Asahin meant to stay awake for Kaylen's visits. Kaylen had promised to drop by — though he hadn't specified whether it would be every night or only when it suited him. Still, Asahin wanted to wait. He tried to wait. But his body was too weak, his mind too fogged, and no matter how determined he was, exhaustion always won in the end. Sleep would creep up on him before midnight, dragging him under before he even realized his eyelids were closing.
The shot he received every Friday at the hospital was to blame. For years, Asahin had been told it was to help him manage the consequences of his damaged glands — to stabilize him, to make life easier. But now he knew the truth. The shot wasn't helping him. It was poisoning him. Weakening him.
Two or three days after each injection, his body would begin to unravel. His limbs would grow heavy, his muscles trembling beneath the simplest effort. A leaden fatigue would settle in his chest, weighing him down until even breathing felt like a chore. His appetite would vanish. Food would taste like ash. His moods would swing dangerously between irritated restlessness and crushing emptiness. Eventually, his strength would be completely drained, leaving him fragile and brittle as glass.
But the worst part wasn't the weakness or the hunger or the exhaustion. It was the dreams.
Or rather, the nightmares.
They always began the same way: a thick, soupy darkness swallowing the edges of his mind. The ground beneath his feet was damp and unstable, the air rank with the smell of rotting earth. A twisted, swamp-like world where fog clung to the trees like old skin and the shadows were too dark, too alive.
And then — the figure would appear.
Tall and humanoid, but not quite human. Its limbs were unnaturally long, its hands gnarled and clawed. Its eyes gleamed with sickly light, too wide, too knowing. No matter how fast Asahin ran, the creature would follow — sliding through the fog without making a sound, closing the distance with unnatural ease. When it finally caught him, it would seize him by the throat with icy hands and squeeze — breath-stealing pressure, black spots blooming behind his eyes.
"Give it back!"
The voice was wrong. Warped. A slithering hiss beneath brittle cracks of sound, as though human speech were being forced through a broken instrument.
"It's mine! Mine!"
Asahin's nails would dig into the creature's wrists as he fought for air — as his body spasmed under the crushing grip. Panic would bloom like acid in his chest. His strength would wane, his vision would blur — and just when it seemed like his consciousness would shatter completely—
The scent would come.
Soft. Sweet. Warm. Vanilla and spice curling through the dark like sunlight filtering through storm clouds. The scent would seep into his lungs, into his mind, and then — the creature's grip would loosen. The swamp would dissolve.
And Asahin would find himself somewhere else.
A movie theater.
Dust motes drifted lazily through the dim light, caught in the flicker of an old projector. The walls were faded red velvet, the seats plush but slightly worn. He'd sit in one of the middle rows, legs stretched out, the smell of buttered popcorn and stale soda in the air. Beside him — someone was laughing. A boy with tousled dark hair and warm brown eyes, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth with a crooked grin. It was a place that had once been home to him.
He and his only true friend had discovered the cinema during a difficult summer, both of them desperate for an escape from their miserable lives. They didn't have much money, so entertainment had been a luxury. But by some stroke of luck — or maybe fate — they'd both landed part-time jobs at the theater. After closing, when the last of the patrons had left and the manager had locked up for the night, they'd sneak into the main hall, sit in their favorite row, and play the old reels.
Old westerns. Silent films. Noir thrillers. It didn't matter what was showing — the comfort came from the shared silence, the quiet laughter, the stolen warmth of their shoulders brushing together.
Asahin remembered the way his friend would toss popcorn at him during the boring parts. The way he'd stretch his legs out and sigh dramatically when the movie dragged. The way his head would eventually drift onto Asahin's shoulder when sleep overtook him.
Asahin had felt safe in that theater. But then he lost him.
It happened too suddenly. Too violent. He hadn't even realized how much he needed this friend until he was bleeding out in Asahin's arms, his breaths growing thinner and thinner, his hand weakly clutching Asahin's wrist. The last look in his eyes had been apologetic. Regretful.
Asahin had screamed for help. But no one came.
No matter how many lives Asahin would have lived since then — no matter how many faces he would have worn — that loss remained etched into his soul. That friend's laughter, that warmth, the closeness — it was a ghost that haunted him, lingering just beyond reach.
And now he was dreaming about him again.
In the dream, Asahin's hand reached out desperately toward his friend's face as the theater began to fade. The boy was slipping away — the colors bleeding from his features, his smile fading.
"No!" Asahin whispered. He surged forward, fingers brushing the boy's sleeve — but his hand closed on empty air.
The theater dissolved into blackness.
"Asahin."
A quiet voice pulled him from the void. His eyes fluttered open, blurry with unshed tears.
A cool hand brushed at the dampness gathering beneath his lashes.
"Why are you crying?"
Asahin's breath hitched. Kaylen sat beside him, perched on the edge of the bed, his gray eyes dark with concern.
