The alarm went off at exactly eight.
Arthur opened one eye. Then the other.
The ceiling was still there. White. With the same damp stain in the upper left corner, shaped like a poorly drawn continent. Nothing had changed overnight. That was good. Change usually demanded mirrors.
He shut the alarm off before it rang again and stayed lying there, waiting for his body to accept the idea of existing. The apartment was too quiet to be a city, but too noisy for complete isolation. A comfortable middle ground.
He got up carefully.
The bedroom was small, but arranged his way. Everything had a fixed place. The swivel chair, the laptop, the headphones hanging from the side of the desk. Moving around was automatic. He knew every obstacle by heart.
All the mirrors were covered.
The wardrobe mirror had a blue bedsheet taped over it. The bathroom mirror, a thick towel folded twice. Even the small round mirror on the door was hidden behind a crooked piece of cardboard.
It wasn't fear.
It was prevention.
He brushed his teeth staring at the bathroom tiles. Counted three familiar cracks. Spit, rinsed, dried his face without lifting his eyes.
He pulled on a loose T-shirt and the same old sweatpants.
Sat down in front of the computer.
The world fit there.
The online class had already started. A professor spoke with far too much enthusiasm for that hour. Small windows filled the screen with faces. Some turned off. Others aggressively on.
Arthur kept his camera off.
Always.
He adjusted the microphone. Turned that off too. He preferred to listen. Existing in silence was safer.
While the lecture went on, he opened another window.
The chat.
She was online.
She: up early today
Arthur: the alarm doesn't trust me
She: fair
She: how's the day over there?
Arthur: same as yesterday
Arthur: too quiet to complain
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Came back.
She: I like that kind of quiet
He smiled. Small. Almost nothing.
Talking to her never took effort. There was no need to perform. No eyes. Just words. Sometimes a voice. Always enough distance to breathe.
She never asked for a photo. He never offered.
It was an unspoken agreement. One of the few that worked perfectly.
The class ended without him noticing. The windows vanished. The professor said goodbye. The screen went dark, reflecting only an indistinct blur.
Arthur closed the laptop too quickly.
He went to the kitchen.
The mirror on the refrigerator door was covered too. A dish towel with cartoon chickens printed on it. He'd bought it by mistake. Found it ironic. Left it there.
He made coffee slowly. The smell filled the small space. Smells didn't judge. Didn't compare. Didn't look back.
He sat at the table, the hot mug between his hands. His phone vibrated.
A voice message from her.
He put on his headphones before listening.
— You disappear when you start thinking too much, her voice said, calm. But that's okay. I do that too.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Typed.
Arthur: it's easy to disappear here
She: that's why it works
She: the world gets smaller
He felt his chest loosen a little.
Arthur: smaller is better
She: agreed
After the first sip, he got a notification that the delivery guy was at the front desk. He put on his jacket and grabbed the mask from the hook by the door. An old Japanese man's face, wrinkled, neutral expression. Not frightening. Not inviting either.
He put it on carefully.
Outside, the hallway was empty. In the elevator, he turned his back to the internal mirror. Looked at the floor until reaching the ground level.
He took the food bag without conversation. A muffled "thanks." The delivery guy didn't comment. Never did.
Back in the apartment, he locked the door. Took off the mask. Hung it in its usual place.
Silence reclaimed everything.
Passing the bathroom, he adjusted the towel over the mirror. It was crooked. He straightened it. Small gestures kept the world in place.
He sat down again in the dark, comfortable bedroom.
Opened the chat.
Arthur: I'm back
She: what did you go do?
Arthur: get food
She: but it's early
He took a few seconds before replying.
Arthur: mornings are better for receiving
He sent it and regretted it immediately. She didn't comment. They stayed quiet.
But it was a good silence.
The kind that didn't ask for open doors.
The kind that didn't demand eyes.
For now, that was enough. And he hoped it would stay that way.