I let out a quiet sigh.
It hadn't been that hard to get him to sleep—
but I hadn't expected it to happen this fast.
My gaze drifted toward him.
Lying there, completely still.
There was something strangely unfair about his face—
half sharp, half soft—like it couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
His eyes were shut, lashes resting lightly against his cheeks,
long enough to cast faint shadows under the dim light.
For a moment—
he looked… too peaceful.
Too quiet.
I frowned slightly, the feeling settling in before I could stop it.
"…Yeah," I muttered under my breath.
"That's not normal."
"You know…" I murmured softly, voice barely above a whisper,
"you always end up like this when you're looking for answers that don't exist."
My gaze lingered on him.
Still. Quiet.
Like nothing could reach him there.
I exhaled faintly, looking away.
"…Must be nice."
I pushed myself off the bed, grabbing the blanket from the chair.
Carefully, I draped the warm, cream-colored fabric over him, making sure it settled properly around his shoulders.
He didn't stir.
"…Figures."
For a second, I just stood there.
Watching.
Then I turned and walked out, leaving the door half-closed behind me.
The kitchen greeted me with silence.
I paused at the entrance, staring at it like it had personally offended me.
"…God," I groaned under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair,
"I really don't wanna do this."
No response.
Obviously.
With a long sigh, I stepped in anyway.
If I stayed idle, I'd start thinking again—
and that was the last thing I needed right now.
So—
I got to work.
Dumplings.
Something simple.
A few side dishes to go with it.
The quiet lingered.
But at least now—
it wasn't empty.
I finished kneading the dough and set it aside, covering it with a clean cloth.
For a moment, I just stared at it.
"…Yeah," I muttered. "That looks right."
It didn't.
But close enough.
I reached for the book, flipping it open as I started preparing the filling—following the steps while relying on whatever bits of knowledge I already had.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was edible.
Probably.
Not long after, I placed the dumplings into the steamer, adjusting the lid carefully.
A soft hiss followed as the steam began to build.
The sound filled the kitchen—quiet, steady.
Almost calming.
I leaned back slightly against the counter, exhaling.
For a moment—
everything felt… normal.
Then—
my phone vibrated.
The sharp buzz cut through the silence, sudden enough to make me pause mid-motion.
I frowned, wiping my hands before reaching for it.
"…Now what?"
The screen lit up in my hand.
For a second—
I just stared at it.
Something about it—
felt off.
My thumb hovered over the screen for a second.
The vibration cut clean through the soft hiss of steam, sharp enough to make the quiet feel… fragile.
I stared at the screen.
Then answered.
"…Yeah?"
Silence.
Not the usual kind.
This one lingered—
stretching just a second too long.
Then a voice slipped through.
Low. Calm.
Familiar.
"Have you shifted it?"
My grip on the phone tightened—barely noticeable, but there.
Of course.
"…Yeah," I said, steady. "It's done."
A pause followed.
Short.
Measured.
"The original?"
I leaned back against the counter, my gaze drifting—unconsciously—toward the hallway.
"…What else would I move?"
Silence again.
Not surprise.
Not doubt.
Just… confirmation.
I exhaled quietly, dragging a hand through my hair before speaking.
"There's something else."
No response.
But I knew better than to think they weren't listening.
"He hasn't been sleeping properly."
The words settled heavier than I expected.
"Not since that one."
This time, the silence stretched.
Thinner.
Tighter.
So I continued.
"No dreams. Nothing new." My voice lowered slightly. "…It just stopped."
The kitchen felt different all of a sudden.
Too quiet.
The soft hiss of steam.
The faint ticking of something I couldn't place—
all of it pressing in, like the space itself was listening.
On the other end, nothing.
Then—
"Don't let anything connected to it remain."
Same calm tone.
But something underneath it had shifted.
Something colder.
"If it reacts…"
A pause.
Subtle.
Deliberate.
"…don't touch it."
I let out a quiet breath—half scoff, half sigh.
"Since when do I leave things alone?" I muttered.
No reply.
Of course not.
Another second passed.
Then the line went dead.
I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the darkened screen.
