𝘉𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦, MitsuyaxOc

1. Threads of silence

Mirea, gently swung her right foot in the void. Leaning back precariously on a chair, her long dark brown hair, almost black, spilled onto the cold floor of her home library. She held a book in her hands—or rather, she pretended to read. To claim that the words etched on the pale pages were sinking into her mind would be an illusion, and Mirea wasn't one to lie. At least, not always. No, she wasn't truly reading—she was thinking. About everything, about nothing. Her fingers absently bent the thin pages while her narrowed eyes blurred the words into an indistinct haze. A sight she quickly abandoned as her eyelids fell shut, heavy and slow. The book slipped from her hands, struck the metal bars of the chair, and landed with a dull thud on the floor, its pages now more crumpled than before.

Mirea soon followed the book's descent. She slid down, her head tangling in her own hair, her white pajama shorts cushioning her fall onto the tiles. Her long pastel blue socks, slightly wrinkled, softened the impact of her feet. Perhaps we forgot to mention—it is 5:24 in the morning, on a Tuesday night, and in just over an hour, Mirea is supposed to wake up for school. But the girl couldn't sleep, or rather, she knew she wouldn't. Strange, like her nonchalant posture on that chair. Strange, like her.
_________

As she crossed the gates of her high school, Mirea let out a quiet sigh. With a sharp motion, she removed her black headphones, adorned with delicate white bows, and tucked it into her bag with precise ease.
Everything about her seemed deliberate. Her perfectly straightened hair, her immaculately pleated skirt, her high, slightly slouched socks falling just so... It looked as though she had put great effort into her appearance. Yet, a careful observer might notice subtle traces of weariness—a fatigue that didn't show on her face but lingered in her movements, in her very bones.

Her dark circles, however, betrayed nothing. Mirea carried the illusion of a peaceful, restorative ten-hour sleep. She headed toward her classroom after slipping into her blue indoor slippers, unhurried. Not to meet friends, but simply to claim a wooden desk and an iron chair.

Pushing the door open, she greeted a few seated classmates with a slight nod. Their wide smiles and timid glances were met with a subtle, barely-there smile in return, before she took her seat.

With calm precision, she reached for a bracelet on her desk—a gift from an admirer, or perhaps an anonymous admirer. She stared at it for a long moment, her thoughts adrift, her dark eyes glimmering with a faint, inscrutable light. The silence surrounding her seemed not to touch her, as though Mirea existed in a bubble, impervious to the world around her.
_________

Fiddling with a white pen topped with tiny rabbit ears—a gift from an female admirer whose invitation to spend the holidays in South Korea Mirea had politely declined (though witnesses swore her refusal was more of a grimace)—she turned her gaze from the blackboard to the window beside her. Resting her chin on her hand, she absentmindedly watched the street running alongside the river.

She studied the passersby: a middle-aged woman hurrying along, dragging a crying child by the hand; a group of middle school girls crossing the bridge toward the right bank, likely heading to the ramen shop near the post office, a place Mirea often ordered from; three boys dressed in black, wearing smug smiles and bearing knuckles battered from meaningless street fights. That last detail made her brow furrow slightly, and she straightened in her seat, her eyes drifting toward a group of smokers her own age.

The hours crept by, bringing the school day to an end. Tapping her long nails against the desk, Mirea finally stood, grabbed the straps of her bag, and made her way to the door. A classmate, Hana, called out to her as she passed.

"Mirea, you're looking particularly radiant today. By the way, what did you get in math?"

Mirea paused, fixing her with a perplexed stare.