A boy who doesn’t know how to ask for help

The sound of birds outside my window was way too cheerful for how I felt.
I cracked one eye open and instantly regretted it—the sunlight stabbed at my face like it had a personal vendetta.
“Haruto! Breakfast is ready!”
Grandma’s voice floated from the kitchen, warm and gentle. Too gentle.
I groaned, rolling over and burying my face in the pillow. Five more minutes… just five more…
The door slammed open.
“Ew.”
My little sister—middle child of the family hierarchy, certified agent of chaos—stood there with her arms crossed.
“You smell like you fought a pillow and lost.”
I peeked at her through my messy hair.“Good morning to you too, Aoi.”
She wrinkled her nose, marched straight to the window, and yanked it open. Cold air rushed in like an ambush.
“Up. Now. You skipped school twice this week. Do you want Grandma to start crying again?”
I sat up, hair sticking in every direction. “I told you, I was sick.”
“Liar. You just played video games until 3 a.m.”
She wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t have to say it like that.



I dragged myself downstairs, where the smell of miso soup and grilled fish greeted me.
Grandma was at the stove, her hands steady but slower than I remembered.
Once, she had been unstoppable. The kind of woman who could carry bags heavier than me and still scold me for not eating enough vegetables.
Now she looked… fragile.
“Morning, Haruto,” she said softly, not turning around. “You slept late again.”
I muttered something that was supposed to be “good morning,” but it came out like a sigh.
For a second, guilt pricked me. Then I buried it deep.



“Me.”
The front door creaked open. My older brother, Ren, stepped in, still in his work uniform. He dropped his bag with a tired thud and stretched.
“You look like you got hit by a truck,” I said.
“Thanks for the compliment,” Ren muttered, half-smiling.
Ren used to be my hero. Back when he played basketball, had a ton of friends, even a girlfriend.
But after she broke his heart, something in him… shut down.
He barely talks to anyone now. Comes home from work, eats, sleeps, repeats.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m turning into him.



While Grandma fussed over Ren’s breakfast, my mind drifted to a memory I hated but couldn’t erase.
A younger version of me, standing in front of a mirror, sweating buckets from a late-night workout.
I had spent an entire month training, jogging, cutting out junk food—just to lose weight.
Just to look “better.”
Not for me.
For her.
Back then, she smiled when she noticed. Told me I looked “different.” Told me I “smelled nice.”
And I thought that meant something.
I really thought that meant something.



Now I sat at the table, staring at the bowl of rice in front of me.
My sister Aoi was humming some pop song. Ren was scrolling his phone. Grandma’s hands trembled slightly as she poured tea.
I smiled, but it felt hollow.
“I give advice to everyone,” I whispered to myself, the words barely audible.
“…But who’s supposed to give advice to me?”
The rice tasted like nothing.