"…Right."
My jaw tightened, just slightly.
And without meaning to—
my gaze shifted again.
Toward the hallway.
Toward his room.
The original painting was gone.
It was supposed to be over.
Handled.
Clean.
And yet—
something didn't sit right.
The air felt… heavier.
Too still.
Like the house was holding its breath—
waiting.
I pushed myself off the counter, wiping my hands absently against a towel.
"…Tch."
Maybe I was overthinking.
Wouldn't be the first time.
Still—
my steps slowed as I moved toward the hallway.
Not stopping.
Just…
not as steady as before.
Because for some reason—
even after shifting it—
it didn't feel like anything had actually left.
I stopped just short of the hallway.
For a moment—
I just stood there.
Listening.
Nothing.
No movement. No sound.
Just that same, suffocating stillness pressing in from every corner.
"…Yeah," I muttered under my breath.
"Definitely overthinking."
I turned away.
The kitchen felt easier to deal with.
Simpler.
Controlled.
I busied myself setting the table—placing the plates, arranging the side dishes, anything to keep my hands moving and my mind from circling back.
The dumplings were done.
Steam still curled faintly into the air, carrying a soft, warm scent that should've been comforting.
Should've.
I reached for my phone, glancing at the screen out of habit—
—and paused.
"…Huh."
My brows pulled together slightly.
More than an hour had passed.
I stared at the time for a second longer than necessary.
Didn't feel like it.
At all.
"…Whatever."
Locking the screen, I set the phone aside.
The food would go cold if I waited any longer.
With a quiet exhale, I turned toward the hallway again.
This time—
I didn't hesitate.
The door was still half-closed.
Exactly how I'd left it.
I pushed it open slowly.
No creak.
No sound.
Inside, nothing had changed.
He was still there—
lying the same way I'd left him.
Too still.
Too quiet.
For a brief second, something in my chest tightened.
Then I stepped closer.
"…Hey."
No response.
I frowned faintly.
"Xey."
Still nothing.
I reached out, giving his shoulder a light shake.
"Wake up."
A pause—
then the slightest shift.
A breath.
His lashes trembled before his eyes slowly opened.
"…You're awake," I said, pulling my hand back.
My tone was casual.
Like everything was normal.
"Come eat."
I straightened, glancing toward the door.
"Food's ready. Eat first—then go back to sleep if you want."
I paused for a second.
Then added, quieter—
"…You need it."
I didn't wait for a response.
Just turned and walked out.
Because for some reason—
standing in that room any longer felt…
uncomfortable.
I stepped out into the hallway, not bothering to check if he was following.
A few seconds passed.
Then—
soft footsteps.
Slow.
Unhurried.
I didn't turn around.
Didn't need to.
He always moved like that after waking up—
like he wasn't fully here yet.
By the time I reached the dining area, I could feel his presence behind me.
Close enough.
Quiet enough.
I pulled out a chair, adjusting the plates absently.
"Wash up first," I said, glancing at him briefly.
His eyes looked… distant.
Not unusual.
Not entirely normal either.
He didn't reply.
Just gave a small nod and walked past me.
I watched him go for a second—
then looked away.
The sound of running water filled the silence soon after.
Steady.
Grounding.
I leaned back slightly, folding my arms as I waited.
Minutes passed.
Not long.
Just enough for the quiet to settle again.
Then he returned.
Hair slightly damp near the temples, face fresh, movements a little more awake than before.
Still quiet.
Still… him.
He took his seat without a word.
I pushed the plate toward him.
"Eat."
Simple.
Direct.
The dumplings were still warm.
Steam rose gently, curling into the air like soft threads of sunlight—
faint, golden, almost comforting.
For a moment—
everything felt… normal.
Too normal.
The room settled into a soft, fragile quiet.
The faint clink of utensils, the muted sound of chewing, the gentle rustle of the breeze slipping through the half-open window—
and somewhere outside, birds chirping, distant and careless.
For a moment—
it felt almost… normal.
I picked up another dumpling, eyes lowered, not really tasting it.
Across from me, he ate slowly.
Quiet as ever.
