~oOo~
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Nathaniel Zhang, Cali's longtime boyfriend, stood at the doorway with a towel slung over one shoulder, concern etched deep between his brows. His voice was low, cautious—like he already knew the answer but needed to ask anyway.
Cali stepped out of the bathroom in a loose shirt that clung to her damp skin. Her hair dripped onto the wooden floor, and steam curled around her like a ghost that refused to let go. Her eyes were sharp, her jaw tight, but underneath it all—she was tired.
She didn't answer right away.
Because the truth?
She wasn't okay. Not even close.
She thought she was getting better. Thought the bad dreams were behind her. That the shadows in her head had finally quieted down after that horrific car crash that cracked her skull and stopped her heart for two full minutes.
Two. Whole. Minutes.
She died. And then came back.
But the world she returned to... didn't feel like the one she left behind.
Something shifted. Something stayed with her. Something followed.
She had stopped talking about the accident. Even convinced herself it was just trauma playing tricks on her—until last night.
Until the nightmare came back. Again.
Until she woke up screaming, clawing at her own skin, because it felt like something was eating her alive.
Nathaniel didn't know about that part.
He knew the basics—hospital stay, broken bones, recovery. He knew the visible wounds. But not the dark ones. Not the ones curled deep in her chest, whispering at night. Not what she saw while she was dead. Not what waited for her in that void. Not the voice that hissed her name from behind the veil.
No one knew.
Not even him.
Cali ran a hand through her wet hair, pulled it back into a lazy knot, and forced a half-smile. "I'm good. Just didn't get enough sleep."
"You screamed," Nathaniel said, stepping closer. "It wasn't just a dream, Cal. You were shaking."
She rolled her eyes and turned to the dresser, rummaging for clothes with more energy than necessary. "Yeah, well. It happens when you fry your brain in a car crash. Shocking, I know."
He stayed quiet. He was used to her sarcasm by now, knew it was her way of dodging feelings like landmines. But that didn't stop the worry in his eyes.
"You don't have to brush it off, you know."
"And you don't have to play therapist before breakfast," she shot back, then sighed. "Look, I'm fine. I've got a project due, and I'm already late. Let's not turn this into a thing."
Nathaniel let out a slow breath and leaned against the doorframe. "Alright. But you can talk to me, Cal. Whenever you're ready."
She nodded, too fast. "Yep. Got it."
She wasn't ready.
Because if she told him the truth—about the dream, the pain, the pressure on her chest, the feeling of drowning in ink while something with teeth smiled in the dark—he'd never look at her the same way again.
He'd see her as damaged. He'd start treating her like glass.
And she wasn't ready for that. Not from him. Not now.
She had just started to feel whole again. Just started to believe that love might actually be enough to shut out the darkness. And for a while, it was. His arms, his warmth, his breath steady against her neck—it kept the nightmares at bay.
Until last night.
Until the Dream-Eater returned.
And now... now it was like she never left that void. Like it had followed her home and curled up beside her while she slept.
"I have to go," she said abruptly, grabbing her bag. "Deadline's brutal."
Nathaniel frowned. "At least let me drive you—"
"No," she cut him off, sharper than intended. "I'll take the train. I need the walk. Clears my head."
He hesitated, but nodded. "Okay. Just... text me when you get there?"
She leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Always do."
Her voice was light. Easy. Practiced.
But as she stepped out the front door and into the gray morning, the air clung to her skin like cold fingers. Her spine tingled. Her chest tightened.
Something was there.
Watching.
Waiting.
The silence she had fought so hard for was gone again.
And whatever came back with her from the dead...
It was hungry.
-
It was already past noon when Cali finally wrapped up her last meeting for the day. The moment the screen dimmed and the call ended, she let out a heavy sigh and slumped back in her chair. Her fingers pressed against her temples as the dull throb in her head intensified into a full-blown migraine.
