Sunlight peeked through the half-open window of the quiet and orderly apartment. A thin layer of dust on the furniture suggested it hadn't been moved in a while.
The only sound was the soft brush of paint against canvas. The hand holding the brush moved with hesitation, pausing from time to time. After a moment, the painter let out a tired sigh and set the brush aside.
"...I hope it looks good." Iris stood up slowly, his movements heavy with fatigue. With lazy gestures, he put away his painting supplies.
"I'll have to wait for Mom to tell me how it turned out..." He moved to the window, opening it fully and stretching as the warm sunlight hit his skin, reflected through his sunglasses.
"Fortunately, today looks like a good day..." After finishing his stretch, he walked to the corner, picking up a tarpaulin and hugging it gently in his delicate arms.
Iris slipped on his pajama jacket—the one he usually wore for short outings—then placed the painting he had been working on atop the table and made his way outside.
As he exited the apartment, he followed the path etched in his memory, descending the stairs carefully and keeping an eye out to avoid bumping into anyone.
Outside, he felt the soft grass of the apartment complex garden under his feet, even through his sneakers.
Reaching a remote area where few people ever went, he set the painting aside for a moment to spread out the tarpaulin. Then, carefully, he placed the painting on top to let it dry in the warm sun.
Iris let out a satisfied sigh. He wasn't sure how it had turned out, but he hoped it captured what he meant to paint.
"Hey, that's a nice painting! You made it yourself?"
Iris jumped like a frightened cat at the sudden voice. He slipped, nearly falling onto his painting—only to feel a strong hand grab his arm and pull him back with ease.
"You okay? I didn't mean to scare you..." the stranger said. Iris trembled under the stranger's touch and instinctively pulled away. Thankfully, the man let go.
Panicked, Iris tried to calm himself. "I'm sorry... I didn't think anyone would be here..." He bent down to retrieve the painting, but froze when a hand touched his shoulder.
His body trembled harder. Panic spiked in his chest until he couldn't take it anymore. He bolted.
Running as fast as he could, he left everything behind. His heart pounded in his ears as he heard footsteps behind him.
"Please, no!"
The footsteps stopped, and Iris finally reached his apartment. He stumbled in, slammed the door shut behind him, then slid down against it, panting and trembling.
He curled into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his legs. He wanted to cry, but no tears came. How long had it been since someone had touched him like that?
Today wasn't a good day anymore.
---
Some time earlier...
Vael clutched his bag tightly as the bus filled up with more and more people. He was moving to a cheaper apartment due to financial struggles—and perhaps his own stubbornness in pursuing his dream.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he pushed through the crowd and stepped out.
As he walked down the sidewalk, he wondered what his new home would be like. So far, the day seemed promising.
"Mommy, look! That boy only has one arm!"
Vael lowered his head. The little girl's words stung more than they should've.
"Maria! That's very rude. Apologize right now!" her mother scolded her. But the damage was done.
"But it's true…" the girl pouted, clearly annoyed.
"I've never seen someone with just one arm before…" she continued, only to be silenced as her mother covered her mouth and bowed her head toward Vael.
"I'm so sorry… I'll make sure to teach her properly." With those words, she left quickly, dragging her daughter away.
Vael watched them go, his expression somber.
"If she was really sorry… she would've taught her before."
Sighing with a troubled look, he continued walking, hoping not to run into any more unpleasant encounters.
The streets were lively, people chatting here and there. Everything seemed normal—until he turned a corner.
"Get your fresh fruit! Juicy and delicious—perfect for a bright morning!"
Vael froze. Every hair on his body stood on edge. The voice, the tone—it triggered everything. His trauma surged up like a flood. He ran.
He darted across the street, nearly getting hit by cars.
"Watch where you're going, idiot!"
Angry drivers got out to yell, but he was already gone.
His heart raced. He ducked into an alley and threw up in a trash bin, overwhelmed by nausea. The day was turning worse by the minute.
After calming down with long, deep breaths, he retrieved his phone—no easy task with only one arm. As always, everything felt more complicated than it should be.
He stared at the stump of his right arm and felt that familiar wave of shame and inadequacy wash over him.
He finally located his destination on the map. "Thank God I still have data…"
Avoiding the scene he'd just caused, he reached the apartment complex.
It was small, clearly low-budget, but it was enough.
Before heading inside, something caught his eye—a soft-looking boy with gray hair in pajamas was setting a tarpaulin on the grass. His sunglasses made him look more cute than cool.
Curious, Vael approached quietly, not meaning to sneak up. The boy didn't notice him.
Vael peered at the painting. It was beautiful—a serene river running through a green valley, sunlight bathing the scene. It looked almost real.
"Hey, that's a nice painting! You made it yourself?"
The reaction was instant. The boy jumped and nearly fell on his painting.
Instinctively, Vael grabbed his wrist, pulling him back with ease.
"You okay? I didn't mean to scare you…"
He felt the boy trembling in his grasp and let go immediately.
"I'm sorry… I didn't think anyone would be here…" the boy muttered, his voice on the verge of tears.
Wanting to reassure him, Vael placed a hand on his shoulder.
The boy flinched and bolted.
Panicked, Vael gave chase. He didn't want him to get hurt or feel abandoned.
But when he heard the boy's desperate, cracked voice—"Please, no!"—he stopped cold.
Vael watched as the boy fled upstairs and slammed a door shut.
"…I should've known better than to touch him again…" He slapped his forehead, feeling like an idiot.
His gaze drifted to the painting the boy had left behind.
He'd abandoned it in his panic.
Vael sighed. He hadn't meant any harm. He truly admired the painting—it was a piece of beauty. But now it felt like he'd ruined everything.
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
A storm was coming.
If he left the painting out, it would be destroyed. Carefully, he picked it up along with the tarpaulin. With only one hand, it was a struggle, especially with his bag slung over his shoulder.
"It's like the weather's matching the day…"
Reaching his new apartment, he fumbled for the key. Finally, something went smoothly—he opened the door without issue.
The apartment was small and plain, but furnished.
"Glad it comes with furniture…" he muttered, setting the painting and tarpaulin on the wooden table.
He collapsed onto the old couch beside it.
Today had been exhausting.
The storm outside was getting worse. He worried about the boy—what if he came out looking for the painting, not knowing Vael had taken it?
Vael stepped back outside and scanned the garden. No one.
He checked the stairs. Still no sign of the boy.
Unable to shake the guilt, he waited by his door in case the boy came down.
He stood there for a long time.
The image of the boy frantically searching for his painting in the rain haunted him.
He would wait. No matter how long it took.