Like nothing had changed.
Like nothing ever did.
Then—
"Who were you talking to?"
My hand stilled.
Just for a fraction of a second.
I set the dumpling back down.
"…What?"
"My voice woke me up for a bit," he said, tone even, almost absentminded.
Not accusing.
Not curious.
Just… stating it.
My eyes lifted to him.
He wasn't looking at me.
Just eating.
Like the question didn't matter.
Like he already knew the answer.
"…You heard that?" I asked.
"A little."
A pause.
Then—
"You were talking to Clera, right?"
The name landed lightly.
But it didn't feel light.
Something in my chest tightened—
sharp.
Brief.
Unwanted.
For a split second, a memory flickered—
dim lights, distant music, the low hum of voices blending together—
and her, standing just a little apart from the crowd.
New Year's night.
…Right.
So that's how.
I leaned back slightly, exhaling through my nose.
"…You remember her," I said.
Not a question.
He gave a small nod, finally lifting his gaze.
Calm.
Clear.
Too steady.
"You introduced us."
I didn't respond immediately.
Didn't need to.
Of course I did.
At the time, it hadn't meant anything.
Just another face in a crowded night.
Just another name.
And yet—
here it was again.
At the wrong time.
In the wrong place.
"…You're overthinking," I said at last, tone flat. "It wasn't important."
A quiet lie.
I picked up my chopsticks again, forcing the motion to stay natural.
Across from me, he didn't speak.
Didn't argue.
Just watched me for a moment—
long enough to notice.
Then looked back down at his plate.
"…I see," he said softly.
But something about it didn't feel like acceptance.
The breeze shifted slightly, brushing past the curtains.
The sunlight pooled faintly across the table, warm and steady—
almost comforting.
Too comforting.
I frowned faintly, my grip tightening just a little.
"…Just eat," I muttered.
Silence returned.
But this time—
it wasn't the same.
Because now, beneath the quiet—
something had changed.
"That New Year night… I felt someone watching me… but—"
He stopped, and the pause stretched.
I waited. Patiently. Even though I already knew what was coming.
"But…?" I prompted.
"But there was nothing," he said finally, voice low.
"Just… a dark spot when I turned around."
The words hung between us, heavy, almost daring me to question them.
I didn't.
I let the silence do the work.
My gaze landed on Xeyer's special dish, still covered… made by—
I didn't finish the thought before he spoke again.
"I've never had that feeling before…"
His voice was quiet, almost distant.
"It… it was different from the others."
The words lingered in the air, soft but deliberate.
Like a whisper that refused to let go.
I leaned back slightly, letting my eyes linger on him.
"Hey… don't get all weird about it," I said, trying for casual, letting the corners of my mouth twitch.
"Everyone's got their thing, alright? Even… 'dark spots'."
He blinked at me, just once, like he wasn't sure if I was joking or serious.
I shrugged, leaning forward, elbows on the table.
"Seriously though… it's fine. You felt something, weird or not. That's okay. Doesn't mean it's… permanent or anything."
For a second, he just sat there, quiet.
Then a faint, almost imperceptible exhale.
Small. Relieved.
I gave him a soft nudge with my elbow.
"Come on. Eat your food before it gets cold. Special dishes aren't supposed to wait forever."
A tiny smile flickered across his face, just enough to catch the light.
"Yeah… okay," he said softly.
Not much, but enough.
The steam from the dumplings curled up between us, warm and steady.
And for the first time in a while, the room felt… a little less heavy.
I watched him take another bite, slow and careful.
"Hey…" I said, tilting my head, trying to sound casual.
"Back there… on the floor—did you collapse, or were you… sleeping on purpose?"
His chopsticks froze midair.
His eyes flicked toward me, calm, but there was something… off.
"…Maybe a bit of both," he said, voice low, guarded.
I let a faint smirk tug at my lips.
"Mm-hm. Sure. That's what I thought," I said lightly, shrugging.
Casual. Friendly. Dumb. But my eyes didn't lie.
I knew he was hiding something.
"Still… don't make it a habit, okay?" I added, leaning back a little.
