Darkness lingered even after I opened my eyes.
For a few seconds, I didn't move.
Didn't think.
Didn't breathe properly.
Just… stared.
The ceiling above me felt unfamiliar—
or maybe it was me who felt out of place.
A dull ache pulsed at the back of my head.
"…You're awake."
Kevin's voice.
Soft. Careful.
I turned my head slightly.
He was sitting beside the bed, leaning forward, watching me like I might disappear if he blinked.
"How long…?" My voice came out dry.
"A few hours," he replied. "You fainted."
Fainted.
The word echoed strangely in my mind—like it didn't belong to me.
I blinked slowly, trying to gather the scattered pieces in my head.
"…What happened?"
Kevin hesitated.
Just for a second.
But I noticed.
"You don't remember?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
Because I did.
Not everything.
Not clearly.
But enough—
Enough for something cold to settle in my chest.
"…You were acting strange," he continued. "Standing there, not responding properly. You said someone was here."
Someone.
My fingers tightened slightly over the bedsheet.
"…And?" I asked.
Kevin exhaled lightly. "There was no one."
Silence.
Thick. Heavy.
There was no one.
The words should have settled something.
They didn't.
My gaze drifted away from Kevin, back to the ceiling—blank, unmoving.
"…No one," I repeated quietly.
It sounded wrong.
I could still feel it.
Not a memory—
not imagination—
Something real.
Something that had been there.
My fingers curled slightly against the sheets.
"…He was here."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Kevin didn't respond immediately.
I didn't need to look to know the expression on his face.
Concern. Confusion.
Doubt.
"You're not making sense," he said carefully.
Maybe I wasn't.
But—
My breath caught faintly.
That feeling…
It hadn't disappeared.
It lingered.
Like a presence just out of sight.
Like someone standing too close—
just behind me.
Watching.
Waiting.
My body tensed.
"…No," I whispered, almost to myself.
This wasn't just fear.
Fear fades.
This didn't.
It stayed.
Clung.
The silence in the room pressed in on me, heavy and suffocating.
If it wasn't real…
Then why did it feel so familiar?
Why did my chest tighten—not just with unease—
but with something else…
Something I couldn't name.
Something that didn't feel new.
My brows drew together slightly.
"…This isn't the first time."
The thought came quietly.
But once it did—
it didn't leave.
My fingers tightened unconsciously.
No…
That wasn't right.
Or maybe—
it was.
A faint frown formed as I shut my eyes briefly, trying to grasp the feeling slipping through my mind.
That presence…
That voice…
That touch—
My breath hitched.
"…Was it really him…?"
The question came out in a whisper.
But before it could settle—
another thought followed.
"…Or… someone else?"
My eyes opened slowly.
Two images—blurred, incomplete—overlapped in my mind.
One—
distant.
Faint.
Wrapped in something older… quieter.
The other—
sharp.
Close.
Too real to ignore.
My chest tightened.
They felt the same.
And yet—
not the same.
"…No…" I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
That didn't make sense.
It couldn't.
A person couldn't feel like two different people—
or two people feel like one.
Right?
My hand rose slightly, pressing against my chest as if it would steady the chaos building inside.
But it didn't help.
Because the more I thought—
the worse it became.
"…Why do they feel the same…?"
The question barely formed on my lips.
And for the first time—
fear wasn't the only thing I felt.
There was something else.
Something deeper.
Something far more dangerous.
Recognition.
"…Why do they feel the same…?"
The thought wouldn't leave.
It circled—again and again—refusing to settle into anything clear.
And then—
Something shifted.
My brows furrowed slightly.
Wait…
My breath slowed, thoughts sharpening just a little.
"…No."
That wasn't right.
They weren't exactly the same.
A faint tension crept into my chest as I tried to recall—properly this time.
The first time.
The second.
And… tonight.
My fingers curled slightly.
"…There's a difference."
It was subtle.
Easy to miss.
But now that I focused—
I couldn't ignore it.
The ones I met before—
Their presence felt heavier.
Stronger.
My jaw tightened faintly.
"…Their build…"
More defined.
More solid.
More—
My breath paused.
"…muscular."
