Soft at first, like whispers against glass.
Then louder, heavier, like the sky itself was trying to drown something it couldn't name.
For a moment, I thought he had just gone to make coffee, the way he always did.
I reached for his side of the bed, expecting warmth.
But there was nothing.
No trace of him, not the faint scent of his soap, not the soft rhythm of his breathing.
Just silence.
"Ken?" My voice was small, unsure.
No answer.
I pushed the blanket away and stood up, the floorboards creaking under my bare feet.
The air felt strange, too still, too hollow.
The curtains were drawn, but the light that slipped through them didn't look right.
It was pale, colorless, like the world had forgotten how to breathe.
I stepped into the living room.
Empty.
The mug he used that morning was gone.
The small book he left on the counter, gone.
His shoes by the door are gone.
Everything was too clean.
Too perfect, like he'd never existed here at all.
My heart began to race. "Ken?"
Still no answer.
I checked the kitchen, the bathroom, the tiny balcony that overlooked the street. Nothing.
When I turned, I caught my reflection in the window.
I looked… different. My eyes were glassy, my skin pale, like I hadn't slept in days. But I had.
Or at least I thought I had.
Panic began to bloom inside me, slow at first, then violent.
I ran to my apartment, the door was open.
The clock on the wall was frozen, its hands stuck between hours that didn't exist.
I grabbed my phone, but the screen wouldn't turn on.
Not even the faint glow of power.
Everything around me was slipping, the air, the sound, the color of the world.
And then, through the window, I saw him.
Ken.
He was standing outside the hospital across the street, in his white coat, smiling faintly.
Relief flooded through me, wild and consuming.
"Ken!" I shouted, pushing open the door and running barefoot into the rain. "Ken!"
But he didn't move.
Didn't even look at me.
I crossed the street, breath ragged, tears already stinging my eyes.
The rain was cold, stinging, almost painful against my skin.
But I didn't care.
"Ken!" I screamed again.
He finally turned.
And then—
He started to fade.
Like smoke dissolving into the air, piece by piece, his outline breaking, scattering, until all that was left were the faintest specks of light.
"No, no, no, no…" My voice cracked as I stumbled forward, trying to hold onto him.
My hands passed through him like mist.
He smiled, that soft, patient smile that always undid me.
Then he was gone.
Completely gone.
The world around me dimmed.
The rain stopped falling.
Even the sound of my heartbeat vanished, swallowed by something vast and empty.
"Ken…" I whispered, my voice trembling. "Please…"
I started running.
I didn't know where, I just needed to find him.
The hospital.
The park.
The pier.
Everywhere we'd been together.
But each place was empty.
The coffee stand was closed, its sign half-torn.
The pier was abandoned, the sea still and gray.
Even the streetlights were dead, their glow swallowed by fog.
Everywhere I looked, the world was erasing itself.
"Please," I cried. "Please don't leave me again."
The sound of my voice bounced back, hollow and unfamiliar.
And somewhere, faintly, I could hear his voice, distant, echoing.
"Ysabelle…"
I froze.
"Ken?"
But it was slipping away, fading like a radio signal breaking into static.
"Ken!"
I ran again, legs burning, lungs aching.
Every step felt heavier, like the ground itself didn't want me to move.
My vision blurred from the rain, or tears, I couldn't tell.
And then I saw him again, across the pier, standing where the ocean met the horizon.
"Ken!" I screamed, running toward him. "Please—don't go! Please don't go!"
He turned.
His eyes were full of something I couldn't name, love, sorrow, inevitability.
"Wake up," he said softly.
"What?"
"Wake up, Ysabelle."
"I am awake!" I cried. "Please, just stay!"
But the moment I reached him, he disappeared again.
The world shattered into pieces, sound, light, air, all collapsing into nothingness.
And then—
I was drowning.
The sea dragged me under.
Cold water filled my lungs.
I tried to scream, but only bubbles came out.
"Ken!"
I reached upward, searching for his hand, his warmth, his voice—
"Ysabelle!"
Someone was shaking me.
Hard.
My eyes shot open, breath hitching, the world coming back in sharp fragments, the smell of coffee, the feel of soft sheets, the sound of rain still tapping the windows.
"Ysabelle—hey, hey—look at me," Ken's voice broke through the fog.
I gasped, the dream still clinging to me like a second skin.
My chest hurt, my throat burned.
Ken was there real, solid, alive. His hands were on my shoulders, his eyes wide with worry.
"You were screaming," he said softly. "You wouldn't wake up."
Tears blurred my vision.
I grabbed him, pulling him close, clutching him like the world would end if I let go.
"You were gone," I whispered against his chest. "I—I couldn't find you. You disappeared, Ken. Everything disappeared."
He tightened his hold, one hand running gently through my hair. "It was just a dream."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "It felt real. You were there. You were fading—"
"Shh." His voice broke slightly. "I'm here. I'm right here, Ysabelle."
I pulled back just enough to see his face.
His eyes were glassy, almost trembling.
"You scared me," he whispered. "You were crying in your sleep. I thought—" He stopped, swallowing the words.
My breathing slowed, though my body still trembled. "I thought I lost you."
"You didn't," he said gently. "You won't."
But deep down, something in me wasn't sure.
Something about that dream, the way it felt real, the way my chest still ached, it lingered.
Like a warning whispered through the fog.
I buried my face against his shoulder, trying to steady myself.
His arms wrapped around me again, steady and warm.
We stayed like that for a long time.
No words.
Just the sound of our breaths finding rhythm again.
When I finally spoke, my voice was small. "You promise you'll stay?"
He hesitated, just for a second, so quick I almost missed it.
Then he whispered, "Always."
But as I closed my eyes, the faint sound of the sea returned to my mind.
The same waves from my dream, the same voice telling me to wake up.