The sky was a dim, ashen gray when Kun opened his eyes.
The sun hadn't fully risen, and the air in his room felt heavy, unmoving—like something had been sitting in the dark, watching him all night. He blinked up at the ceiling, the weight in his chest unmistakable. Another night without sleep. Another night where he could feel the temperature drop around 6 a.m., where the corners of his room seemed darker than they should be, and the sound of breath—not his own—lingered just beyond his ears.
He forced his aching limbs out of bed, legs unsteady beneath him. The floor was cold, the kind of cold that clings to your skin long after you move. As he trudged to the bathroom, a headache bloomed at the base of his skull, dull but persistent.
The shower was warm at first. Comforting. Familiar.The hiss of water filled the space, steam curling around the mirror. Kun let out a soft sigh as he scrubbed shampoo into his hair, closing his eyes.
Then—
Click.
The sound was subtle. Almost like the faucet being turned.
But the water stopped.
He stood there, blind and dripping, shampoo still thick across his scalp.
"What the—?"
Kun blinked through the sting in his eyes, reaching for the faucet handle. He turned it one way, then the other. Nothing. Not even a drop.
Annoyed, he wiped the soap from his face with the towel hanging over the glass divider. But the moment he lifted his head—
There was a face in the wall.
Dark hair hung like seaweed, slick and unmoving. Skin pale like rotted paper. And eyes—those eyes were hollow, endless pits that bore straight into him. Its mouth opened slowly, stretching farther than it should, as if mid-scream… though no sound came from it.
Kun's breath shattered into a scream.
He slipped backward on the wet tiles. His legs flew out from under him, and with a bone-jarring thud, he crashed onto his side. Pain shot up from his hip like fire.
"Urgh...!!"
A strangled cry escaped his throat as he curled up, clutching his side.
Footsteps thundered outside the bathroom.
"Kun?!"
His mother burst through the door, her eyes wide with panic. She found him slumped against the tiled wall, water now cascading from the shower head again—as if it had never stopped.
"Kun! What happened?!" she cried, kneeling beside him, hands trembling as she tried to lift him.
"I—I slipped—" Kun whimpered, tears hot on his face. "It hurts, Mom—it hurts so bad—"
His hip was already bruising, swollen and discolored. She wrapped a towel around him, trying not to jostle him too much as she helped him hobble back to bed.
Kun lay in his sheets, every movement sending shocks of pain through his side. His mother dressed him with care, her face strained with worry.
"I'm taking you to the hospital," she said firmly, grabbing her phone from the bedside.
He didn't answer. He couldn't. He bit into the pillow, muffling the sobs he couldn't hold in.
The phone buzzed. She stared at the screen—eyes narrowing, her body freezing mid-step.
"Pick it up, Mom," Kun whispered, his voice raw.
Her brows furrowed. "No. This isn't—"
"It's work," Kun said quietly. "It's always work."
Her hand tightened on the phone. "I won't be long. Just a short meeting, then I'll bring you in. I swear."
Kun nodded, but the tears didn't stop. His mother kissed his forehead, and Kun tried to smile for her, but it was warped by pain.
Outside the room, she answered the call. Her boss's voice was loud enough to be heard through the thin walls. Angry. Demanding. She reasoned, begged—but they gave her an ultimatum. Show up, or don't come back.
She leaned against the hallway wall, staring down at the floor.
Inside, Kun lay alone.
The ceiling stared back at him like a blank face.The silence of the house was eerie now, oppressive. He winced with every breath, but something else gnawed at him—a feeling of being watched.
Gray's absence prickled at the back of his mind.The cat usually perched on the window sill at this hour, but today—nothing. No silver tail flicking lazily, no amber eyes watching the dawn. Where had Gray gone?
His mother returned, eyes glassy. "I'll be back after the meeting. I promise."
Kun nodded weakly. "I'll wait."
And she left.
He was alone.
The hallway clock ticked loudly. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Kun closed his eyes.Behind his eyelids, the face in the wall burned itself into memory. That wasn't a trick of the light. That wasn't his imagination.
It had really been there—that face, looming in the wall, as if it wanted to swallow him whole.
Now, all that remained was the cold hush of the house… and the fact that his mom was running late.
"Maybe she forgot again," Kun murmured to himself with a defeated sigh, a small smile tugging at his lips.
—
The sky had begun to shift to a muted amber when the doorbell rang.
Kun lay half-asleep under his blanket. Pain pulsed through his body, sharp and unforgiving. But worse was the feeling that had settled in his chest since morning—a gnawing dread, like something had been scraped open inside him. The memory of the face in the wall wouldn't fade. He kept hearing water dripping, even though the faucet had stopped long ago.
Ding-dong.
The chime echoed through the hallway.
Kun's brows furrowed. He struggled to sit up, wincing. "Mom?"
No answer.
Another ring followed. A little longer this time.
Slowly, painfully, Kun pulled himself out of bed. The crutches his mother had set beside him leaned against the nightstand, but he didn't reach for them. He moved stiffly toward the living room, favoring his uninjured side.
He opened the door—and there, standing against the hazy afternoon light, was Sai.
"Kun," Sai said softly. "You didn't come to school today."
Kun stared at him, caught off guard. Sai looked exactly the same—uniform slightly wrinkled, long black hair falling into his eyes, a small plastic bag clutched in one hand. His voice held no malice, only concern.
But something in Kun's stomach twisted.
"I was worried," Sai added.
Kun blinked, trying to find words. "I… I had an accident."
