I woke up feeling off.
Not just tired—
dizzy.
I pushed myself out of bed, the dizziness still lingering.
The cold water helped.
Not much—
but enough to clear the edge of it.
I stared at my reflection for a second longer than I should have,
then looked away.
A quick wash.
No effort for anything more.
Then I stepped out.
My head felt heavier than it should, like my thoughts hadn't settled back into place yet.
For a moment, I didn't move.
Just lay there, staring at nothing in particular, waiting for the feeling to pass.
It didn't.
A slow breath left me as I pushed myself up, the room shifting slightly before steadying again.
"…great."
Even my voice felt distant.
I ran a hand through my hair and stood up, slower than usual, letting my body adjust before taking a step forward.
Something about it all felt wrong.
Not sharp.
Not loud.
Just… there.
I stepped out of my room and made my way downstairs.
The house wasn't silent.
That helped.
The faint sound of movement—
utensils, water running—
something normal.
Kevin.
And Clera.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, they were already there.
Kevin was by the sink, sleeves rolled up, doing something that looked suspiciously like actual work.
Clera stood near the counter, calm as ever, handling things with quiet efficiency.
Kevin glanced up first.
Then paused.
"…wow."
I didn't react.
"You look like you fought a ghost and lost."
"…didn't feel that different."
He snorted, shaking his head before turning fully toward me.
"You okay?" he asked, but this time it wasn't just teasing.
I didn't answer immediately.
Because I didn't know.
"I'm fine."
The words came out automatically.
Kevin didn't look convinced.
"Yeah, no—you say that, but you look like you're about to pass out," he said, walking a little closer, eyes narrowing slightly.
"I'm not."
A pause.
Then—
"Did you even sleep?"
I looked away.
"…something like that."
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
Clera didn't interrupt.
But I could feel her attention.
Steady.
Focused.
Like she was watching for something specific.
I didn't meet her eyes.
"Sit," Kevin said suddenly, nodding toward the chair.
"I'm not—"
"Sit."
I didn't argue this time.
Not because he insisted.
Because my body didn't feel like arguing.
I pulled the chair slightly and sat down, leaning back just enough to steady myself.
Kevin sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Seriously, Xey, stop pretending you're fine. You're not."
I didn't respond.
Because he wasn't wrong.
I just didn't want to explain why.
Couldn't.
Not when I didn't fully understand it myself.
And even if I did—
I wasn't sure I'd say it out loud.
Kevin had already made me sit.
"Sit before you fall," he said, nudging the chair back.
I didn't argue.
Didn't have the energy to.
So I stayed there—
letting the dizziness settle.
That's when I noticed Clera.
She was crouched near the corner, holding a small bowl.
The cat sat in front of her.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
It didn't hesitate.
Didn't pull away.
Just… ate.
My gaze lingered longer than it should have.
That was strange.
It wasn't usually this calm.
"…since when does it listen to anyone?" I muttered.
Kevin let out a short laugh.
"Since someone finally feeds it properly."
I didn't respond.
Because that wasn't it.
The cat paused.
Mid-bite.
Then looked up.
At me.
Its eyes held mine—
still.
Too still.
Then it went back to eating.
Like nothing had happened.
I leaned back slightly in the chair.
"…right."
But something about that—
felt off.
Kevin straightened up and reached for the plates.
"Alright, enough staring. Eat."
He didn't wait for a response this time.
Clera moved without a word, picking up the bowls and placing them on the table with quiet precision.
Not rushed.
Not slow.
Just… controlled.
I watched for a second—
then looked away.
Kevin set a plate in front of me, a little harder than necessary.
"Don't just sit there," he muttered.
Clera placed the rest down, her movements light, almost silent, before taking her seat across from me.
Kevin dropped into his chair right after.
And immediately started eating.
Fast.
Too fast.
"You're going to choke," I said quietly.
He waved it off, barely looking up.
"Been waiting for you to wake up. I'm starving."
Another bite.
"Seriously, I hate it when you wake up late."
I didn't respond.
Just picked up the fork.
"Some things aren't meant to be forgotten. If they are… there's usually a reason."
