Man, y'stupid," she said, laughing. "Gon' mess around, catch a case. You know them types don't mix wit' us."
"She ain't like that," Ryuga muttered.
Mari scoffed. "Oh, right. Lemme guess-she real, huh? Special. Whole different breed."
Taro laughed, slapping the desk. "He said she ain't like the rest! Shit, you in deep."
"Y'all shut up," Ryuga said, eyes still on the window. "Ain't even like that."
Mari grinned. "Uh-huh. Sure. You keep tellin' yourself that, Romeo."
Class technically started five minutes later, but the teacher didn't show up. Or maybe he did. No one cared. No one learned. Most just came for attendance credits and warmth.
Ryuga leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. A cobweb in the corner caught the light just right.
He didn't belong here anymore. Maybe he never did.
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At lunch, Ryuga sat on the rusted stairs out back, unwrapping his paper bag. Inside were two cold pieces of white bread, one side barely touched with jam. He chewed slowly, not really tasting it. Just keeping his body alive.
"Yo," a voice said, dropping down beside him.
It was Riku-tall, fast-talking, wore his hood even in summer.
"You went to her school, didn't you?"
Ryuga didn't answer.
"Don't lie. I saw you crossin' the gate. You slick, but not invisible."
"Mind your business."
Riku raised a brow, "Oh, so it is true."
"You're gonna get in trouble one day," Riku said.
"I already am."
Riku leaned back. "You know they got cameras, right? You get caught creepin' near them polished-ass gates, they gon' drag your ass off before you blink."
"I ain't scared."
"You should be."
Ryuga bit into the bread again, this time harder.
"You ever think maybe she don't wanna see you?"
"She looked," Ryuga said.
"Huh?"
"She looked out the window. She saw me. She paused."
Riku exhaled through his nose. "Boy, that ain't love. That's confusion."
"I didn't say it was love."
"You ain't gotta say it. It's written all over you like a damn signboard."
Ryuga didn't speak for a long time.
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Later that day, the sky had turned gray. The clouds hung low, threatening rain but never delivering. Ryuga sat on the rooftop of an abandoned building two streets over, crouched near the edge. The city stretched around him like a broken mosaic.
From here, he could see the high walls of her school.
He'd left when she turned. The second her eyes moved, he bolted. Like he always did. He shouldn't have followed. Shouldn't have looked.
But something about her was like gravity. Like she pulled -not just his eyes, but every part of him he didn't know how to bury.
He pressed his forehead to the cold concrete.
"Idiot," he muttered to himself.
Down on the street, he heard the start of a fight. Bottles broke. Someone yelled. But it was all background noise now.
All he could think about was her.
Her school uniform clean and pressed. Her steps quiet and measured. Her ribbon always perfect.
And how he'd never belong in her world.
Didn't matter how hard he stared.
There'd always be a window between them.
And he was always on the outside.