Inside a dim, stale, and slightly suffocating bedroom lay a man, sprawled across a creaking bed, his heavy body half buried beneath a thick mattress and a tangled blanket around his legs that smelled faintly of sweat and… bodily fluids.
The curtains were drawn tightly shut, allowing only thin strands of sunlight to slip into the room through the narrow gaps.
Empty snack packets were scattered near the desk—crumpled chip bags, torn chocolate wrappers, a greasy paper box that once held fried food, along with a half-finished energy drink set aside.
The room looked like it had rarely been cleaned. Clothes were tossed carelessly over a chair, and the air inside felt heavy.
The man was asleep.
Snoring loudly.
"Arthur."
A soft, gentle voice came from beyond the door. The voice carried a faint tone of warmth.
There was no response.
The man did not stir, didn't even move from his bed, unfazed by the voice calling his name.
The snoring continued.
"Arthur?!"
