The Quiet Of The Night

It’s 1 AM. The darkness of the night has settled in, wrapping the room in a quiet, almost suffocating stillness. The only light is the faint glow from Itsuki's phone screen, the soft blue flickering across his face as he lies on his bed, scrolling mindlessly. He should be asleep by now—college tomorrow, after all. But the scroll never stops. The memes. The videos. It’s like something invisible pulls him deeper into the screen, dragging his attention away from the rest of the world.

The hours blur together, one post after another, each more pointless than the last. But it's easier this way. It keeps him occupied. It keeps him from thinking.His thumb hovers over the screen, barely noticing the passing time, but around 2 AM, something shifts. He thinks about putting the phone down—about finally going to sleep. But then, his eyes catch on something.

A post. A video. Something that draws him in like a magnet. His fingers freeze for a second, heart beating a little faster, as if the attraction was more than just the screen. He doesn’t even realize it—how his breath catches or how he leans closer. But he feels it. It’s a familiar pull. One he’s ignored for a long time, but never really escaped.

The cute voice of a girl, her pretty face, the way her body moves under carefully chosen, suggestive clothing—it’s all designed to pull someone in. A facade, really. One crafted to trap young guys like him. And yet, Itsuki doesn’t see it that way. Not right now. Not when he’s so deeply caught up in it.

He doesn’t question it anymore. Hasn’t in a long time.Not what he’s doing.

Not what he’s thinking.

Not why he’s even doing it.

His mind doesn’t go there. It only moves toward one thing... Desire...

That quiet, gnawing hunger that’s less about lust and more about everything else. The loneliness. The weight on his shoulders. The silence that fills his chest when no one’s around.This is how he copes. This is how he escapes.

And tonight, like so many other nights before, he’s stopped caring about the difference.Ten minutes had passed since he found himself in this mess. Now, as he stared blankly at the screen, the haze of his arousal began to lift. Reality came crashing down, like a weight pressing on his chest. His mind, foggy and disturbed, wondered one thing: What have I done?

But it was too late now. The words felt hollow, like a distant echo that held no real meaning. He felt disgusting inside—like there was something rotten under his skin. And yet... Where was this disgust before?

Why hadn’t it hit him until now?What was there left to regret?He’d already messed up. Too far gone.

The voices spiraled in his head, relentless, turning in circles. His stomach churned, but he didn’t know how to make it stop.

He pushed himself off the bed, his chest tight, his head spinning like the room was swaying beneath him. His hands felt... dirty, like they carried something that would never wash off.

In a haze, he stumbled to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror caught him off guard. His eyes were tired, his face pale. He barely recognized himself, but the thought didn’t stick. Is this even me anymore?

He didn’t have the energy to care. He only saw the reflection staring back at him, and all he could feel was a sinking pit in his stomach.

Was he too far gone to fix it?

And just like that another night passes...

guilt? improvement? self-reflection?

None of that even crosses his mind for more than few, mere minutes and then they’re disposed like garbage.

It’s morning now and he’s still sleepy, well that’s what happens when you waste your night, he thinks to himself. Nothing more than that but he still wakes up as it’s about to be time to leave for college. Washes his face and fixes his hair a little, not that he really cares about how he really looks.

His quiet demeanor is always present as he quietly does his breakfast and leaves his siblings to their school and goes to college, head down, he’s not really interested in what’s going around him. Walks all the way to his class and sits at the end of the class with no people to really call friends.

The only people that talk to him are those, that are similar to his level but also not... because they’re people that have kept themselves on the wrong path of life by choice and are happy about it and show it off as something normal...

One of the guys makes a crude remark about a good-looking girl in the class. Itsuki hears it, half-listens, gives a slight smile out of habit—because that’s easier than confronting anything.But inside, it feels... off.

“I can’t disrespect someone in front of me like that,” he mumbles under his breath.No one hears it. Not that they’d care.

He shifts in his seat and lowers his head onto his arms, eyes closed, waiting for the class to start.His mind drifts—half-asleep, half-awake.

There’s always this haze, like his brain is fogged up, stuck somewhere between tired and numb.

And just like that, the teacher walks in and starts the lecture.Itsuki’s there physically, but mentally? Completely elsewhere.Everything the teacher says flows in one ear and right out the other. He’s staring at the board, but not really seeing it.

That girl from last night flashes in his mind again.The way she looked. The way she moved. That voice. Those clothes. That feeling.

It shouldn't still be there...

But it is...His mind slips again—an image, a thought, a fantasy he knows he shouldn’t be having, especially here, but it's like muscle memory now.

So he sinks into it... just a little.“She was so pretty, damn... imagine if I—”He stops himself.

The moment feels loud in his head, even though everything outside is quiet.He shifts in his seat. Breathes in. Looks down at his notebook filled with nothing but an empty page.

He taps his pen against it. Once. Twice.

His leg starts to bounce.

“Snap out of it…” he whispers, barely audible.

But it’s not that easy.

It never is.