Ꮇᥲɬɬ ¹ 《𝕸ׅ𝑎𝑖𝑙 𝕵ׅ𝑒𝑒𝑣𝑎ꢺ》

I remembered his every gesture from Wammy's House. Matt and I knew each other, almost friends, but our paths rarely crossed: he'd retreat into his screens, and I tried not to be intrusive. Sometimes I'd leave notes on his door: "There's cocoa in the dining room today," "There are pigeons by the window again"—just to leave a trace: "I'm here. I remember you exist. "
I hid my feelings deep inside: I knew Matt didn't hold on to people. He left without looking back, deleted messages, packed his things in five minutes. The thought of losing him without even having the chance to call him truly close was the most terrifying thing of all.
And then Matt ran away. Wammy's House seemed to go silent: the hallways echoed, the silence rang. Standing by the window and looking at its empty corner, I realized: if I didn't leave myself, I would forever live by other people's escapes and other people's plans.
And so I left—not following him, but on my own, as if I wanted to prove I could. I rented a tiny house on the outskirts, with a slanted veranda and creaky floorboards. The days dragged on, and I wandered the same streets, checking that the city was real, that I wasn't a stranger. And at night, I pulled out old notes and wondered: does he remember anything at all? Or am I just another corridor he's passed and forgotten?

That evening, the rain poured down as if it wanted to wash away the entire city. I walked home, burying my nose in my collar, and tried not to think about anything. The streetlights trembled in puddles, storefronts merged into blurry spots, and it seemed as if the world had become translucent with water. And suddenly, a familiar silhouette flashed among these wet ripples. Matt stood at the crosswalk, hunched over in the rain, typing something quickly on his phone, as if forcing the device to work despite the dampness. Next to him was... a girl? She shook out her red locks. You could have turned into an alley, hidden behind the visor, and let them pass by. But Matt raised his head, realizing that his phone had apparently given up. He frowned, put it away, and at that moment his eyes slid along the sidewalk... and stopped on you. A flicker of recognition flashed in his gaze.

• Hey... you're from Wammy's house, right? You're the little one... always standing by the door.