“Please, Shinsuke. It’s just one little delivery across the city. Do it for your father, okay?”

  Mom loomed over me as I sat slouched on the couch, gawking up at her.

  There I was at eleven in the evening on a Friday night, nestled comfortably in my pajamas, about to crack the seal on a brand-new chocolate pudding cup. Being tasked with anything—especially running halfway across the city—was the absolute last thing I wanted to hear at that moment. But that wasn’t about to stop my mother, of course.

  “He’s been out working all day and he’s exhausted,” mom continued. “I would do it myself, but I have to finish this painting by Sunday for my client. Please, just do it.”

  One could tell immediately by the paint splotches all over her apron, forehead, and cheeks that my mother was an artist, but it was the expression on her face that made it clear exactly what art Hina Watanabe was a master of: guilt tripping.

  The evening had been so quiet up to that point, too. But then the front door of the apartment opened, and in the doorway was my dad, wearing a weary, regretful expression and pressing a cardboard box between his forearm and his torso.

  If one were to describe my father, he’d likely be called hardworking, loving, encouraging… But if I were asked to describe him, I’d say the word that most befit the man sat at the table, rubbing his head with a sheepish, tired grin, it would have to be forgetful.

  In fact, it was a good thing that my dad was liked by so many people in the city. Otherwise, the man who had come to be playfully known as RuRu (how they got this nickname from Ryunosuke, I’ll never know) would be the most hated mail carrier in all of Valport. Maybe even in the whole province of Fabrea. Actually, make that the entire kingdom of Steylia. That, truly, is how often he had forgotten to deliver people’s mail.

  Lugging mail around the city was surely more than a hassle of a job, but I never understood how my father hadn’t been canned sooner over how many times he’d made similar mistakes. Hell, as his son, I’d have fired him myself a long time ago. Though, he and mom possessed a knack for socialization and a natural charm they neglected to pass down to me. He could talk his way out of the consequences of his clumsiness with frightening ease. I, on the other hand, had no such luck.

  Must be nice.

  “It rolled underneath my seat in the truck,” dad said, poking the brown box sitting on the dining table. “I didn’t see it until I got back to the post office. I’m so sorry…”

  My first instinct was to transform into a giant lizard and hiss as unpleasantly as I could at him. But since that wasn’t possible, I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose instead.

  I already hated being out any longer than I needed to be, but especially so late at night… Yeah, no thanks. Unfortunately, however, the look my mother gave me in response to my very apparent scowl said, “you don’t have a choice in this matter, worm.”

  I set the pudding cup aside and groaned. “Fine, I’ll do it. Let me go change first.”

  “Thank you, Shinsuke,” mom said.

  “Yes, thank you so much, son!” my father added.

  As if I had a choice.

  I grumbled all the way to my room where the bed across from my dresser mocked me with its inviting, maroon sheets, and thick, plentiful blankets. I’d have given anything to submit to its siren song then and there, but if I did that, my mother’s next painting would surely have been a portrait of me, depicting the unholy violence she would inflict upon me with her slipper.

  I tossed my pajamas on my bed and opened my standing dresser, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror hung on the back of the door. My long, dark hair couldn’t hide the utter disdain in my “demonic” eyes.

  Since birth, I’ve been cursed with prominent dark circles under my eyes—a trait mom told me I’d inherited from her grandfather.

  What a gift.

  My entire life, people had invented an assortment of nicknames to mock my appearance. Many of those names came and went, but the title “demon eyes” had recently caught on throughout the oh-so wonderful halls of St. Cirelia High School and seemed to be the one that would stick with me moving forward.

  It’s going to be real fun walking around this late at night with these eyes, I’m sure.

  I threw on a red t-shirt, black overshirt, black jeans, and sneakers, then headed back out to the living room. Some kind of commotion was happening on the television that had my parents utterly entranced.

  “All right,” I said, grabbing the box off the dining table. “I’m heading out now.”

  “Wait, come look at this!” mom urged.

  I joined my parents in front of the television. On the screen, an aerial shot filmed from a news airship tracked a fleet of police cars pursuing a vehicle in a high-speed chase. The scene was unfolding through the streets of Valport—streets I was about to traverse to make dad’s delivery. Evidently, two perpetrators had robbed the largest bank in the city and were now trying to make off with an obscene amount of cash.

  “Can you believe these guys?” mom growled. “They have some nerve doing something like this while the princess is visiting the city!”

  My eyes nearly rolled straight out of their sockets.

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  “Obsessed” is the kindest word I could use to describe my parents’ feelings towards the Steylian royal family. Not only did I not share their sentiment, but I also couldn’t understand it for the life of me.

  Honestly, who cares about any of that crap? Barring any major political situations, whatever that stuck up family did made no difference in our lives. At the end of the day, the three of us would remain crammed in a tiny apartment, struggling week to week financially while they lived it up in their oversized castle, acting holier than thou because they were born with the right surname.

  In any case, I didn’t care to stand there watching the imitation action movie playing out on the screen. I had yet to step out and I was already missing home.

  “As riveting as this is, I’m going to go get this over with so I can get back already.”

  Mom pried her gaze from the TV and said, “please be careful, those maniacs are going to get someone hurt out there!”

  “Take the subway just to be safe, okay, son?” dad contributed.

  “I was going to do that anyway.”

  Did he really think I was going to an address so far away entirely on foot? He didn’t even feel like taking his mail-mobile that far out so late at night and he thought I was going to hoof it? Not on your life, klutz.

  Mom sped ahead to the front door and opened it for me. “Good. Keep in touch with us so we know you’re okay.”

