The Boy in the Glass Frame
Ren always felt like he was viewed through a filter. Behind his thick, dark-rimmed glasses, the world was sharp, but he preferred it when things stayed a little blurry. The messy crown of his dark hair acted like a nest for his heavy thoughts, shielding him from the bright, loud world outside his window.
He wore his oversized hoodie like armor. It was a shade of blue that matched the twilight—the only time of day he felt truly awake. While others were chasing sunlight and shouting into the wind, Ren found his peace in the hum of an old refrigerator and the rhythmic ticking of a clock that was five minutes slow.
People often asked him why he looked so sad. He would just adjust his glasses and offer a faint, tired smile. He wasn't necessarily sad; he was just deep. He was a collector of quiet moments and a keeper of secrets that didn't have words yet. He was the soft pause in the middle of a loud song.