"I need coffee," she muttered under her breath, dragging herself upright. But the second she stood, the room tilted sideways. She reached out quickly, gripping the edge of her desk to steady herself as a wave of dizziness rolled through her.
"What you need is lunch, babe," came Dianne's voice from across the small office, her tone half-scolding, half-concerned. "You haven't eaten anything since you got here. Good thing your boyfriend dropped off food—otherwise you'd be living on caffeine and poor decisions."
Cali blinked, then offered a lopsided smile. "Thanks, Mom," she said with a raspy chuckle, shooting Dianne a grateful glance. "Your concern is touching."
"I'll touch your forehead with a thermometer if you pass out again," Dianne shot back, already walking over with a paper bag in hand. "Eat first. Coffee later."
Cali sighed and took the bag, her stomach grumbling like it had just remembered it existed. "Fine, fine. I'll eat." Then, after a beat, she added with a smirk, "Only because my boyfriend went through the trouble."
Dianne rolled her eyes. "You mean the walking green flag who actually cares if you starve to death? Yes. That one."
Cali opened the bag and caught the familiar scent of Nathaniel's home-cooked chicken adobo. Her chest ached for a second—not from hunger, but from guilt. She had left the house that morning with barely a real goodbye.
She masked it quickly with another joke. "I swear he's trying to bribe me with food so I'll stop being emotionally unavailable."
"Smart man," Dianne said. "And if that adobo doesn't fix your mood, I'm dragging you out for overpriced milk tea after work."
Cali grinned weakly. "Deal."
But as she peeled back the lid of the container and picked up her fork, her thoughts slipped again—just for a second—back to the dream.
To the fog.
To the voice.
Even here, in the warmth of a quiet office and the smell of comfort food, something cold coiled under her skin.
It hadn't left her.
Not even in daylight.
-
Dinner with Nathaniel had gone surprisingly well—at least on the surface.
Cali smiled when she needed to. Laughed when she should. She even managed to pick at her food and pretend her head wasn't pounding like someone was drilling through her skull from the inside out.
Nathaniel, ever the gentleman, didn't push. He noticed, of course—he always noticed—but he let her have her silence. He let her play pretend.
Maybe that was why she didn't wait the moment they stepped inside her apartment.
The second the door closed behind them, Cali grabbed the front of Nathaniel's collar and pulled him down into a kiss—hungry, fierce, desperate.
He stiffened for half a heartbeat in surprise, then melted into her. His hands found her waist, warm and grounding, as he kissed her back just as fiercely. There was no patience tonight. No softness. Just a shared urgency—hers to escape whatever haunted her, his to anchor her however he could.
She broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, "Don't ask me if I'm okay."
"I wasn't going to," Nathaniel said, voice rough as he cupped her face, kissed her again—slower now, but deeper. "But I'm here."
Cali's breath hitched. She hated how much that made her want to cry. So instead, she pulled him toward the bedroom.
Clothes came off in pieces, scattered like breadcrumbs from the front door to the bed. His shirt, her blouse. Her jeans tangled with his belt on the hallway floor. By the time they fell onto the mattress, skin against skin, Cali's thoughts had quieted.
Not disappeared. But dulled—muted beneath the weight of him above her, the heat of his mouth trailing down her neck, the feel of his fingers exploring her curves like he needed to memorize her.
Nathaniel knew her body. Knew the way she arched when he touched just right, the way she whimpered when his lips brushed the soft skin between her breast and collarbone. He took his time, even when she was rushing—especially when she was rushing—because he knew that slowing her down was the only way to keep her present.
"You're shaking," he murmured against her skin.
"I'm fine," she lied again, but her voice cracked. She pulled him down to kiss her, to shut her up, to feel something other than fear.
His hand slid down between them, and she gasped when his fingers found her—already slick, already needing. He didn't tease, just touched her like he knew exactly what she needed. She bucked her hips, breath hitching, hands gripping his shoulders like she'd fall apart otherwise.
