Morning sunlight slipped through my bedroom curtains, glinting off the vanity mirror cluttered with childhood photos. I stared at my reflection—perfectly styled blonde hair, blue ribbon matching my eyes, crisp uniform. All for him.
"Luna! The car's waiting!" Mom's voice echoed from downstairs, flat as a broken record.
I sighed. On the dining table sat a pink-ribboned bento box. "For Theo again?" Mom asked without turning from the stove, her smile mechanically precise.
"No," I lied, grabbing my bag. But she'd already nodded like a wind-up doll. "Theo will love it."
***
The world outside the car window moved in predictable loops—salarymen marching like ants, street vendors raising arms every ten seconds. I pressed my palm against the glass. Why does no one ever look back?
"Stop here," I ordered suddenly, spotting messy black hair waiting under the sakura tree.
Theo jumped as I snatched his bread roll. "Yah! Don't sneak up like that!"
"So weak! My Cousin has more courage than you!" I teased, voice trembling. Same script every morning: mock him, laugh, watch him flee. But today...
A shadow flickered in my peripheral vision. Him—the faceless boy from my nightmares, lingering by the convenience store.
***
Class 2-C reeked of chalk dust and unspoken lies. Theo laughed with Ivansia in the corner, his hand brushing her shoulder. My stomach twisted.
"Here." I slammed a pastel-pink lunchbox onto Theo's desk. "D-don't get the wrong idea! I just had leftovers!". Ivansia countered with her perfect heart-shaped lunch.
"Sorry, Luna..." Theo scratched his neck like a guilty puppy. "I already ate..."
The walls closed in. I wanted to scream, to shake him—
A desk slammed. The faceless boy stood trembling, his metallic voice cutting through silence. "You're doing it again," the words spilling out like poison. "Every. Damn. Day."
Theo blinked. "Luna doesn't really—"
"Don't." His voice dropped to a growl. "You've rejected her 356 times. Ignored her 267 times. Made her cry 54 times. And you still pretend you don't know?!" The boy's eyeless gaze burned into me.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling. No one else noticed.
I tried defending Theo, but deep down—he's right.
***
The bathroom mirror showed two Lunas—pristine doll and puffy-eyed wreck. "Idiot," I whispered. "He'll never change."
Then why did today's pain feel sharper? Why did that boy's words reopen old wounds?
A crumpled photo fell from my notebook—last year's festival. Theo smiled, but in the corner... blurred brown hair, an open novel, a smile without a face.
The wall clock ticked louder. Outside, storm clouds brewed—or was the sky glitching?
I ran. He sat on the rooftop, reading a weathered book. The page showed two wrists bound by red string.
"I'm sorry for slapping you," I mumbled. "Why defend me?"
Wind ruffled his pages. "Because you're the true protagonist," he said softly. "Yet you keep playing a side role."
Cherry blossoms swirled around us. When I turned to ask more—he'd vanished. Only the scent of old paper lingered.
That day, for the first time, I walked home alone.
---
Dusk painted the sky blood-orange as I left the supermarket. My tote bag weighed heavy with groceries, right hand clutching Mom's "gift"—a butterfly knife she insisted "proper girls" carry.
Alley shadows stretched long. Click-clack footsteps echoed behind me—rhythm matching my nightmares. Three silhouettes closed in.
Three shadows detached from the wall. "Well well, lost little rich girl?"
I froze, knuckles whitening around my pocketknife. "Stay back!"
"Or what?" The leader grinned, gold teeth glinting. "You'll poke us with your—"
I spun, blade clicking open—
"Luna!"
Red mist sprayed from the boy's bottle. Gangsters howled, clawing their eyes.
"RUN!"
We weaved through trash-filled passages. My ankle caught in a pothole—
He scooped me up, heartbeat thundering like overworked machinery.
"P-Put me down!" I hissed, face burning.
He smelled of old books and bitter coffee—familiar, somehow.
***
My mansion's gate opened with his touch. He marched straight to the medicine cabinet behind the fake Van Gogh.
How did he know where I live. I threw the first-aid kit.
"Ow! You're worse than the gangsters!"
"Quit whining." Calloused fingers wrapped my swollen ankle—too skilled for a student.
"Who are you?!" I asked
Moonlight bled through the curtains. Somewhere, a clock ticked toward midnight.
"Someone who's tired of watching you die."
The words slipped out. My eyes widened— Hands trembled and I remembered the nightmares I often had
"…Die?"
Silence. Rain pattered against the windows.
I caught his wrist. "Wait." My fingers trembled. "That chili spray…"
"Homemade." He tossed the bottle. "Blend of ghost peppers and vinegar. Works better than your pocketknives."
He tapped my tote bag. "Take one to know one, Princess" He pointed at the chili spray i took
"Ugh! Sleep on the floor!" I lobbed a pillow, hiding the extra blanket I'd set out.
Strangely, my heart was beating fast, probably because I was exhausted from running.
***
That night, I dreamed:
-Cracked crimson skies
-Spicy sweat and pounding hearts
-Arms refusing to let go
-Lips tasting of bitter coffee meeting mine
I awoke gasping. Beyond my door, pages turned rhythmically.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The clock's beats morphed into countdowns. Orange light flashed outside—a warning.
He knew everything about me.
So why didn't I fear him?