No one spoke after that.
Kevin went back to eating, slower this time.
Clera didn't look at me again.
But her words stayed.
Not loud.
Just… there.
The food was warm.
Normal.
But my attention drifted again—
not to the plate—
but to the space around us.
Something still didn't feel right.
Clera didn't speak.
But I could feel it—
her awareness, steady and quiet—
like she was noticing the same thing.
Or maybe—
something else entirely.
Clera set her fork down quietly.
"You're not sick," she said.
Kevin frowned.
"…then why does he look like that?"
Clera didn't look at him.
"He's reacting."
A pause.
"To something he doesn't remember."
Silence.
That—
made more sense than it should have.
I frowned slightly.
"…what?"
Clera finally looked at me.
"Your body recognizes it."
A small pause.
"Your mind doesn't."
Kevin blinked.
"…okay, that's somehow worse."
I didn't laugh.
Because it didn't feel wrong.
Just… incomplete.
Clera picked up her fork again, like nothing had happened.
"Don't force it," she added calmly.
"It comes back faster when you stop chasing it."
The rest of the meal passed quietly.
Kevin slowed down eventually, the earlier rush fading into something more normal.
Clera finished last.
Not slowly.
Not quickly.
Just… measured.
She set her fork down and wiped her hands lightly, her movements as controlled as ever.
A few minutes passed.
No one spoke.
Then she looked at Kevin.
"I'll head back now."
Kevin glanced up.
"Hmm? Oh—yeah, alright."
He stood up immediately.
"I'll walk you out."
Clera nodded once.
Then—
her gaze shifted.
To me.
I didn't move.
Didn't look away.
For a moment, it felt like she was about to say something—
and then she did.
"You should rest."
A pause.
"But don't ignore it."
Her tone didn't change.
Calm.
Certain.
I frowned slightly.
"…ignore what?"
She didn't answer.
Just held my gaze for a second longer—
then turned away.
"Come on," Kevin said, already heading toward the door.
Clera followed.
The sound of their footsteps faded down the hallway.
The door opened.
Then closed.
Silence returned.
Thicker this time.
I stayed where I was.
Not moving.
Her words—
they lingered.
Not loud.
Not clear.
But enough.
To make the quiet feel…
less empty.
A few seconds passed.
Or maybe longer.
I didn't keep track.
Then—
footsteps.
Faint.
Coming back.
Kevin.
The door opened again.
I didn't look up.
Didn't need to.
"You didn't move?"
"…didn't feel like it."
The door shut behind him.
He didn't come closer immediately.
Just stood there for a second—
like he was deciding something.
Then his steps moved toward me.
"You still look like shit."
"…you already said that."
"Yeah," he muttered, stopping across from me.
"And it's still true."
Silence.
"You okay?"
I leaned back slightly.
"…just tired."
A pause.
He didn't buy it.
"You've been off since morning."
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't have one.
Kevin exhaled quietly, running a hand through his hair.
"…alright. Whatever it is, you're not doing anything today."
I looked at him.
"I'm fine."
"No."
Simple.
Final.
"You're resting."
Another pause.
"Don't overthink it either. You'll just mess your head up more."
My fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the table.
That part—
hit closer than it should have.
"…fine."
"Good."
He nodded once.
"Go upstairs. Sleep if you can."
I stayed there for a second longer.
Then pushed the chair back and stood up.
The dizziness hadn't gone.
Just settled.
I turned—
and walked toward the stairs.
Kevin didn't follow.
But I could feel it—
his eyes on me.
Waiting.
Like he wasn't convinced.
And maybe—
he shouldn't be.
Halfway to the stairs—
I stopped.
Something—
shifted.
Not a sound.
A feeling.
Like a gaze settling on me.
I turned.
Slow.
The room was the same.
Empty.
Except—
"…Zen?"
The cat stood a few steps behind me.
Still.
Watching.
Its eyes didn't move away this time.
Just stayed on me—
quiet.
Too quiet.
For a second, I didn't move.
Then I crouched slightly and reached out.
"…what?"
It didn't hesitate.
Came closer on its own.
That was new.
I picked him up.