"Nathan—"
"I've got you," he whispered into her ear. "Let go."
And she did.
Her body tensed, hips rising to meet the rhythm of his fingers, her head tilting back with a broken moan as heat pooled in her core and built fast, too fast—until it spilled over with a shudder, her orgasm tearing through her like a breath she'd been holding since morning.
But Nathaniel wasn't done. He kissed her through it, murmuring her name like a promise, and guided himself between her thighs, pushing in slow, deep, and deliberate. Cali gasped again, body still sensitive, nerves raw. He filled her inch by inch, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt.
She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer, nails dragging across his back. "Don't stop. I need you—"
He didn't.
Their pace was slow at first—an exchange of breath, of shared glances, of everything they weren't saying. But it didn't take long before it grew urgent again. Every thrust was a word unspoken, every kiss a plea. Her migraine faded into the background, chased away by the heat curling in her belly once more.
She met him thrust for thrust, lost in the rhythm of him, the feel of skin, the closeness that made the world outside fade.
"Cali—" he warned, voice thick with tension.
"I'm right there," she breathed out, and then—
Together.
She came again, louder this time, clinging to him as he followed right after, his body stiffening before he collapsed on top of her, breathless and trembling.
The world was quiet for a moment. Their breathing the only sound in the room.
Cali blinked up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling fast, her body warm and used and alive. She felt human again. Real. Even if the shadows would return the moment the silence stretched too long.
But for now—Nathaniel's arm wrapped around her waist, his lips pressing against her temple—she was here.
Still her.
Still holding on.
They'd gone at it again—twice, maybe three times. Cali had lost count somewhere between the second round and Nathaniel lifting her onto his lap with that look in his eyes that always made her forget how to breathe. It was nearly 3 AM by the time their bodies finally gave in to exhaustion.
Their limbs were tangled together beneath the sheets, skin damp with sweat, the room filled with the steady hum of the air conditioner and their slowing breaths. Neither of them spoke for a while. They didn't need to. There was a kind of peace in the silence that only came after being completely undone.
Cali's head rested against Nathaniel's chest, her fingers absently tracing patterns along his ribs. His arm was slung around her shoulders, thumb brushing the bare skin of her arm in lazy strokes.
Then, finally, his voice broke through the quiet.
"Is your head still hurting?"
Cali groaned and pushed her face into his chest like a child throwing a tantrum. "I told you not to ask me that."
"I know," he said with a small chuckle, his chest vibrating under her cheek. "But I'm asking anyway. You scared me earlier. You looked like you were about to faint."
She rolled her eyes but didn't move. "Fine. The truth?"
"Always."
She pulled away slightly to look up at him, her expression softer now, almost sheepish. "It's gone. No more migraine. No more pounding skull. No more blinding pain."
Nathaniel's brow furrowed. "Really?"
Cali smirked. "Yes, really. I don't know what kind of spell you cast on me, Zhang, but apparently, sex with you cures all ailments. I should bottle it and sell it."
He laughed, low and warm. "A little niche, don't you think?"
"I don't know. I think a lot of people would buy it."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'm glad you feel better."
She exhaled deeply and let her eyes flutter closed, but her voice stayed awake. "But it's weird how you knew. I never told you my head was hurting."
Nathaniel paused, and for a beat, he didn't answer.
"I just... noticed," he finally said, his tone quieter, more thoughtful. "You kept touching your temples. You weren't fully present during dinner. Your smile didn't quite reach your eyes. And when you stood up earlier at the restaurant, you almost stumbled."
Her eyes opened slowly, staring up at him with something unreadable flickering in her gaze.
"I know you, Cali. Even when you try to hide things, I see you," he said softly.
That made her throat tighten unexpectedly.
So instead of responding with words, she shifted closer, kissed the side of his neck, and whispered, "Then stay. Keep seeing me. Even when I forget how to be seen."
Nathaniel pulled her closer, arms tightening around her as if he could anchor her to the present just by holding her. His voice, low and steady, barely brushed against her ear.