"Floors aren't exactly… five-star beds."
He didn't reply.
Just the tiniest twitch of his lips—a half-grin that didn't reach his eyes.
I let it slide. Some things didn't need words…
Not yet.
I reached across the table, pushing the special dish toward him.
"Here," I said lightly, smirking. "Your favorite."
The moment his gaze landed on it, his whole expression changed.
Eyes brightened, shoulders straightened, and for a second… he looked almost like a kid.
"You… made this?" His voice was barely a whisper, brimming with joy.
Slowly, carefully—almost ceremoniously—he lifted the cover.
Steam curled up in soft, spicy waves, carrying the rich, savory aroma straight to our noses.
A vibrant, hearty bowl of Korean-style ramen sat before him.
At the center, a square slice of melted cheese slowly softened into the noodles,
creating creamy ribbons that mingled with the fiery red broth, flecked with chili oil and seasonings promising a bold, savory kick.
Thin slices of soft tofu rested neatly on one side, soaking up the spicy soup,
while chunks of tangy kimchi added a fermented punch.
Diagonally sliced sausages offered smoky, meaty contrast, and
fresh green onion pieces were scattered on top, sharp and bright against the rich, red broth.
He didn't wait another second.
With a wide, delighted grin, Xeyer leaned in and dove straight at the noodles,
slurping and stabbing with chopsticks like he hadn't eaten in days.
Every bite was met with an unmistakable sparkle in his eyes, pure, unrestrained happiness.
I watched, smirking, letting him have this moment.
Some things—like seeing him this happy—were just… worth it.
Half an hour passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional clink of chopsticks and soft slurps.
By the time the bowls were empty, Xeyer leaned back slightly, chest full, a rare, relaxed expression on his face.
He looked at me, eyes calm but earnest.
"…Thanks," he said quietly.
"For… taking care of the house."
I raised an eyebrow, leaning back, pretending to be casual.
"You mean… cleaning, cooking, feeding the cat?" I muttered, a faint edge of irritation in my voice.
"All the stuff I hate?"
He gave a small nod, a rare softness in his gaze.
"…Yeah. Even that."
I let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Don't think I enjoyed it," I said lightly. "But… someone had to do it. So I did."
He didn't say anything for a moment, just gave a small, genuine smile.
"…I appreciate it," he murmured.
I shrugged, letting the words hang there.
Some things didn't need a response.
The quiet between us felt lighter now, soft, almost… comfortable.
For a brief moment, the house didn't feel suffocating.
It felt… ours.
I pushed the empty bowl slightly aside and leaned back in my chair, letting out a quiet exhale.
"Alright," I said, tone casual, but softer than before.
"You've eaten enough. Go… get some rest."
He looked at me, calm, quiet, as if weighing whether to argue.
"…You don't have to wait up," he murmured.
I smirked faintly, shrugging.
"Someone has to make sure you don't collapse again," I said lightly.
"Go. Rest. I'll handle… everything else."
For a moment, he just stared at me.
Then, with a small nod, he pushed back his chair and walked toward his room.
Slow, measured steps, but this time… lighter.
I watched him go, a faint warmth settling in my chest.
The house felt quiet again,
but somehow… a little less empty.
I pushed the empty bowl aside, exhaling softly as the warmth from the ramen faded.
For a moment, I let myself lean back, closing my eyes.
And then—memories slipped in.
New Year's night.
The city lights blurred past the car window as we drove home.
Xeyer had dozed off, head tilted slightly, resting against the glass.
His breaths were steady, rhythmic—soft against the hum of the engine.
I'd been watching him in the rearview mirror, letting the quiet settle around us.
And then… my phone vibrated.
The call came out of nowhere.
Calm. Quiet.
Like the morning breeze sliding through a half-open window—innocuous, almost comforting.
But the words that followed… weren't.
"We're being chased."
No panic. No urgency in the voice. Just… flat, deliberate.
Cold, precise.
I gripped the wheel tighter, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
Shadows moved along the street, too many, too deliberate.
Every instinct in me screamed that we were no longer alone.
Every corner, every streetlight… seemed sharper, colder.
