Seiji awoke with a heavy sigh.
Morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, warm and golden, painting the room with a quiet peace that felt almost foreign after yesterday's unease. His bedsheets were tangled, sticking to his skin with the remnants of sweat. For a moment, the dream the voices, the silhouette flashed back into his mind.
But then he shook his head, pushing the memories away.
"Nope," he muttered to himself. "Just a bad day. Just my brain acting up. That's all."
He showered longer than usual, letting the water wash the exhaustion from his body. By the time he was dressed and heading downstairs, the house felt less oppressive. The smell of miso soup and grilled fish greeted him as his mom set the table.
"You look a little pale," she said, tilting her head as he sat down.
Seiji smiled faintly and grabbed his chopsticks. "Didn't sleep well. But I'm fine."
His dad gave him a firm nod, yet with a worried tone. "Then eat well. A strong breakfast will fix half of life's problems."
It was such a simple, ordinary morning and somehow, that made it easier to breathe.
At school, the atmosphere was the same as always chatter in the halls, the clatter of shoes on linoleum, the faint smell of chalk dust.
Tanaka was already waiting by the shoe lockers, his usual grin plastered across his face. "Morning, Seiji! You look like hell."
"Thanks." Seiji deadpanned, slipping into his indoor shoes.
Tanaka shrugged. "No, really. You good? You were zoning out yesterday. Creeped me out a little."
Seiji hesitated before answering. "…Yeah. Just overthinking stuff. I'll be fine."
Tanaka studied him for a second longer than usual, then grinned again. "Alright. But if you collapse, I'm telling the teacher before you hit the floor."
Seiji chuckled at that, some of the tension in his chest finally loosening.
Classes went by as usual, though Seiji found himself staring out the window more than once. The trees outside swayed gently in the breeze, sunlight glinting off the leaves. Peaceful, he thought, too peaceful.
But no voices whispered this time. No figures appeared at the edge of his vision. For the first time in days, he felt almost normal.
It wasn't until the middle of math class that the room tilted slightly just enough to make his stomach drop.
"Oi, Sensei!" Tanaka called from his seat, raising his hand. "Seiji's not feeling well. Can I take him to the nurse's office?"
All eyes turned toward him.
Seiji blinked. "I— I'm fine."
"You're pale as a sheet, dude." Tanaka didn't wait for permission. He grabbed Seiji's arm and stood up. "Come on."
The teacher sighed, waving them off. "Fine. Go."
The nurse's office was quiet, with only the faint ticking of a clock filling the silence. Seiji sat on the bed while Tanaka leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"Seriously, man.." Tanaka said. "You're scaring me. You haven't been yourself lately."
Seiji stared at his hands. "…Yeah. I know."
"Wanna talk about it?"
For a moment, Seiji considered telling him everything the dream, the voices, the phone message that shouldn't exist. But in the end, he just smiled faintly.
"It's nothing. Just tired."
Tanaka didn't look convinced, but he didn't push further. "Fine. But if something's wrong, you better tell me. I'm not letting you go crazy on my watch."
Seiji laughed under his breath. "Thanks, Tanaka."
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint scent of disinfectant filled the room, oddly comforting in its sterility.
For the first time in a while, he let himself relax.
When the school day ended, Seiji didn't go straight home. Instead, he stopped by the neighborhood park, helping an elderly woman carry her groceries before heading to the local convenience store to grab some drinks.
Everything felt calm. Ordinary.
By the time he returned home, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. He stood at the gate for a moment, just watching it, before stepping inside.
His mom called out from the kitchen. "You're home late!"
"Yeah.. Umm..." Seiji replied, smiling faintly. "I .. had some stuff to do."
That night, as he lay in bed, he thought back on the day. It hadn't been perfect, but it hadn't been terrifying either.
Maybe… just maybe… things were getting better.
"For now." It said.
The following days passed in muted rhythm.
Seiji moved through them like someone watching his own life from a distance. He still greeted his neighbors, still answered when teachers called on him, still smiled when Tanaka cracked a joke but the gestures felt weightless, like paper lanterns drifting on still water.
When Tanaka waved to him after class, asking if he wanted to stop by the arcade, Seiji hesitated.
"Not today," he said, forcing a grin. "I have some notes to finish."
"You've been saying that all week."
"Sorry."
Tanaka frowned but didn't push it. He only gave Seiji a quick nod before leaving with the others, laughter fading down the hall.
Seiji lingered by the window a moment longer, staring out at the courtyard where the sun lit the pavement gold. It should have been beautiful. It should have felt warm. But there was something about it that seemed unreal, like the light was too perfect painted on.
That evening, Seiji ate dinner quietly, answering his parents' questions with brief replies. His chopsticks moved out of habit, not hunger.
Ayane's gaze lingered on him as she set her own bowl down. "Seiji.." she said gently. "You've been quiet lately."
"I'm fine." Seiji replied automatically.
"Are you?" Her voice was soft, but there was a thread of worry in it. "Don't shut us out.."
Haruto glanced between them, brow furrowed. He didn't speak, but his eyes said the same thing.
Seiji gave them a faint smile. "Really. I'm just tired."
He excused himself after clearing the dishes and went straight to his room.
His journal sat waiting on his desk.
Its black cover caught the faint light of the desk lamp, the smooth surface smudged with fingerprints from use. Seiji opened it to a blank page, picked up his pen, and hesitated.
Then, slowly, he began to write.
Today was good. I laughed with my friends. The air felt light. I feel like myself again.
He stared at the words. They weren't true. Not completely.
But they were what he wanted to be true.
He kept writing, filling the page with moments that hadn't happened walking home with Tanaka, stopping by the store with his friends, chatting with his parents late into the night.
The more he wrote, the calmer he felt, as though each line was stitching together a version of himself that wouldn't drift apart.
When he finished, he set the pen down and traced the last sentence with his fingertip.
Tomorrow will be the same. Peaceful. Ordinary.
But the words blurred under his gaze, as if the page itself doubted him.
Outside, the world carried on as usual a distant bark of a dog, the faint rumble of a train, the muted laughter of neighbors on the street. But to Seiji, it all felt like background noise, like a painting someone had forgotten to take down.
He lay on his futon, staring at the ceiling.
The quiet pressed in on him, heavy and soft, until he could hear his own heartbeat.
"Just tired.." he whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it true.
But even as his eyes drifted shut, he felt it. that faint pull, as though something beyond the walls of his room was tugging at him, waiting for him to step closer.
The next morning, Seiji rose early, long before his alarm rang.
The house was still, shadows long across the tatami. He sat at his desk and opened his journal again.
This time, he wrote slower, more deliberate.
If something is coming… I'll face it. I won't run away.
His pen hovered over the page. He wasn't sure if he meant it.
When his parents woke, they found him already dressed, sitting quietly at the table. He greeted them with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Ayane set a bowl of rice in front of him, glancing at Haruto over her shoulder.
Something about the way they looked at him made Seiji grip his chopsticks a little tighter.
The day went on as normal, but Seiji couldn't shake the feeling that he was merely playing along a guest in a world that was slowly preparing to let him go.
And that night, when he wrote again his "The Mirror Journal." he caught himself pausing halfway through a sentence, pen hovering.
He realized he was no longer writing about what he wanted to happen.
He was writing about what he feared would.