home

search

Welcoming.

  The next morning, Kun awoke with a strange heaviness in his chest.

  He couldn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing he recalled was laughing with Sai, curled up on the floor with an old manga between them. The sunlight had long since faded then, replaced by the hush of dusk and the golden flicker of his bedside lamp.

  But now, the room was cold and dim. Morning light strained through the curtains in pale strips. His blankets were pulled up to his chin, neatly tucked like someone had carefully arranged them around him.

  Had Sai left?

  Kun sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes.

  His phone buzzed.

  One message.

  From Sai.

  Sai: Did you dream about me?

  Kun blinked at the screen.

  What kind of question was that?

  He typed back:

  Kun: I don’t remember dreaming anything.

  Kun: Did you leave last night? I didn’t hear the door.

  No reply came.

  The day passed in fragments.

  Kun helped with laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and tried to focus on his homework—but everything felt disjointed. Fuzzy. Like a thread had been pulled from the inside of his head, unraveling something important.

  When he glanced at the clock, he swore it had jumped ahead by hours. Afternoon sun blinked into evening too quickly, like he’d dozed off standing.

  He was losing time.

  And yet, when he passed by his bedroom, he always paused.

  The door was closed.

  He didn’t remember closing it.

  That night, the dreams returned.

  This time, he did remember them.

  The dream was of his own room—but not quite. The walls were darker, and the windows were gone. The air smelled damp and earthy, like soil after a heavy rain. His books were floating, pages fluttering like wings.

  Sai stood by his bed, watching him.

  But his smile wasn’t gentle.

  It was wide. Crooked.

  Something inhuman lurked just behind it.

  Kun tried to speak, but the words came out in reverse—like a tape being rewound.

  He reached for the lamp.

  Sai’s hand shot out, cold fingers curling tightly around his wrist.

  "Don’t wake up," Sai whispered. "Not yet."

  Kun woke gasping. His heart slammed in his chest, and sweat soaked through his shirt.

  He turned to look at the clock. 3:33 AM.

  His bedroom window—closed before—was now open.

  Curtains fluttered in the cold night air.

  In the hallway, Gray paced restlessly. He kept pawing at Kun’s door, low growls in his throat.

  In the master bedroom, Kun’s mother stirred in her sleep—unaware of the soft footsteps that passed outside her room. Bare, deliberate steps that made no sound. Only the scent lingered.

  Earth. Dust.

  Like something old and buried had come inside.

Recommended Popular Novels