The word felt strange, but it fit.
But tonight—
The one who stood behind me…
The one who—
My fingers stiffened.
"…He wasn't the same."
Not weaker.
No.
Just…
Different.
Slightly leaner.
Sharper.
Less… overwhelming in that physical sense—
but somehow—
even harder to escape.
My thoughts tangled again.
"…So which one…?"
The question barely formed—
when—
"Hey."
Kevin's voice cut through everything.
Sharp.
Close.
I flinched slightly, my thoughts snapping apart instantly.
He stepped closer, frowning, eyes scanning my face like he was trying to read something I wasn't saying.
"You've been zoning out for like five minutes," he muttered, a hint of irritation mixed with concern. "That's not normal—even for you."
I didn't respond.
Couldn't.
Because my mind was still stuck there.
Between them.
Kevin sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Look," he said, softer now, dropping into a more familiar tone, "whatever you think you saw—just calm down first, okay?"
A pause.
Then, with a slight nudge to my shoulder—
"Seriously, don't go all ghost-story mode on me at this hour. I just got here."
A weak attempt at humor.
Very Kevin.
My gaze shifted toward him slowly.
He was trying.
Trying to keep things normal.
Grounded.
Real.
"…It wasn't nothing," I said quietly.
Kevin held my gaze for a second.
Longer this time.
Then exhaled.
"Yeah," he murmured, not fully agreeing—but not dismissing it either.
"We'll figure it out."
Kevin watched me for a moment longer—
then suddenly leaned closer, nudging my shoulder again.
"Alright, enough," he muttered, a little more forceful this time. "Your brain is going to explode at this rate."
Before I could react, his hand lightly grabbed my wrist—not tight, just familiar—and pulled slightly.
"Come here."
I frowned faintly but didn't resist.
He shifted me just enough so I was angled toward the window.
"Look outside."
"…What?"
"Just look," he insisted, a bit clingy now, like he wasn't going to let me slip back into my thoughts again.
My gaze drifted, almost unwillingly, toward the window.
For a second—
nothing registered.
Then—
The mango tree.
Right outside.
The branches swayed slightly in the night breeze, soft and quiet.
And there—
small, fresh leaves.
Light green.
New.
My eyes lingered on them without realizing.
"They just started growing a few days ago," Kevin said, his voice softer now. "Did you even notice?"
I didn't answer.
Because…
No.
I hadn't.
"They were completely bare before," he continued casually, leaning back a little but still close enough. "Now look at it."
A small pause.
"Still growing."
Silence settled again—
but this time…
It wasn't heavy.
My gaze stayed on the leaves, the faint movement calming something inside me.
Kevin exhaled quietly, satisfied.
"See?" he added lightly. "Not everything is creepy and mysterious."
A weak attempt.
But it worked—
just a little.
The tightness in my chest eased.
Not gone.
But quieter.
"…Yeah," I murmured.
Yet even as I looked at the fresh leaves—
that feeling…
didn't completely disappear.
It lingered.
Somewhere deep.
Waiting.
Kevin stared at me for a few seconds.
Too long.
Uncomfortably long.
Then—
he suddenly leaned in.
Close.
Way too close.
"…Don't move."
I blinked. "What—"
"Shhh."
His eyes narrowed, scanning my face like he was analyzing something critical.
Serious.
Dead serious.
"…Yeah."
"What yeah?"
He leaned back slowly, nodding to himself.
"I knew it."
"…Knew what?"
A pause.
Then he pointed at me.
"Your brain lagged."
I just stared at him.
"It what?"
"Yeah," he continued, completely calm. "Like bad network. Your soul exited your body for a second and now it's trying to reconnect."
"…Kevin."
"Don't interrupt, this is serious."
I exhaled slowly. "I'm fine."
"No, no," he shook his head, already standing up. "I've seen this before."
"You have not—"
"I need salt."
"What?"
"Or a slipper. Either works."
"…Are you trying to beat the ghost out of me??"
"If needed, yes."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Dead serious.
And that—
that was it.
A small laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
Kevin froze.
"…Wait."
I turned my face away, pressing my lips together—
but it didn't help.
