He hadn’t been waiting long in line at the ordering counter before it was his turn. Eric Wright kept his cap pulled low, wore a mask, and didn’t look up at the cashier. In a very quiet voice, he said he wanted a latte. Then, remembering he was on medication, he belatedly asked to switch to plant-based milk.

Fortunately, the other person didn’t mind his slow pace and kindly asked, “Plant milk, right? Would you like it iced?”

The cashier’s voice was pleasant, and Eric Wright was momentarily distracted, not answering right away. Only when the question was softly repeated did he nod.

“All right, please find a seat and wait a moment. I’ll bring it over to you shortly.”

Eric Wright forgot to take the receipt and number card handed to him, turned around, and sluggishly found a seat in a corner by the window.

He never noticed that his wound was bleeding, staring blankly out the window at the hurried passersby.

Under the glaring, scorching sun, few faces wore happy smiles.

Eric Wright actually didn’t want to look at any of this. In his final moments, he wanted to see lush waves of grass, or stand beneath a cliff watching a waterfall pour from the sky, water droplets more abundant than rain splashing onto his skin.

Or the sea—an endless, boundless ocean.

But then he thought, even if he saw those things now, he probably wouldn’t feel that vibrant beauty. It would be a waste.

Lost in thought, Eric Wright heard the soft clink of a tray against the table, but didn’t turn around in time.

“Here’s your plant milk latte. Please enjoy.”

It was that same voice again.

Eric Wright was sure it was the same person, but he turned his head a beat too late and only caught a glimpse of the back. He kept staring until he saw the owner of the voice return to the counter, turn around, and reveal a handsome face.

It was a face that matched the voice perfectly, one that inspired gentle daydreams.

Eric Wright lowered his gaze, wanting to drink something, and only then noticed a few band-aids with cartoon rabbits on them placed on his tray—completely at odds with the person who’d given them.

He turned over his wrist, quietly gazing at the bleeding wound and the pulsing vein.

Half an hour later, Eric Wright changed his mind, as simply as postponing reading a book, and decided to put his plan on hold.

He placed his last piece of candy on the tray and left the café.

But the appearance of such a person, this small act of kindness, was nothing more than a faint ripple in a stagnant pool, unable to save a withering life.

Back home, Eric Wright put all the band-aids back in a drawer and never opened it again.

This lingering pain slowly gnawed away at Eric Wright’s desire. He lay in bed for an entire day, not drinking a drop of water, barely able to get up. But in the early hours, through the floor-to-ceiling window, Eric Wright suddenly noticed a rope left in the garden. It was as if something stabbed him hard, and he sprang up.

Back in his room, Eric Wright tied the rope around his neck and pulled it tight.

The terrifying thing was, he even turned on the camera and recorded the whole process, including the part where his housekeeper interrupted him.

Afterward, Eric Wright watched the video and saw his sleepy mother rush in, hugging him, crying and scolding him, but he didn’t feel much.

He felt trapped.

But Eric Wright never attempted such a resolute ending again, because he always thought of the rabbit band-aids.

This long, brutal low period ended just as suddenly as it began—no transition, no trigger, not even a moment’s buffer. Eric Wright went straight into a hypomanic phase.

The excitement brought on by the illness made him feel like he was on a roller coaster, shooting up into the sky, his feet never touching the ground, floating among the clouds.

At times like these, Eric Wright always felt an unprecedented fondness for himself, always enthusiastic, believing he could do anything. The pride and arrogance nurtured by a privileged upbringing swelled and had nowhere to hide.

Eric Wright returned to school, filled with desire and confidence for learning, working with great efficiency. He was also willing to socialize, unlike usual, when he avoided others’ eyes because he had no friends.

Even though his total time at school probably didn’t add up to a full semester, rumors still made their way to him.

The only person he could confide in was his nanny, and when she heard, she was heartbroken, hugging Eric Wright, gently stroking his back, and asking if he was sad.

At the time, Eric Wright was still in a manic phase, so he laughed.

“They’re exaggerating. Aunt Brooks, no one at school has ever hugged me like you do.”

He’d never been like the other boys, arms around each other on the playground, never held hands, never hugged—so where would there be more?

But it was impossible to trace where the rumors started. Maybe it was someone he’d rejected, or maybe someone else. Whoever it was, Eric Wright no longer cared.

Browsing the school website, he stumbled upon a video of last year’s special scholarship defense.

The first person to appear was the boy who’d given him the band-aids at the café, with a beautiful name—Edward Harris.

That name had a kind of romantic, tragic quality, as if it belonged to someone who would give up everything for the one they loved, willing to have only a single night.