Sai tilted his head. "Oh no. Are you okay?"
Kun hesitated. "Yeah. I mean… not really. I fell in the bathroom this morning. My hip's… bad."
Sai's eyes darkened with quiet sympathy. "I brought something for you," he said, lifting the bag. "Snacks. And those grape drinks you like."
"Thanks, Sai. You're the first one to visit," Kun said with a small smile and a quiet sigh.
He stepped aside slowly. "You can come in."
Sai smiled again. "Thanks."
He stepped inside without hesitation.
Kun led him back to his room with slow, shuffling steps. The pain made his breaths short. Sai didn't speak as they walked—he only watched. Not the way a friend watches out of concern, but the way a cat watches a bird limp on a broken wing.
Back in his room, Kun climbed into bed with a wince. Sai placed the snacks on the nightstand and sat quietly on the floor, legs folded neatly.
"I'm sorry that happened," Sai said after a long pause. "Falling. That must've really hurt."
Kun nodded. "Yeah."
"You didn't see anything… weird, did you?" Sai asked softly.
Kun froze.
The air grew colder. Barely—but enough that he noticed.
"What do you mean?" Kun asked, cautious.
Sai smiled again, but slower this time. "Just wondering."
Kun looked away. "I was half-asleep. I probably imagined things."
Sai said nothing to that. The silence stretched thin.
"Did anything happen while I was gone?" Kun asked, trying to change the subject.
"Not really," Sai replied. "But I missed you."
Kun laughed awkwardly, unsure how to respond. "You… don't have to say things like that."
"But I do," Sai whispered. "Because they're true."
There was something fragile in his tone—like a thread unraveling at the edge.
Kun looked at him for a long moment, then glanced at the nightstand. The grape drink was still cold. He reached for it and cracked the seal.
He took a sip.
But it tasted… different. Slightly off. Not bad, exactly—but not quite right either.
Sai watched him drink in silence.
"…" Kun stared back at him. And then, without quite meaning to, the words slipped from his mouth.
"I missed you."
Sai's eyes widened. Slowly, shakily.
"…You do?" he whispered.
Kun blinked. "I mean, yeah. I've gotten used to you being around, I guess. You're the only one who really talks to me, so…"
Sai lowered his head, hair falling like a curtain. His expression hidden, but Kun could feel it—the pressure thickening the room, like it had drawn in a breath and wasn't exhaling.
"It's not that deep," Kun added quickly. "I'm just glad you're here."
Sai looked up.
His smile was too wide. Too still.
"I'm glad I'm here too," he said softly. "When I heard you didn't show up, I felt awful. Like something bad had happened. And I was right."
Kun looked away. "I just slipped…"
Sai didn't blink.
Then, slowly, he sat beside Kun on the bed.
"I was scared this morning," he murmured. "It felt like… I lost something. Again."
"Again?"
"Never mind," Sai said. "It doesn't matter. You're here." His voice was gentle. Too gentle.
"I'll always come," he whispered. "No matter what."
Kun tried to shift away—but pain shot up his side. He flinched.
Sai's hand moved.
Rested gently—light as a whisper—on Kun's hip, just over the bruise. "You don't have to be alone anymore," he said. "I can take care of you."
"I'm not alone," Kun said softly.
Sai's eyes darkened.
"You will be," he murmured. "Soon."
Kun's heart pounded.
But before he could respond, Sai stood and moved to the window.
"…Your mom's late," he said.
Kun nodded.
"She forgets you a lot," Sai added.
"That's not true."
"She'll leave. People always do. But I won't."
"I don't want to be alone either," Sai whispered. "And now that you miss me…"
He looked over his shoulder.
- - -
Later that evening.
Kun was asleep when his mother returned.
She opened the door softly. "I'm sorry, Kun… something came up—"
She paused in the doorway.
He was in bed. Peaceful. Breathing slow.
A smile of relief touched her lips until she noticed the can on the nightstand.
Grape juice.
Not a brand she recognized.
She picked it up.
Inside—
Tiny worms. Squirming. Pale and glistening.
Her breath caught.
"Kun?"
She turned.
Kun was awake.
But his eyes—pitch black. Mouth hanging open, too wide.
No sound.
No breath.
Just darkness.
Then—he blinked.
And smiled.
Not his smile.
The lights flickered.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
She turned—nothing there.
Back to the room—
The bed was empty.
Only the can remained.
Still warm.
Still squirming.
"Mom," Kun muttered hoarsely.
She turned again.
He was back in bed.
Fevered. Confused. Real.
The worms were gone.
"Where did you get this?" she asked.
Kun blinked. "Sai gave it to me."
"You shouldn't drink anything he gives you," she said.
"Why?"
"Because… I don't know who he is."
"But he remembered what I liked…" Kun smiled faintly.
She placed the can far away.
"Try to rest," she whispered.
"Okay…"
She turned to go.
Then Kun's voice again.
"If Sai asks… don't tell him you saw the worms."
Her blood ran cold.
—
From deep in the house:
Drip… drip…
She followed the sound.
The storage room. Unused. Unlit.
Handprints on the wall.
Etched above them:
YOU SAW THEM TOO.
Something skittered above her.
She turned.
The hallway lights went out.
Kun's room—dark.
She ran back.
Flung open the door.
He was still there.
Asleep.
But someone else was beside him.
Back turned.
Head tilted.
Long black hair falling across his shoulders.
Without turning, he said softly:
"Ssh. He's trying to sleep."