The city's noise faded, leaving only the weight of that calm voice and the hint of danger trailing behind it.
I swallowed hard, glancing at Xeyer, still asleep.
He didn't stir, oblivious to the tension threading through the car.
And that… made it worse.
The air felt heavier now, colder, as if the night itself was holding its breath.
I didn't recognize the voice on the other end.
But I knew… that calm, morning-breeze tone wasn't harmless.
A few minutes passed.
Too quiet. Too still.
Then—
Headlights tore through the dark.
A car drifted hard across the road, tires screaming, stopping inches from ours.
Doors opened.
Four men stepped out. Black suits.
Not rushed. Not careless.
Hunters.
I exhaled once… and stepped out of the car.
The door clicked shut behind me—soft. Controlled.
I didn't look back.
I didn't need to.
He was still asleep.
…Good.
The first man moved.
Steel flashed.
Knife.
I shifted just enough—the blade grazed past my ribs, slicing fabric.
Too close.
"Tch."
I caught his wrist, twisted—bone strained under pressure.
He didn't scream. Just cursed low and drove his knee into my side.
I took it.
Barely reacted.
Then drove my elbow into his throat.
Muted. Efficient.
He dropped—
—but didn't stay down.
Of course he didn't.
The second came from behind—another blade, clean and precise, aimed for my spine.
I stepped aside at the last second, grabbed his collar, and slammed him forward—his body hitting metal with a dull thud.
"Stay down," I muttered.
He didn't.
Steel flashed again.
This time it cut.
A sharp sting across my arm—warmth followed.
Blood.
"Annoying."
They pressed harder.
Two at once. Then three.
Blades glinting under the streetlight—quick, coordinated, relentless.
Not amateurs.
Every strike meant to kill.
I moved between them, steps tight, controlled—redirecting force, minimizing sound.
Even metal stayed quiet—short, dull clashes instead of ringing impacts.
A knife came low—
I blocked, twisted, and drove it back into his side.
A wet sound.
He stiffened.
Still didn't scream.
"…Yeah," I muttered, breath steady. "Definitely trained."
Time stretched.
Fifteen minutes. Maybe more.
The cold air sharpened, biting into skin.
Blood dripped to the ground in slow, dark drops.
They were slowing.
But they didn't stop.
Didn't retreat.
Like they couldn't.
Then—
One of them slipped through.
Not toward me.
Toward the car.
My eyes snapped wide.
"—Don't."
He ignored it.
His steps were precise. Focused.
His hand reached the handle—
The door shifted.
A faint sound—
Inside…
Movement.
My heart stuttered.
No.
I moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
I grabbed him and yanked him back hard, slamming him into the asphalt.
The impact cracked through the silence.
Too loud.
Too close.
My head snapped toward the car.
Inside—
A slight shift.
Breathing… uneven for a second.
He was—
…waking.
Something in me snapped.
The man beneath me lashed out, blade cutting deep across my side—
Warmth spread instantly.
I didn't feel it.
Didn't care.
Because my focus locked on one thing—
The car.
Him.
My fingers tightened.
And the word came.
Sharp. Instinctive.
Not anger—
Authority.
Something old.
Something that did not belong in this world.
The air changed.
Cold.
Heavy.
Wrong.
Like reality itself held its breath.
The man beneath me froze.
Not fear.
Something deeper.
My lips parted—
Just one word.
That was all it would take.
End this.
Silence them.
Erase the threat—
"…No."
The sound tore out low and strained.
I forced it back. Hard.
My jaw clenched as I slammed his wrist into the ground, the knife clattering away.
Then a sharp strike—precise, final.
Silence dropped.
Heavy. Suffocating.
For a second, even the others hesitated.
Like they felt it too.
Good.
I straightened slowly, breathing controlled, forcing everything back into place.
The cold receded.
The air settled.
Behind me—
Silence.
Steady breathing again.
He hadn't fully woken up.
…Just barely.
My grip tightened for a second before I let go.
Because I knew—
If I had been one second slower…
If that word had slipped—
This night wouldn't have ended the same way