Warm.
Solid.
Real.
One hand rested lightly against his back as I straightened.
The tension eased—
just a little.
"…you're coming with me."
Not like I gave him a choice.
I turned again and walked upstairs.
The room felt the same as before.
Unchanged.
But not empty.
I sat on the edge of the bed, Zen still in my arms.
He didn't struggle.
Just stayed there.
Quiet.
Like he understood something I didn't.
I lay back slowly, pulling him closer without thinking.
The warmth helped.
Not enough—
but enough to dull the edge of it.
My eyes closed.
For a moment—
everything stayed still.
But even then—
that feeling didn't fully leave.
...
Something shifted.
Not outside—
Inside.
A flicker—
Then—
bzzzt.
The vibration cut through it.
Sharp.
Real.
My eyes opened.
For a second, I didn't move.
Then I reached for the phone beside me.
The screen lit up.
A name.
Familiar.
My thumb hovered for half a second—
then pressed.
"…yeah."
A pause—
then a voice came through.
Light.
Playful.
Warm in a way that felt… easy.
"Wow, that's how you answer now?"
I didn't react.
"…what do you want?"
A soft laugh on the other end.
"Harsh. I just called to check on you."
Silence.
"…I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"…I'm fine."
Another pause—
longer this time.
Then—
softer.
"I'll come by in the evening."
My grip on the phone tightened slightly.
"…you don't have to."
"I know."
That same tone.
Playful—
but not careless.
"I want to."
Silence settled between us.
Not awkward.
Just… there.
"…do whatever," I said finally.
A quiet chuckle.
"Glad I have your permission."
I didn't respond.
"Rest till then," he added, a little softer now.
"I'll see you later."
The line went dead.
The room felt quiet again.
But different.
I stared at the screen for a second longer—
then let my hand drop beside me.
Evening.
Something about that—
didn't feel simple.
The line went dead.
The room fell quiet again.
But not empty.
Not completely.
A faint rustling drifted in through the window.
The mango tree outside—
its leaves brushing against each other in the slow breeze.
Soft.
Uneven.
The sound of birds followed—
light chirping, scattered—
just enough to fill the silence.
Somewhere farther away—
a car passed.
The low hum fading as quickly as it came.
Everything sounded… normal.
And yet—
"Xey!"
Kevin's voice cut through it from downstairs.
Loud.
Too loud for how quiet everything had been.
"Are you sleeping or what?"
I didn't answer immediately.
"…trying to," I said finally.
A pause.
"Good. Stay that way."
The faint rustling continued outside—
unbothered.
"Don't come down unless you feel better, got it?" he added.
Another pause.
"And don't start overthinking things up there."
Silence.
I didn't respond this time.
Footsteps moved again—
fading.
The house settled.
Back into quiet.
The breeze slipped in once more.
Cool.
Steady.
Zen shifted slightly beside me—
then stilled.
Everything outside kept moving.
Unaware.
Unchanged.
But here—
I lay there, staring at the ceiling—
feeling like none of it reached me.
Like I was separate from it.
And that—
felt wrong.
I closed my eyes.
My hand moved without thinking—
resting under Zen's chin.
A slow scratch.
Soft.
Rhythmic.
He responded almost immediately—
a low, quiet groan—
not loud—
just enough to feel.
"…hm."
I didn't open my eyes.
Just kept the motion steady.
Up.
Down.
Up—
The sound came again.
Softer this time.
Relaxed.
The tension in my chest eased—
just a little.
Warm.
Real.
Something I could focus on.
My breathing slowed.
The sounds outside faded—
not gone—
just distant.
The rustling.
The birds.
The faint passing of another car.
Everything blurred at the edges.
Sleep came slowly.
Not sudden.
Not deep.
Just enough.
And then—
that feeling returned.
A gaze.
Light.
Barely there.
Resting somewhere on me.
My fingers paused for a second—
then continued.
"…just the cat," I murmured.
It made sense.
He was right there.
Close.
Watching.
That was normal.
My body relaxed again.
I didn't open my eyes.
Didn't check.
Just let it settle.
Because thinking about it—
felt like too much effort.