Another laugh escaped.
Softer—
but real.
Kevin's eyes widened like he'd just unlocked an achievement.
"OH???"
"No—"
"IT WORKED."
"It didn't—"
"I FIXED HIM."
"Kevin—"
He pointed at me dramatically.
"Ladies and gentlemen, after years of research—"
"Stop talking."
"—I have successfully rebooted this man."
I let out a breath, shaking my head slightly—
but the smile didn't fully disappear this time.
Kevin crossed his arms proudly.
"…You're welcome."
Kevin didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just kept staring at me like he was calculating something deeply important.
"…Wait."
I groaned softly. "What now?"
He slowly raised a finger.
"I need to confirm something."
"…No."
"Yes."
"Kevin—"
"Quick question," he cut in, serious again. "If a mango falls from that tree outside—"
I blinked. "What?"
"—and it hits you on the head…"
A pause.
Dramatic.
"…does that make it a fruit attack… or a natural disaster?"
Silence.
I stared at him.
"…What?"
"I'm asking because legally it matters."
"HOW does that matter??"
"What if the mango had intentions?"
"It's a mango—"
"Exactly. Suspicious."
I dragged a hand down my face.
"…You're not real."
He nodded slowly, like he agreed.
"That's what the mango wants you to think."
I turned away—
but a laugh slipped out again.
This time louder.
Kevin gasped softly.
"There it is."
"No—"
"HE LAUGHED AGAIN."
"Kevin, stop—"
"I'm telling you, it's the mango tree."
"…What?"
"It's healing you."
I let out another breath, shaking my head—
but I couldn't stop smiling now.
Kevin crossed his arms, satisfied.
"…Nature is amazing."
I laughed.
Actually laughed—
the kind that slipped out before I could stop it.
Kevin was still going on about something ridiculous—something about the mango tree outside deciding to attack me personally.
And for a moment—
it worked.
The tension eased.
The weight in my chest loosened, just a little.
But then—
"…Wait."
My voice came out quieter than before.
My gaze shifted toward the window, landing on the tree Kevin had pointed at.
The branches were still.
Bare—except for a few soft, newly grown leaves.
No fruit.
My brows drew together slightly.
"…How would a mango even fall on my head?"
A pause.
Then I muttered,
"It's winter."
Silence.
Slowly—
I turned to look at him.
"It's winter."
Kevin didn't even blink.
"Okay—and?"
I stared at him.
"…There are no mangoes."
He frowned slightly, like I was the one not making sense.
"According to you."
"According to biology—"
"Biology is a suggestion," he cut in immediately.
I blinked.
"What?"
"Yeah," he nodded, completely serious. "Plants don't follow rules. They just… vibe."
"…Vibe?"
"Exactly."
I stared at him for a full second.
"…You're insane."
"Or," he raised a finger, "hear me out—"
"No."
"The tree is hiding them."
Silence.
"…Hiding them."
"Strategically," he added. "Waiting for the perfect moment."
"To do what?"
"To attack."
I turned away, pressing my fingers against my forehead.
"…I can't deal with you."
"Wow," he scoffed lightly. "So when a mysterious man breaks into your house, you're fine—"
"I am not fine—"
"—but when a mango shows initiative, suddenly it's unrealistic?"
That—
That made no sense.
Absolutely none.
And yet—
A laugh slipped out again.
I tried to stop it.
Failed.
Kevin went completely still.
Then slowly—
a grin spread across his face.
"…Yeah," he muttered proudly.
"I'm saving lives out here."
I shook my head, letting out a quiet breath.
"…You're impossible."
Kevin grinned like he'd just proven something.
I didn't reply.
Didn't argue.
Didn't think.
For once—
I just let it go.
All of it.
The confusion.
The questions.
That strange, lingering feeling—
I pushed it aside.
Because right now—
with him here—
it didn't feel as heavy anymore.
A faint smile stayed on my lips without me realizing.
Honestly…
how was anyone supposed to stay serious around him?
I leaned back slightly, closing my eyes for a brief second.
"…Idiot."
Kevin didn't even react to the insult.
Just leaned back like he'd already won.
And maybe—
just this once—
he had.