White Silhouette Rain Red Eyes House

He is not facing the house. He is facing the rain. The house is just there, behind him, with two red eyes in the upper window that he has decided not to acknowledge.

His outline is white — not bright, not glowing, just the absence of dark enough to be seen. The line is one pixel wide in most places, thicker where his coat flares. His hair is spiky in three directions. He did not style it. The wind did.

The ground beneath him is warm brown — RGB 80, 60, 40 — like embers that forgot to become ash. It rises from the bottom of the frame in a gradient that never reaches the top. The top is 85% true black. The kind of black that makes OLED pixels sleep.

The rain is vertical white scratches, evenly spaced, falling through him. He does not get wet. He is already outline. Water passes through outlines.

The house has no door visible. Only the window with the eyes. The eyes do not blink. They are patient in the way that things with nowhere else to be are patient. He has been standing for twelve minutes. Or twelve years. The rain makes time hard to read.