My hand slowed.
Then stilled.
The quiet deepened.
Sleep took over.
And the gaze—
didn't leave.
Sleep didn't feel like rest.
It came—
quietly—
but not gently.
And when it ended—
it didn't leave peace behind.
My eyes opened slowly.
The room was dim now.
Evening.
The light had changed—softer, fading through the window, stretching long shadows across the floor.
For a second—
I didn't move.
Just lay there.
Listening.
Nothing.
No voice.
No presence.
Just the faint ticking of time and the distant sounds of the outside world settling.
"…tch."
I pushed myself up slightly, a dull heaviness still sitting in my body.
Zen shifted beside me, stretching lazily before jumping off the bed like nothing had ever been wrong.
Lucky.
I dragged a hand through my hair and exhaled.
"…felt too real."
A pause.
My fingers brushed my wrist again.
Empty.
That same feeling—
still there.
Before I could think further—
voices.
Downstairs.
Kevin.
And—
someone else.
A voice I didn't recognize.
Light.
Easy.
Carrying a kind of careless warmth.
"…so this is how you treat guests now?" the voice laughed.
Kevin scoffed. "You showed up uninvited."
"Still let me in, didn't you?"
I froze for a second.
That voice—
My chest tightened slightly.
Not memory.
But something close to it.
"…Xey's upstairs," Kevin added. "Don't annoy him. He's not feeling well."
A soft hum came from the other person.
"Mm. I'll decide that myself."
Footsteps.
Closer.
Coming up.
Slow.
Unhurried.
Like he already knew where he was going.
My gaze shifted to the door.
That same feeling from before—
returned.
But different.
Not heavy.
Not suffocating.
But—
intentional.
I didn't move.
Didn't get up.
Just waited.
The footsteps stopped right outside.
A pause.
Then—
a knock.
Light.
Casual.
Like this wasn't the first time.
"Xey," that voice called.
Playful.
Familiar in a way it shouldn't be.
"Gonna make me stand out here all evening?"
My fingers curled slightly against the sheets.
For a second—
I didn't answer.
Because something about this—
felt wrong.
Or maybe—
too right.
"…door's open," I said finally.
Steady.
The handle turned.
Slow.
And as the door began to open—
that same feeling from before—
brushed past me again.
Faint.
But there.
Like something unseen had just moved—
before him.
The door opened—
and the room changed.
Not suddenly.
But enough.
The quiet shifted.
Pushed back—
replaced by something lighter.
Louder.
He stepped in like he always did.
Like nothing here had ever changed.
"Wow," he glanced around, a faint grin forming, "still the same room."
I didn't answer.
My gaze stayed on him.
Trying to understand something that didn't need understanding.
He had always been around.
Coming and going like this—
like it was normal.
Because it was.
And yet—
something felt… different.
He was taller now.
Slightly.
Enough to notice.
Pale skin.
Dark hair falling loosely—
and those eyes—
sharp.
Narrow.
Half-lidded.
Phoenix eyes.
Black pupils—
steady.
Watching.
"…you're staring again," he said lightly.
I exhaled.
"…you changed."
A small pause.
Then a quiet chuckle.
"Took you long enough."
He moved further inside—but not too close.
Never too close.
Like he remembered the distance.
Or maybe—
he had always known it.
"You used to be shorter," I added.
"Wow," he raised a brow, "that's what you start with?"
"You're not offended."
"…not even a little."
He dropped into the chair near the window, settling in easily.
Comfortable.
Like he belonged here.
Because he did.
Kevin shouted from downstairs—
"Don't make noise!"
"Can't promise that!" he called back immediately.
Then quieter—
"…I'll try."
Silence returned—
but not fully.
Not like before.
Because he filled it.
Without trying.
"…you're quiet today," he said after a moment.
I didn't respond.
"…more than usual," he added.
My fingers shifted slightly against the sheets.
"…just tired."
He hummed.
Like he didn't fully believe it—
but didn't push either.
That—
was familiar.
Zen jumped onto the bed, brushing against my arm.
The moment broke.
"Oh," his attention shifted instantly, "there you are."
"Zen."
