Akaashi Keiji |13| Bokuaka (maybe..)

Akaashi perfectly fit the mold of the ideal son of the nineties. His life revolved around university halls, perfect grades, and the orderly routine at his parents' house. Outside, the world vibrated with denim jackets, cassette tapes, and noisy young people; inside, he preferred the silence of his own universe.

This self-imposed isolation led him to an obsessive fascination with horror. He devoured Stephen King novels and collected VHS tapes of psychological horror. He was obsessed with the atmosphere of fear, perhaps because it was the only thing that disrupted his methodical routine.

On Friday night, his parents went out to celebrate their anniversary, leaving him alone. For Akaashi, this was the perfect scenario. With the lights dimmed and the smell of freshly popped popcorn filling the living room, he prepared a marathon of classic ghost and possession movies. He settled on the sofa, ready to immerse himself in the fiction.

Suddenly, the sharp, strident ring of the landline phone broke the silence of the house. The sound startled him. He glanced at the wall clock: it was almost midnight. He walked slowly toward the plastic device hanging on the kitchen wall, the coiled cord swaying slightly.

He lifted the receiver, dragging along the echo of the static of the era.

—Hello, who's speaking?

He asked with practiced calm, straining his ears to decipher the heavy breathing that filtered through from the other end of the line.