Chapter 3: Welcome to Chaos (AKA, Roland’s House)

Chapter 3: Welcome to Chaos (AKA, Roland's House)

Bright expected a lot of things from his new life with Dr. Roland.

Like, maybe a strict schedule (he was a doctor, after all), a too-clean house that smelled like disinfectant, and some awkward small talk while they figured out how to coexist.

What he didn't expect was absolute, unfiltered chaos.

Home Sweet Disaster

The first thing Bright noticed when they pulled up to Roland's house?

It looked normal.

Not fancy, not falling apart—just… a house. Two stories, brick, a small front yard that clearly hadn't been mowed in weeks. The porch light flickered a little, like a horror movie cliché.

It was the inside that threw him off.

Because the second Roland opened the door—

BARK.

Bright nearly jumped out of his skin as a furry blur launched itself at him.

"Oh, for—Caspian, OFF." Roland grabbed the dog mid-air before Bright got tackled.

The dog (some kind of mutt, all shaggy fur and too much energy) wagged his tail like he wasn't just trying to body-slam a wounded child.

Bright blinked. "You have a dog."

"I have a problem," Roland muttered, setting Caspian down. "He doesn't respect personal space."

Caspian immediately tried to climb Bright's leg.

"…Yeah, I see that."

Roland sighed, giving the dog a pointed look. "We talked about this. New human. Be gentle."

Caspian, being a very good boy (or an idiot—jury was still out), sat down dramatically like that was his plan all along.

Bright hesitated before reaching out. The second his fingers brushed Caspian's fur—

Thump thump thump.

The tail-wagging reached jet-engine speeds.

"…Okay, I like him."

Roland snorted. "He's impossible to hate."

Caspian, clearly satisfied with himself, flopped onto Bright's foot like a furry brick.

So, yeah. Roland had a dog. Cool. Unexpected. Manageable.

What wasn't manageable?

The rest of the house.

It was a disaster.

Like, not gross—it wasn't dirty. Just messy.

There were books everywhere. On the couch, on the floor, stacked on the kitchen counter. Some of them were actual medical textbooks, but others? Bright squinted at a cover.

"…Do you read sci-fi?"

Roland barely looked up as he kicked a stray sock out of the way. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. Fantasy too."

Bright flipped open a book lying on the coffee table. "This one has a dragon on the cover."

"It's a classic."

"…And the main character is a doctor."

Roland grinned. "I have a type."

Bright wasn't sure what was weirder—that Roland read books about fantasy doctors, or that he didn't seem to notice his house looked like a bookshop exploded.

And it wasn't just books.

The kitchen table had at least three empty coffee mugs stacked together. A white coat was draped over the back of a chair like Roland had shrugged it off and forgotten it existed. There was a literal pile of socks in one corner.

Bright frowned. "You live like this?"

Roland yawned. "I work 12-hour shifts, kid. I barely have time to sleep, let alone clean."

"…Do you at least know where your fridge is?"

"Of course." Roland pointed vaguely toward the kitchen. "It's that big cold thing with food inside."

Great. He'd been adopted by an overworked, semi-responsible adult who lived like a college student.

Still… it wasn't bad.

It was warm.

There were actual, comfortable-looking couches. The kitchen smelled like coffee and toast instead of antiseptic. There was a slightly crooked painting of a lighthouse on the wall.

It felt like a home.

And for Bright? That was new.

Adjusting to Roland's Weird Life

The first few weeks were an adjustment.

For one, Roland had the worst sleep schedule imaginable.

Sometimes he'd come home late, looking half-dead, collapse onto the couch, and sleep like a corpse. Other times, he'd be up at weird hours, muttering about medical charts while making coffee at 2 AM.

Bright, being a reasonable human being, asked, "Are you trying to die?"

Roland, being an unreasonable human being, just shrugged. "I'm a doctor. I know my limits."

"…That's not comforting."

School Sucks, But At Least There's Food

Roland enrolled Bright in school pretty quickly, which was… fine.

Bright had never been the best student. He wasn't a genius, but he wasn't stupid either. He mostly just floated along, doing enough to pass but not enough to stand out.

But there was one major upgrade.

Food.

See, orphanage food? Garbage. Hospital food? Also garbage. But Roland's cooking?

…Okay, Roland couldn't cook for shit.

But he bought food. Actual food. He stocked the fridge with snacks, fruit, instant ramen, and those microwave pizzas that were technically unhealthy but tasted like heaven.

Caspian, of course, tried to steal everything.

"Caspian, no."

(Caspian, yes.)

"Caspian, that's mine."

(Caspian, unbothered.)

"You just ate!"

(Caspian, lying.)

Roland found the whole thing hilarious.

Bright, not so much.

The One-Year Mark (And the Crash That Ruined Everything)

For a whole year, things were… good.

Not perfect. Not even close.

Roland still worked too much. Bright still had trouble believing this life was real. School was still a pain.

But it was a life.

And then Roland died.

Not immediately. Not dramatically.

Just—one night, he didn't come home.

And when Bright got the news, it didn't feel real at first.

Car accident. Drunk driver. No survivors.

Just like that.

Gone.

Bright didn't cry. Not at first.

Because what was the point?

Crying wouldn't bring Roland back. It wouldn't change what came next.

And what came next?

Roland's relatives.

They weren't kind.

They didn't care that Roland wanted to adopt him officially but never finished the paperwork. They didn't care that Bright had nowhere to go.

They cared about the house.

About Roland's money.

And an orphan kid that Roland took in out of nowhere?

Not their problem.

So they kicked him out.

Just like that.

At eleven years old, Bright was back on the streets.

This time, with nowhere left to go.