Chapter 3: Welcome to Chaos
Bright expected a lot from his new life with Dr. Roland—strict schedules, spotless rooms, maybe even some awkward small talk.
What he got instead was pure, unfiltered chaos.
The house looked normal from the outside. Two stories, brick walls, a flickering porch light. Nothing special.
But the second Roland opened the door—
BARK.
Bright flinched as something furry launched itself at him.
"Oh, for—Caspian, OFF."
Roland caught the dog mid-air like he was used to this routine. The mutt wagged its tail like it hadn't just tried to tackle a half-healed kid.
"You have a dog?" Bright blinked.
"I have a problem," Roland muttered, setting the dog down.
Caspian immediately tried to climb Bright's leg like it was Mount Everest.
"Yeah, I see that."
The dog flopped onto his foot dramatically, tongue lolling out.
"Okay… I like him."
Roland snorted. "Everyone likes Caspian. That's how he gets away with everything."
The dog was cool.
The house?
A complete disaster.
Books were everywhere—piled on the couch, stacked on the floor, even balanced on the kitchen counter. Half-filled coffee mugs sat like forgotten trophies. And there was an entire mountain of socks in one corner.
Bright stepped around a stack of medical textbooks. "You live like this?"
"Twelve-hour shifts, kid. Priorities."
"…Do you at least know where your fridge is?"
"Big cold thing in the kitchen. Can't miss it."
Great. He'd been adopted by a sleep-deprived book hoarder.
Still… it felt warm. Messy, but lived in.
It felt like a home.
The first few weeks were weird.
Roland worked insane hours. Sometimes he'd stumble in at dawn, crash on the couch still wearing his scrubs, and snore like a dying chainsaw. Other nights, he'd be up at 3 AM making coffee and muttering about patient charts.
"Are you trying to die?" Bright asked once, watching him pour his fourth cup of coffee.
"I'm a doctor. I know my limits."
"That's not comforting."
School still sucked, but the food situation was definitely better.
Roland couldn't cook to save his life, but the man stocked the fridge—instant ramen, frozen pizza, microwave burritos. It was junk food heaven.
Caspian, of course, tried to steal everything.
Caspian, no.
(Caspian, yes.)
"You just ate."
(Caspian, lying.)
Somehow, Bright got used to the chaos.
For the first time in forever, he didn't have to worry about where he'd sleep or when his next meal would be.
It wasn't perfect. Roland was a mess. The house was always cluttered. But Bright had a bed. He had food.
He had someone who actually gave a damn whether he woke up the next day.
A whole year passed like that.
One weird, chaotic, surprisingly good year.
Then Roland died.
Car accident. Drunk driver. No survivors.
Bright didn't cry. He didn't scream.
He just… shut down.
The relatives came like vultures, picking the place clean.
They took the money. The house. The little scraps of life Roland left behind.
They didn't care that Roland had started the adoption papers.
They didn't care that Bright had nowhere to go.
They cared about the inheritance.
And Bright?
They tossed him out like old furniture.
At eleven years old, Bright was back on the streets.
Not that he'd lived a street life before.
No home. No family.
No one to miss him.
Most kids would've broken.
Bright just kept moving.
Because if there was one thing he'd learned—
The world didn't wait for anyone.