  “Will do,” I assured her and waved them both off.

  As soon as the door shut behind me, the door to the neighboring apartment slowly pulled open. A series of pale fingers gripped the doorframe, anchoring their owner in place. A mess of wavy black hair was the first thing to enter my crosshairs before a pair of equally dark eyes followed, slowly peeking around the threshold.

  “Let me guess, you were listening through the wall again?”

  “Maybe…” a soft, feminine voice replied.

  I took a step forward and gently grabbed hold of the girl’s wrist, pulling her out into the outdoor corridor with me. To the surprise of no one, the world’s worst pajama-clad spy was none other than my childhood friend and neighbor, Mizuki Wada.

  Her mop of waves danced when she stumbled out into the hall. “Really?” she whined.

  “Sorry, but I’m in a rush right now. What’s up, Mizuki?”

  She snickered and eyed the box squeezed inside my arm with her tired gaze. “I just had to see how big the delivery was this time. Not as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “Maybe not in size, but the distance is a real pain at this time of night.”

  “Dealing with people is a pain no matter what time it is.”

  “Isn’t that the truth.”

  Mizuki was the only person in the world who understood my attitude towards most things in life, especially the subject of people. People by and far are all one giant headache best avoided for the sake of one’s sanity. If anyone understood that fact, it was her.

  “Hm…” she observed the address on the shipping label. “Wow, that’s across the city.”

  “Yeah...”

  She leaned over the railing, gazing into the parking lot below and mused, “what if I toss it? Can’t we call it lost so you can just get some sleep instead?”

  “If we did that, mom would know somehow and send me over the railing next.”

  The image played in my mind a bit too vividly for my liking.

  “You’re probably right. She has eyes in the back of her head,” she chuckled. “Hey, before you go, there’s something I want to give you.”

  I raised a brow as she stepped back inside her apartment. She returned with something hidden behind her back.

  “Come on, eyes shut, Shinsuke.”

  I obeyed her command. The tapping of her slippers on the floor told me that she made her way behind me. I felt something unknown wrap around my neck, clasping shut with an audible click.

  “Okay, open them.”

  My eyes opened to find Mizuki holding her phone up to me in selfie mode like a makeshift mirror. On the screen, I noticed a black choker clinging to my neck. A little loop dangled slightly from the center of it, just in front of my throat.

  “What’s this?” I asked, giving the loop a flick.

  “The anniversary of our friendship is coming up soon,” she replied, twirling one of her waves on her finger. “I saw this when I was out with my dad and thought it suited a dog like you. Happy early anniversary.”

  “A dog like me?”

  She nudged the box under my arm and said, “yeah, a good little loyal delivery dog.”

  “Don’t make me send you over the railing…”

  “Quit barking and get going already~”

  “You were the one who… ah, never mind,” I playfully resigned. “Thanks for the choker, I love it.”

  “Of course you do, I chose it for you. Now, get a move on.”

  We shared a smile before I headed for the stairs. I heard her shout behind me to be careful due to the ongoing police chase and I acknowledged her warning with a thumbs up.

  And, with that, off into the night I went.

  ***

  The walk from my apartment building to the subway station was uneventful. And by that, I mean there’s no point in making a mental note of all the weird, seedy characters that hung out at that time, babbling random nonsense or trying to sell their scam products to me when I clearly had no interest.

  …

  Wait, did I just make a note of it, anyway?

  Gods damn it.

  After a mercifully short wait, the train arrived, and I boarded the car quickly. I seated myself in the furthest corner I could find and placed the box beside me in the hopes of keeping anyone from sitting next to me. Of course, some socially inept derelict sat next to the package anyway, immediately eyeballing it and then me. He pinched his chapped lips between pointy teeth and curved his brows in a concerned manner.

  Our gazes locked together for maximum awkwardness.

  I already knew what he must have been thinking.

  “It’s not a bomb. I promise.”

  He practically jumped off the chair and speed walked to the opposite side of the car.

  Demon eyes strikes again.

  It was a predictable outcome, but it worked in my favor. Trying with people was pointless, might as well play the part expected of me.

  Right?

  Right.

  I hadn’t always felt that way. No, it was something that crept up on me at some point.

  A memory in my mind, vivid, yet cloudy. I was maybe three or four years old, playing with some stupid toy and giggling like an idiot. Suddenly, my smile fades, and the toy slips from my hand. It falls to pieces on the floor, and in that moment, something hits me—a realization.

  Life isn’t fun, it never was, and it never will be.

  The toy in my hand, video games, a good book, a great meal… all those things were nothing more than distractions from the simple truth that life is a series of unfortunate events waiting to make us miserable time and time again.

  It was about the same time I had that epiphany that I met Mizuki. We were the same age and she had just moved in next door with her parents. She was different at that time, vibrant and energetic. I remember how awkward our playdates were. We’d sit in the middle of the floor, debating as I reluctantly played with her toys. I would try to tell her how awful life was, and she would protest. She couldn’t understand why I never smiled and would lecture me endlessly about how if I don’t use my smile, I’d lose it.

  Ironically, it wasn’t long before she lost hers.

  Not long after they had moved in next door, Mizuki’s mother walked out on her and her father. I’ll never forget the change in her demeanor the very next time I saw her. “You were right,” was the first thing she said to me, her voice devoid of any of the jubilance it had during our debates. From that day on, we grew closer through our shared disdain for life and other people.

  Looking back at those memories as I sat in the overcrowded train car, I felt more justified than ever in my belief that the best way to get through life was to minimize social interactions and avoid responsibility.

  Give me a pudding cup, a warm bed, and a quiet space and I’m all set.