Asahin blinked, disoriented. His fingers curled into the sheets as Kaylen's hand ghosted across his cheek.
"I…" Asahin's throat tightened. His gaze drifted toward the dark window. "I was dreaming."
Kaylen's brow creased. His thumb traced the curve of Asahin's cheekbone. "About what?"
"Someone I lost."
Kaylen's gaze softened. He didn't ask for more. He didn't press.
"What are you doing here?" Asahin's voice was low, rough from sleep.
"I wanted to talk," Kaylen said, his voice even. "But you were sleeping so deeply, I didn't want to disturb you. But now that you're awake… get up and eat. I brought you some food."
Asahin blinked, his mind still fogged with lingering discomfort. "You… brought me food?" His tone sharpened with disbelief. "At this hour?"
"Yes. I've noticed you've been looking thinner. Exhausted." His brows knit together faintly.
Asahin frowned at him in confusion. Noticed? When exactly had Kaylen been noticing anything about him? The last time they'd spoken was… three nights ago. Kaylen hadn't come to see him since then. How could he possibly say lately when there hadn't even been a lately to notice?
"I don't really have an appetite," Asahin muttered.
Kaylen looked at him without speaking for a moment, but then his hand moved — fingers curling around the edge of the thin blanket draped over Asahin's legs. With quiet insistence, he peeled it away and reached down to gently tug Asahin upright. His grip was steady, but not rough. A quiet strength beneath the careful touch.
"You still need to eat," Kaylen said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Asahin sighed but didn't resist. His legs felt weak beneath him as Kaylen guided him toward the small table near the window.
On the table were two neatly packed takeaway containers. Kaylen opened them wordlessly, and Asahin's eyes widened slightly at the contents.
Meatballs — plump and steaming — alongside a bright tomato and cucumber salad. And for dessert… vanilla-flavored cookies.
Asahin's gaze flicked toward Kaylen. He hadn't told anyone about his food preferences — not here, not since transmigrating into this world.
His mouth opened, the question forming on his tongue — How did you know? — but he stopped himself before it slipped free.
Honestly… what would be the point in asking? After everything he had endured since waking up in this world, things making sense had long since ceased to matter. The strange, the impossible, the unexplainable — they were part of his reality now.
Still… it was funny in a way.
He glanced down at the cookies, the smallest smile curling at the edge of his lips.
In his phone, Kaylen was saved as Food Guy. A half-joke from the time Kaylen had served him beef bone soup. He didn't expect the name to stick so well.
"You're not going to eat?" Kaylen's voice pulled him back.
Asahin hesitated, then picked up a fork. He speared a meatball and took a cautious bite. The taste was rich and savory, the spices lingering on his tongue. His stomach, empty and raw, immediately responded with a low growl. He flushed, ducking his head.
Kaylen sat back in the chair across from Asahin, arms resting on his knees as he watched Asahin eat, trying hard to suppress a smile.
"I told Darrien I want to break up," he suddenly said, without preamble, as if announcing something quite trivial. His voice was steady, too calm for the weight of the statement.
Asahin nearly choked on a piece of tomato. He coughed, pressing a hand to his throat as his wide eyes snapped toward Kaylen. "You… you did what now?"
"There's no point in continuing a relationship that has no future," Kaylen added smoothly, as though this were the most reasonable conclusion in the world. His gray eyes remained impassive, like this was nothing more than a logical step — an inevitability.
"Wait. Hold on a second." Asahin's hand shot up as if to physically halt the conversation. He inhaled sharply, trying to gather his thoughts. "I think you just skipped over a few critical steps here. First of all… aren't you madly in love with Darrien?"
Kaylen's brows knit together in mild confusion. His expression didn't waver, but a faint crease formed between his eyes.
"No," he said simply. His tone held no hesitation. "I've always cared about Darrien, but I was never in love with him."
Asahin's mind reeled. What the hell? That was definitely not what the novel had said.
They were supposed to be fated mates — bound by destiny, devoted to each other, hopelessly intertwined. His sister's novel had described their love as fierce, unbreakable — the kind of connection that could weather kingdoms falling and worlds ending.
Was there anything the damn book had gotten right?
"But… but why would you break up with him?" Asahin's voice softened, bewilderment creeping into his tone.
Kaylen's gaze darkened slightly. The lamplight caught the cool undertone of his irises, making them gleam like polished steel.
"Because," Kaylen said, his voice low, steady, "it wouldn't be right to stay with Darrien when my mind is occupied by someone else."
A sudden chill swept down Asahin's spine. His lips parted. His heart stumbled in his chest.
"And… who exactly might that someone be?"
The moment the question left his mouth, he regretted it. He saw the subtle shift in Kaylen's expression — the faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. Not a smirk. Not a smile. Something softer. More dangerous.
Kaylen's gaze didn't waver as it settled on him.
No. No way.
Asahin's stomach twisted. His hands curled into fists at his sides. His pulse roared in his ears.
Him? It's him?