As Roy entered the kitchen, the sunlight streaming through the curtains painted the room in a soft, golden glow. His mother stood at the stove, her back to him, flipping pancakes with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. The scent of syrup and freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a comforting aroma that should have settled the turmoil in Roy’s chest—but didn’t.

  "Morning," he mumbled, sliding into his usual chair. The table was already set, a neat plate waiting for him with a steaming stack of pancakes. His mother turned, her smile warm but tinged with concern.

  "Morning, hon. You look... tired. Did you sleep okay?" Her eyes searched his face, as if trying to read the thoughts he kept locked away.

  "Yeah," Roy lied, poking at the food with his fork. "Just stayed up late. Working on something."

  She nodded, though her gaze lingered. Roy knew she could tell he wasn’t being completely honest, but he also knew she wouldn’t push—not yet, anyway.

  As he nibbled at his breakfast, the silence stretched between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like there were words waiting to be said. Finally, his mother broke it.

  "Your dad and I have been talking," she began cautiously, setting down her coffee mug and folding her hands on the table. "About how you’ve been doing lately. And we’re... worried."

  Roy stiffened, his fork freezing mid-air. "I’m fine," he said quickly, too quickly.

  Her brow furrowed. "I know you say that, but, sweetheart, we see how hard it’s been for you. And it’s okay to not be fine. It’s okay to need help."

  Roy’s chest tightened. He shoved a piece of pancake into his mouth, chewing mechanically, avoiding her eyes.

  "I don’t need anything," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "I’m handling it."

  "You don’t have to handle it alone," his mother replied gently. "Dr. Takahashi mentioned at your last check-up that maybe it’s time to adjust your medication. You’ve been on the same dose for a while, and—"

  "I’m fine," Roy interrupted, louder this time. His chair scraped against the floor as he pushed back from the table. "I don’t need more pills, okay? I’m not... broken."

  The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. His mother flinched, but she didn’t back down.

  "You’re not broken, Roy," she said softly, standing and moving to his side. "But you’re hurting. And we just want to help you heal. That’s all the medication is—it’s help. Not a fix, not a cure. Just... support."

  Roy clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The storm in his chest threatened to spill over, but he bit it back, swallowing the lump in his throat. He couldn’t explain to her what he was feeling—the weight of memories that didn’t belong to this life, the scars that went deeper than skin.

  "I need to get ready for school," he muttered, brushing past her before she could say anything else.

  As he retreated to his room, the guilt followed him, clinging like a shadow. He knew his mother meant well, but how could she understand? How could anyone?

  Roy grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, forcing himself to take a deep breath. The conversation with his mother still weighed on him, her words replaying in his mind like an echo he couldn’t shake. He stepped out of his room, avoiding her gaze as he made his way to the front door.

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  “Roy,” she called softly from the kitchen, but he didn’t stop.

  “Gonna be late,” he said quickly, his voice clipped. Before she could respond, he opened the door and stepped outside, the cool morning air biting at his skin. The world outside was quiet, the neighborhood still waking up.

  Roy started walking down the driveway, his footsteps crunching against the gravel. The distant hum of cars on the main road filled the silence, and he focused on it, letting the steady rhythm drown out the noise in his head. His school was only a few blocks away, but the walk felt longer today, his legs heavy with each step.

  As he turned the corner onto the main street, he caught sight of his reflection in a shop window. The boy staring back at him looked ordinary enough—messy brown hair, a rumpled school uniform, a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. But Roy couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t belong in that reflection. The memories of other lives, other versions of himself, loomed just beneath the surface, threatening to unravel the fragile sense of normalcy he was trying to maintain.

  He shook his head, tearing his gaze away from the glass. “Just focus,” he muttered under his breath. “One step at a time.”

  The school came into view ahead, its gates already open with students trickling inside. Some were chatting in groups, laughter and conversation filling the air, while others walked alone, earbuds in, lost in their own worlds. Roy slipped through the crowd unnoticed, heading straight for his homeroom.

  The familiar buzz of fluorescent lights greeted him as he entered the classroom. He slid into his seat by the window, letting his bag drop to the floor with a dull thud. Outside, the sun was climbing higher, its rays glinting off the cars in the parking lot.

  Roy shut the door behind him and leaned against it, exhaling a shaky breath. The quiet of his room wrapped around him like a cocoon, offering a brief reprieve from the conversation downstairs. He glanced at the clock on his desk—7:45 AM. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d be late.

  He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder. His eyes flicked to the mirror on his dresser as he passed, catching his own reflection. Dark circles framed his eyes, and his usually sharp expression seemed dulled, worn. You’re not broken, he repeated to himself, but the words felt hollow, like trying to convince a mirror of something it couldn’t reflect.

  The front door creaked softly as Roy stepped out of the house, the morning air cool and crisp against his skin. The world outside seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside him. Birds chirped from the treetops, and the faint hum of car engines filled the distance.

  “Roy!”

  The familiar voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Keiran was waiting at the corner, a grin plastered across his face. He stood with his hands in his hoodie pockets, his usual messy hair slightly tamed today.

  “Hey,” Roy greeted, his voice steadier now. Seeing Keiran was like taking a deep breath after holding it too long.

  “Took you long enough. Thought you were gonna ditch me and go solo,” Keiran teased, falling into step beside him.

  “Right, because I’d totally abandon my favorite sidekick,” Roy shot back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

  “Sidekick? Man, please. If anything, you’re Robin, and I’m Batman. I mean, look at me—charming, handsome, obviously the main character.” Keiran gestured dramatically to himself.

  Roy snorted, the banter easing the weight on his chest. “You wish. You’ve got the charisma of a wet sponge.”

  “Wow, thanks for that. Love the confidence boost,” Keiran replied, clutching his chest like Roy had shot him.

  As they walked, the school loomed in the distance, its brick fa?ade bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun. The streets were alive with other students making their way to class, their chatter blending into a low, buzzing symphony.

  “You good, though?” Keiran asked suddenly, his tone more serious now.

  Roy glanced at him, surprised. Keiran was grinning as usual, but his eyes held a quiet concern.

  “Yeah,” Roy replied after a moment. “Just tired, you know? Same old stuff.”

  Keiran nodded, not pushing for more. That was the thing about him—he didn’t pry. He didn’t need to. He just... understood, even when Roy didn’t have the words.

  “Cool. Just remember, man, I’m here if you need to vent or whatever. But no sappy stuff. I draw the line at crying on my shoulder,” Keiran joked, lightening the mood again.

  “Noted,” Roy said with a small smile.

  They reached the school gates, the sound of the morning bell echoing through the courtyard. As they stepped inside, the noise of the day swallowed them—teachers calling out reminders, lockers slamming, friends reuniting after the weekend.

  But even in the chaos, Roy felt a little more grounded. Because no matter what, Keiran would always be there—in every life and every world.