"Zen," he repeated softly.
He didn't reach out immediately.
Waited.
Watched.
Then slowly touched him.
Careful.
Measured.
"You're still like this," he murmured.
Not to the cat.
To me.
I looked at him.
"…like what."
A small pause.
Then a faint smile.
"Hard to read."
I didn't answer.
My gaze shifted—
to his wrist.
Nothing.
No gold.
No beads.
No crescent.
My chest loosened slightly—
before tightening again.
Because that didn't explain anything.
"…so," he leaned back again, that playful tone returning, "you gonna keep analyzing me, or are we actually gonna talk?"
"…you talk too much."
"And you don't talk at all. Balance."
Silence.
Then—
"…you've been coming here a lot," I said.
Not a question.
A statement.
He didn't look surprised.
"Yeah," he said simply.
"Kevin would be offended if I didn't."
A pause.
"…and you?" I asked.
His gaze shifted back to me.
For a second—
something changed.
Subtle.
But there.
"…I come because I want to."
The room went quieter.
Not empty.
Just—
heavier for a moment.
Then he smiled again—
like it never happened.
"And also because your cat clearly likes me more."
Zen let out a soft sound—
as if agreeing.
I didn't react.
But something in my chest shifted.
Slightly.
Because even now—
with everything normal—
with nothing out of place—
something still didn't sit right.
Not wrong.
Just…
unfinished.
Zen shifted beside me, brushing against my arm.
He noticed—
of course he did.
"There you are," he said from the couch near the window.
Familiar.
Like always.
He didn't get up.
Didn't come closer.
Just leaned forward slightly—
resting his arm against his knee.
"Come here," he murmured.
Zen flicked his ear—
then, after a second—
jumped down from the bed.
A soft thud.
He crossed the small space easily—
tail swaying—
and stopped right in front of him.
"Still listens," he added under his breath.
His fingers moved under Zen's chin—
exactly where he liked it.
A low, quiet sound came from the cat.
Relaxed.
Trusting.
Silence settled again.
Light.
But not empty.
He kept playing with Zen—
slow, absent-minded movements—
like his attention wasn't fully there.
Then—
without looking at me—
"So…"
A pause.
"Did you ever find him?"
My fingers stilled against the sheets.
"…who."
He didn't look up.
Didn't stop.
"The one you were looking for."
A faint pause.
"For eight years."
Zen shifted slightly—
unbothered.
I wasn't.
"…no."
The answer came out steady.
He hummed softly.
"Thought so."
His fingers continued moving—
slow—
rhythmic—
like nothing had changed.
"…why."
This time—
I didn't stop it.
"Why what?"
"…why do you know that."
A pause.
Then—
a faint smile.
"You talked about it."
A small pause.
"…to me too."
My fingers curled slightly.
"You used to look different when you mentioned him," he added.
Still casual.
"More… alive."
That didn't sit right.
"…he crossed the line."
"Mm."
Another pause.
Then—
his fingers stilled for just a second.
"Back then…"
A slight pause.
"…you wouldn't just sit there and let someone get this close."
Silence.
My chest tightened.
I didn't move.
Didn't step away.
"…that was different."
"Was it?"
He finally looked up—
from the couch—
eyes meeting mine.
For a second—
something shifted.
Not playful.
Not light.
Familiar.
Then it was gone.
"Maybe," he said, leaning back again.
Easy.
Like nothing had happened.
Zen stretched slightly near him—
completely at ease.
But the room—
wasn't.
Because now—
the question didn't just sit between us—
it stayed.
Quiet.
Persistent.
…why does he talk like he was there?
He didn't look at me again.
Just kept scratching under Zen's chin.
Slow.
Careful.
"You know," he murmured, voice softer now, almost amused,
"he used to look at me like he was about to kill me."
Zen flicked his ear.
Unbothered.
A small pause.
"…still does," he added quietly.
My fingers tightened slightly.
He let out a faint breath—something close to a laugh.
"But now…" his fingers slowed just a little,
"…it's different."
Another pause.
"Quieter."
His gaze stayed on the cat.