"Always."
They kissed again—slower this time. Less urgency, more depth. The kind of kiss that lingered, like an echo, as if trying to speak the things they weren't ready to say out loud. It wasn't about hunger anymore—it was about grounding, about remembering that they were here, real, breathing, warm.
And when they were both satisfied, breathless but at peace, Cali let herself melt into the quiet again. Her body was exhausted, but her mind refused to sleep. Something kept scratching at the edges of her thoughts, like a whisper she couldn't shake.
She pulled away gently, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him.
"Nathan?"
He opened one eye, still dazed from the afterglow. "Mm?"
Her voice was soft, but careful. "Do you know anyone named... Xian Ruo?"
Nathaniel blinked slowly, the name rolling through his mind like a distant bell.
"What?" he asked, sitting up a little. "Where did that come from?"
"I don't know," she admitted, her brows furrowing as her fingers unconsciously traced the edge of the bedsheet. "I've been hearing that name in my dreams. Over and over. And it wasn't just last night. I think... I've heard it before. Right after the accident, too. Like someone whispering it when everything else is quiet."
Her voice softened with each word, like she was still trying to believe it herself. Like saying it out loud would make it less strange. Less real.
Nathaniel's body stilled, the peaceful haze from earlier slipping away. His expression shifted—just a fraction—but enough for Cali to notice. A flicker in his eyes. Something unreadable, like a memory trying to surface but staying buried just beneath the calm.
"I don't think I've heard that name before," he said slowly, almost too carefully. "It sounds... Chinese?"
She nodded, staring down at her fingers now. "Yeah, it is Chinese. I thought maybe it was a client, or someone I crossed paths with in the hospital, or a name I saw online... but it doesn't feel like that. It feels more... personal. Familiar in a way I can't explain."
Then she looked up at him, studying him. "And you're the only Chinese person I know, so I thought maybe... I don't know, you'd recognize it."
Nathaniel let out a soft breath and leaned back against the headboard, his hand running through his already-mussed hair. "Well... I don't know anyone named Xian Ruo. Not even in my family. But..." He paused, then turned to her, the shift in his tone more thoughtful now. "Since we're on the subject—do you think you'd be ready to come with me to Shanghai?"
Cali blinked. "Shanghai?"
Nathaniel gave her a small smile, a little hesitant, a little hopeful. "Yeah. I mean, we've been together for a while now. I think it's about time you meet my family."
Her mouth parted in surprise, not because she was against the idea—but because of the timing. It felt sudden. Out of nowhere. Right after she had just mentioned that name. Her mind scrambled for connection, but she forced herself to focus on him instead.
"You want me to meet your parents?" she asked, tilting her head.
"I do," he said, threading their fingers together. "My mother's been asking about you. My grandfather keeps hinting at wanting to see the girl who 'made me soft.'" He chuckled, though his gaze searched hers for something deeper. "And honestly, I think it's time you see that side of me. My roots."
She gave him a faint smile, but something coiled tight in her chest. "I thought you said they were traditional... strict."
"They are," he said with a small shrug. "But you'll be fine. They'll love you. Eventually."
"Eventually?" she echoed with a laugh, raising a brow.
Nathaniel smirked. "You have to survive my ah-ma first. She's... a lot."
Cali snorted softly. "Great. Can't wait to be judged over dumplings and oolong tea."
His hand found the small of her back, warm and grounding. "You'll charm them, just like you charmed me."
She wanted to believe that. She wanted to focus on that.
But still, the name lingered.
Xian Ruo.
Even now, in Nathaniel's presence—in his warmth and certainty—it echoed again in the back of her mind.
Soft. Lingering. Ominous.
And as Nathaniel pressed a kiss to her temple and murmured something about planning the trip, Cali couldn't shake the feeling that something was waiting for her in Shanghai.
Something that already knew her name.
Something that wasn't ready to let her go.