"Shadows in the Dark"

The streets were always alive at night, but for Kageyama, they were his sanctuary. He wandered aimlessly, his eyes scanning the crowded alleys as he breathed in the familiar scent of smoke and desperation. The city never slept, and neither did his demons. It had been months since he'd last spoken, the words stuck in his throat like a perpetual scream. His selective mutism had become a shield, a defense mechanism that protected him from the world. As he walked, the flickering neon lights of the bars and clubs cast an eerie glow on his face. People passed by, some glancing at him with curiosity, others with suspicion. Kageyama didn't notice; he was too busy navigating the labyrinth of his own mind. The streets were a blur, but the pain was always sharp. He stopped at a small, rundown shop, the sign creaking in the wind: "Midnight Miracles." The proprietor, a gruff but kind-hearted man named Ryota, greeted him with a nod. Kageyama exchanged a few gestures, and Ryota handed him a small package. The contents were familiar – a temporary escape from the crushing anxiety and depression that had become his constant companions. Back in his small apartment, Kageyama lit a cigarette, the flame casting a brief, golden light on his face. He took a hit, feeling the familiar buzz as the chemicals coursed through his veins. The room began to spin, and he lay down on the couch, letting the darkness envelop him. For a few fleeting moments, the pain receded, and he was numb. But as the high wore off, the shadows crept back in, their presence suffocating. Kageyama's mind began to unravel, threads of thoughts snapping like brittle twigs. He thought of his past, of the friends he'd lost, of the family that had given up on him. The tears he couldn't cry pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he turned away, into the darkness. The city outside pulsed with life, but in his small, dingy apartment, Kageyama was trapped in a world of his own making – a world of shadows, where hope was a distant memory, and the only solace was the fleeting comfort of oblivion. As he drifted off into a restless sleep, the city's sounds became a distant hum, a reminder that even in the darkness, life went on, without him.