"Like he's already decided everything—"
a slight tilt of his head—
"just doesn't say it out loud anymore."
Silence.
"…cold," he added softly.
"Too calm."
My eyes stayed on him.
He finally glanced up—
just for a second.
"And that's worse."
Then he looked back at Zen again—
like nothing had happened.
"OI—!"
Kevin's voice echoed from downstairs—
loud—
sharp—
cutting through everything.
"THE WEATHER'S SO GOOD—LET'S GO FOR A WALK!"
A pause—
then louder—
"HEY—CHINESE CAT!"
Zen's ear flicked.
"AND YOU TOO—XEY!"
My brows furrowed.
"STOP SHOUTING—I HEARD YOU!"
My voice came out sharper than I meant.
But I didn't take it back.
Silence—
for a second—
Then Kevin again—
completely unfazed—
"THEN MOVE FASTER!"
"…unbelievable," I muttered under my breath.
On the couch—
his hand stilled on Zen's fur.
Then—
he pulled it back.
Just like that.
No more movement.
"…guess that's our cue," he said lightly.
He stood up from the couch near the window—
stretching once—
like nothing had been interrupted.
I pushed myself up from the bed, still a bit slower than usual.
Kevin's voice came again—
impatient—
"I'M COUNTING!"
"…he won't make it past three," he murmured casually.
A small pause.
"You coming?"
"…yeah."
Zen jumped down first—
already heading toward the door.
He stepped aside slightly—
giving space—
not too close.
"After you."
I walked past him.
For a second—
that feeling—
brushed past again.
Faint.
Then gone.
"THREE—!"
Kevin shouted from downstairs.
"…see?" he added under his breath.
I didn't respond.
We headed out.
But even as the moment shifted—
something stayed.
Not in the room.
In me.
The door opened—
and the outside hit differently.
Cooler.
Lighter.
The kind of air that made staying inside feel like a mistake.
Kevin was already at the gate—
impatient—
arms crossed—
pretending he hadn't been yelling a second ago.
"Took you long enough," he said.
"You were counting wrong," I replied flatly.
"Excuses."
He turned—
already walking—
not even checking if we were following.
"…he would've left," the guy beside me muttered.
"No, he wouldn't."
"Yeah," Kevin called from ahead, overhearing anyway, "I would've."
A pause.
"…maybe."
We stepped out onto the pathway.
The evening had settled in.
The breeze moved through the mango trees lining the side—
leaves rustling softly—
mixing with distant traffic and the occasional horn.
Birds were still chirping—
not as loud—
but enough to fill the quiet spaces.
Zen walked ahead like he owned the place.
Tail high.
Unbothered.
Kevin suddenly slowed down—
then turned—
walking backwards in front of us.
"So," he grinned, "what's the plan?"
"You dragged us out," I said. "You decide."
"Wrong. I provide vibes. You provide ideas."
"…that's not how that works."
"Too late. It is now."
A pause.
Then—
without warning—
Kevin reached out and flicked my forehead.
"Stop overthinking."
I caught his wrist before he could pull back.
"…don't."
He grinned.
Unbothered.
"See? Alive."
From beside me—
a quiet laugh.
"Yeah," he added casually, hands in his pockets, "he's better like this."
I let go of Kevin's wrist.
"…you two are annoying."
"And yet," Kevin said dramatically, throwing an arm over my shoulder, "you came with us."
"…remove your hand."
"No."
A pause.
Then—
I shoved him slightly.
He stumbled back a step—
then laughed.
"ASSAULT!"
"Deserved," the other one added.
"Traitor."
Zen suddenly darted ahead—
chasing something invisible.
Kevin immediately followed.
"ZEN—WAIT—IF YOU GET LOST I'M NOT TELLING YOUR OWNER!"
"You just did," I said.
"Shut up!"
They moved ahead—
arguing—
laughing—
completely uncoordinated.
I walked behind them for a second.
Watching.
Then—
without realizing—
I matched their pace.
The noise.
The movement.
The chaos.
It felt…
normal.
But—
not completely.
Because even with all of this—
the breeze—
the voices—
the fading light—
something still lingered.
Quiet.
Watching.