Alex's alarm went off at exactly 6:15 a.m., like it did every morning. He rolled over, smirked at the ceiling, and counted to three before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The sun was just starting to creep in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of his bedroom. Half the city was still asleep, and for a moment, he liked the silence.
Shirtless, barefoot, he padded across the polished hardwood floor to the kitchen. The house was quiet—too quiet, really. The kind of quiet that made you notice everything: the faint hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the wall clock, the soft echo of his own footsteps.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, black. His parents wouldn't be back for another week—another business trip somewhere overseas—and he didn't expect them to check in. Not really. He'd gotten used to it. Their absence didn't bother him the way it should. Or maybe it did, and he just didn't let himself admit it.
Breakfast was quick, eaten at the island, staring out over the empty backyard. The pool glimmered faintly in the morning light, the perfectly manicured lawn stretching farther than most people could imagine. Everything looked perfect. Everything was controlled. Everything—but him.
Alex liked his routine. It grounded him. He ran twenty minutes on the treadmill, then showered, dressed, and double-checked his bag for school. He didn't need to. Everything was always the same, but habits were comforting. Predictable. Necessary.
School was different. Crowded. Chaotic. Loud. But there, Alex thrived. Outwardly, he was the version of himself everyone expected: confident, charming, effortless. Captain of the football team, magnet for attention, the guy who could make a room laugh with a glance. People saw him, noticed him, followed him. They wanted him. And he let them. Most of the time.
But at home—alone in the quiet rooms—he was just Alex. No one cheering, no one laughing. Just the sound of his own thoughts and the weight of space that made the house feel bigger. Sometimes he wandered through it, flipping lights on and off, testing the silence, reminding himself that he was still here. Still in control, still managing. Still… alone.
His parents' absence had its perks, of course. No curfews. No lectures. No one to micromanage his life or tell him what to do. But it also meant no one noticed when he stayed up too late, when he skipped meals, when the world felt just a little heavier than it should.
Alex liked observing people, noticing little details others missed. That was part of his charm, part of the reason he could read a room so well. He could tell when someone was nervous, unsure, pretending. Sometimes, he found himself noticing people he didn't intend to—someone quietly sitting in the front row, books stacked neatly, eyes flicking up at him just a little too often.
He shook his head, taking a sip of coffee. Focus, he told himself. School first. Everything else later. The rest of the house could wait. The silence could wait. The thoughts he didn't want to have could wait.
And yet, even as he left the house, locking the door behind him with a practiced click, he knew the quiet would follow him. It always did.