Kaito had spent the past three weeks perfecting the fine art of faking normal. It was a delicate, exhausting dance—one step into conversation, two steps back into silence, a careful tilt of the head to appear engaged, and an ever-ready nod to feign agreement. He had learned how to time his chuckles, how to mimic the rhythms of social laughter, and how to make brief, non-threatening eye contact before looking away just fast enough to avoid scrutiny.
And yet, no matter how much he tried, socializing still felt like an ill-fitted mask—tight around the edges, suffocating, like it was pressing down on his skin, draining him with every forced interaction.
Today was no different.
As he sat in the dimly lit corner of the campus café, staring at the untouched cup of coffee in front of him, he reminded himself that this was progress. After all, he was outside. He was sitting in a public space. He was not locked away in his tiny apartment, drowning in existential dread.
That had to count for something.
Across the table, Yuuki was scrolling through her phone, utterly at ease, her long black hair falling over her shoulder. Unlike him, she belonged here. Social spaces were effortless for her, as natural as breathing.
"You've been quiet today," she noted, finally looking up from her phone. "More than usual, I mean."
Kaito swallowed. He knew she wasn't accusing him—she was just perceptive. Too perceptive.
"I'm always quiet," he said, staring down at the steam rising from his cup.
"Yeah, but usually you at least try to look like you're listening. Today, you're just... gone."
He hesitated. He could lie. He was good at lying. "I'm just tired," he muttered.
Yuuki studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing like she didn't quite believe him but wasn't sure how much she wanted to press. "Tired of what?"
Tired of everything. Tired of feeling like a malfunctioning human being. Tired of the way his brain worked, of the constant, underlying dread that made even the simplest social interactions feel like an impending disaster.
Instead of saying any of that, he just shrugged. "Dunno. Just tired."
Yuuki exhaled, tapping her fingers against the table. "Okay. Let me rephrase. Are you tired, or are you overwhelmed?"
Kaito flinched.
There it was again—that frustrating ability she had, the way she always knew how to peel back the layers he tried so desperately to keep intact.
"Both," he admitted after a long pause.
Yuuki leaned back in her seat, considering him. "You don't have to do this alone, you know," she said, her voice softer now. "You don't have to keep pretending like everything is fine when it isn't."
Kaito let out a slow breath, gripping the edge of his coffee cup. "I'm not pretending," he lied.
She didn't call him out on it. Instead, she just watched him, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt something almost close to relief.
Socializing was a skill, Kaito reminded himself, and like any skill, it required practice. The problem was, no matter how much practice he got, he still sucked at it.
So when he found himself sitting in a study group with Yuuki and a few of her friends, he had to resist the overwhelming urge to flee.
They were nice enough—too nice, if he was being honest. The kind of effortlessly social people who made everything look easy, who could carry conversations without breaking a sweat. The kind of people who would never understand what it felt like to rehearse a simple response in their head ten times before saying it out loud.
"Kaito, right?" One of them, a guy with messy brown hair, leaned forward with a friendly smile. "Yuuki says you're a genius with numbers. You must be killing it in finance."
Kaito blinked. His brain scrambled for a response, but his mouth refused to cooperate.
"Uh," he finally managed.
The guy laughed. "That good, huh?"
Kaito swallowed. He knew this was just casual banter. Normal people could handle this. He should be able to handle this.
Instead, he felt like he was unraveling.
Yuuki, noticing his discomfort, smoothly stepped in. "He's just modest," she said, nudging Kaito's arm. "But yeah, he's brilliant."
He wanted to tell her to stop. He didn't like being the center of attention, even for compliments.
But before he could react, another girl spoke up. "That's so cool! I suck at finance. Maybe I should just hire you to do my assignments."
It was a joke. He knew that.
But his brain, traitorous and overanalyzing, latched onto it like a predator sinking its teeth into prey.
What if she wasn't joking? What if she actually thought he was some kind of emotionless academic robot? What if they all did?
He forced out a laugh—short, awkward, unnatural.
Fake it. Fake it. Fake it.
The conversation moved on without him, and he sat there, drowning in the silence of his own mind.
Later that night, back in the suffocating solitude of his tiny apartment, Kaito stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
"You're normal," he whispered.
His reflection stared back at him, unimpressed.
Liar.
He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face, as if that could somehow wash away the tightness in his chest, the weight pressing down on his ribs.
He had done everything right. He had gone out. He had socialized. He had played the part.
So why did he still feel like he was falling apart?
The exhaustion was bone-deep, a kind that no amount of sleep could fix.
Because it wasn't just about being tired. It was about being tired of *being himself.*
And he hated that.
He gripped the edges of the sink, staring down at the water swirling down the drain.
He wanted to believe that Yuuki was right—that he didn't have to do this alone.
But he had spent so long convincing himself that isolation was safer. That loneliness was better than the exhaustion of pretending.
So how was he supposed to change now?
How was he supposed to learn how to exist in a world that never felt like it was built for someone like him?
The answer, as always, eluded him.
And maybe that was the most terrifying part of all.