The room was dim—washed in the muted amber of the bedside lamp. Kun lay in bed, back propped against the pillows. His body trembled beneath the blanket, small spasms running along his shoulders and legs like the aftershocks of something ancient and deep. The warmth of the house felt foreign. Safe, but thin. Like it could peel away at any moment.
Aya sat beside him, dabbing at the wounds on his chest with gentle, steady hands. The cloth she used was warm, soaked in water and alcohol. Kun flinched, but didn't complain. His skin was too numb to register pain anymore.
A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by Kun's shallow breathing and the quiet clink of the basin at Aya's side.
She finally broke it.
"Why don't you want to be treated at the hospital?"
She didn't ask why he looked so shattered. Why his body bore the marks of something inhuman. Why his eyes no longer looked like a boy's.
Kun's gaze drifted to the cracked remains of his phone on the bedside table. The screen was black—dead.
"I... I was just there a few days ago, right?" he whispered. "I don't want people thinking I'm some troubled kid. You know?"
He smiled—but it was broken. Thin and wrong, like a crack painted over glass.
Aya didn't answer right away. Her hand reached up, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead—now freshly stitched. Her touch lingered a second longer than necessary.
Kun's eyes dropped to his fingers. His hands were a ruin. Nails split, some torn off entirely. The wounds had stopped bleeding, but they looked lifeless—gray and caked with dried blood. There was no pain. Just an overwhelming urge to cry.
"I'll buy you a new phone," Aya said gently. "And maybe a new drawing tablet too. You always said you wanted to try digital art."
"No, Mom…" Kun shook his head faintly. "Can you send that one to a repair shop first? There's stuff in there I need. Important stuff."
Aya nodded.
"Alright. But I'm still getting you a new one. That 'sometime' you mentioned? It might be tomorrow."
She tickled his side gently, trying to coax a smile.
He did smile.
But there was no joy in it.
"So…" Aya's voice softened, "can you tell me what happened? I saw you outside, Kun. Like that…"
Kun's face tightened.
He looked away, hands trembling slightly, fingers curling in on themselves.
"I-I don't really remember… I swear," he stammered. His voice was thin, dry. "I think—I think I got lost. There was this… this photo. And then… it's just blank. Everything's blank."
He swallowed, eyes darting down to his lap.
"But—" he hesitated, his breath catching. "There's something. A flicker. I think I saw… Dad. I saw him go inside this place. It was strange. Really strange. He tore these papers off the walls and then... he knelt down. Like he was praying, or… or giving something up."
His throat bobbed. The memory made his skin crawl.
Aya's brows drew together, her hands frozen in place.
"Your father? Are you saying Yuichi—?"
"Mom…" Kun cut in. "I'm tired. I want to sleep for a while. Maybe if I rest, I'll remember more."
Aya looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. After wrapping his bandages and placing a final band-aid across a cut on his cheek, she stood.
"Are you sure you don't want to eat anything first?"
Kun shook his head. Gave her a small, tired smile.
"No thanks."
Aya didn't press. She rose, turned off the ceiling light, and closed the door gently behind her, leaving only the soft orange glow of the night lamp.
Kun stared at the ceiling.
The silence stretched thin, like skin pulled too tight. The shadows in the corners of his room felt thicker than before. He listened. Thirty minutes passed. Maybe more.
Then—
He heard it.
A sound.
Small.
Movement under the blanket.
He froze.
"It's not real."
He whispered the words like a prayer. Again. And again. A mantra against the dark.
The motion stopped.
For a moment, he believed it worked.
But then he opened his eyes—just a sliver.
The left first.
And what he saw...
Was himself.
Crawling.
A second Kun. Pale. Eyeless. Wet with shadow. Emerging from beneath the blanket, climbing up his body like a marionette on invisible strings. His face was slack, like a corpse. Mouth wide. No breath.
Kun tried to scream.
But the doppelgänger was faster.
It slammed a cold, waxy hand over his mouth, its fingers unnaturally long, curling over his jaw like vines. Its face hovered close—too close. Skin peeling at the corners, jaw twitching as if struggling to remember how to speak.
And then it whispered.
A curse. Not in any human tongue. But something old. Something heavy and wrong. The syllables slithered through Kun's ear, bypassing understanding and embedding themselves directly into his nerves.
"Ul-kheirh… ssa'nam… do'rae el."
Kun thrashed, tears spilling down his cheeks. But he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
The Other-Kun tilted its head—and smiled. A mirror of his own—but twisted. Too wide. Teeth too long. Too many.
It whispered again, this time in his own voice:
"Let me in."
Kun's mouth was pulled down, wider. His eyes watching it.
Then it slid—a clammy hand emerged first, trailing the scent of rot. Kun gagged as its head followed, bending at an unnatural angle. The rest came in a slithering tangle of limbs and shadow, pressing against him—then through him.
It seeped into his mouth, forcing its way down his throat like frozen tar. A surge of cold flooded his chest, spreading like needles through every nerve. His limbs seized. His mind cracked.
It was like drowning in something that knew him.
Like being erased from the inside.
Kun jerked upright in bed, gasping, coughing violently. He clawed at his throat, trying to vomit up what had entered—but there was nothing.
Only silence.
The room was still.
The lamp flickered once.
Kun then stood up near the window, eyes glazed, expression vacant. In his vision, the mansion pulsed at the horizon like a buried heart—beating faintly beneath the trees.
He stood like that for hours, unmoving.
Until Grey, the cat, slipped silently into the room.
He froze at the threshold. His fur bristled.
A low, guttural hiss rumbled from his throat.
He arched his back, tail puffed like a wire brush, and fixed his wide, glowing eyes on Kun—not past him, not behind him, but at him.
Kun didn't move. Didn't blink.
Grey hissed again, louder this time, and bolted out of the room, claws scrabbling across the floorboards.
Only then did Kun blink slowly, as if coming out of a trance.
Only when the first light of dawn touched the sky did he return to bed. He collapsed onto the mattress and drifted into a cold, dreamless sleep.
It was 7 a.m. when Aya gently knocked and entered.
"Kun, breakfast. I made your favorite."
Kun stirred, slowly waking. He blinked up at her, then sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist in a sudden, tight hug.
Aya kissed the top of his head.
"Come on. Let's eat."
In the kitchen, the ramen steamed invitingly.
Kun sat down, smiling.
Too much.
His smiles came too quickly now, too easily.
Aya tried to ignore the unease.
As they ate, Aya heard something—footsteps on the staircase. Heavy. Deliberate.
She froze.
Then looked toward the hall.
Another Kun stood there.
Hair tousled from sleep, rubbing his eyes.
"Mom? Why didn't you wake me up? I smelled my favorite."
Aya's blood turned to ice.
She slowly turned back toward the kitchen table—
But the seat where Kun had just been sitting was empty.
The ramen bowl untouched.
No sign of anyone.
The Kun at the stairs approached, frowning.
"You're even eating without me. Are you trying to erase me?"
He pouted.
Aya said nothing.
The silence between them stretched.