Chapter Text
Chay’s breath forms into a small cloud in front of him. For a moment, it’s the only thing he sees in the dark expanse of nothingness he’s been plunged into. An involuntary quiver runs through his body, but it doesn’t take long for his eyes to get used to the dark. Chay is standing in a large and empty windowless room with black walls. He cranes his neck upwards, but where there should be a ceiling is only a big inky void.
The room feels familiar but definitely not safe. He has no idea what he’s doing here or how he even came to be in this strange room. He digs through his memory to find the most recent one but comes up blank.
Chay thinks about exploring the room, but he’s hesitant to move. Nothing has happened to him yet, which means that this spot is safe. For now. He waits in the oppressive silence with frayed nerves, scanning his surroundings. His stomach coils in unease when he can’t find a single door. There is no way to escape.
“Chay?”
Chay whirls around at the loud voice behind him, the muscles in his neck screaming at the abrupt movement. His heart starts racing a million miles per hour, and his knees shake with the sudden fear that has taken hold of him.
A light shines down on the figure standing in front of him. The small lightbulb sways gently from side to side, folding the person in shadows, hiding their eyes. Still, Chay recognises him.
“Kim? How did you get in here? Do you know where we are? How do we get out?”
Kim's body is unnaturally still. Not a single hair on his head moves, there’s not even the slightest tremble in the hands hanging by his side, and his chest doesn’t rise with breath. It’s almost as if he’s a statue.
“Are you settling into your new home?” Kim asks, his voice a little monotone, a little cold, and not at all unfamiliar.
“Uh, yeah? I-I guess I am,” Chay stutters, thrown off by the trivial question.
Kim doesn’t say anything else. He continues to stare at Chay with slightly furrowed brows, but his gaze is devoid of any emotion.
“H-how do we get out of here?” Chay asks.
“I knew all along you were Porsche’s little brother.”
Chay’s throat bobs painfully as he swallows. A wave of confusion rolls in. “Haven’t we had this conversation before?”
Kim continues as if he didn’t hear anything. “Why else would I tutor you?” A smile appears on his face, but it’s all wrong. The tip of his tongue peeks through a gap in his rotting teeth.
A bolt of pain shoots through Chay’s limbs. “I don’t want to hear this.” A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. When did it suddenly get so hot?
Kim’s bones crackle as he tilts his neck. It sounds as if his body’s rigidity is breaking and he’s finally coming alive. “I mean, did you think I was actually interested in you?” A strange cackle escapes from his mouth, which seems to grow broader under the dim light. “Did you truly believe I wanted to spend time with you? That I liked being around you?”
“Stop,” Chay whispers. “Why are you saying this?” He’s already gone over this conversation a thousand times, painstakingly analysing every word Kim said to him in the hope that he misunderstood something, that Kim meant something else when he said he used Chay and that he’d never loved him.
Kim takes a step forward, and then in an instant he’s in front of Chay, his face a hairbreadth away. Chay gasps, his gaze locked on the cracked and bleeding lips he once dreamt of kissing but now revolt him to his core. Kim’s skin looks waxy and pallid, and the hair that falls in his face is greasy from the roots down to the split ends.
“Here’s the truth,” Kim says loudly.
“No—” Chay interjects, but his objection is barely a shaky breath, and he doubts Kim would listen even if he had heard.
“The weeks I had to pretend to like you were the most gruelling and excruciating weeks of my life. Do you know how exhausting you are? Do you know how difficult it is to be around you and not bash my own head in? Everything you said made me want to put a bullet through my brain. The sound of your voice was pure torture.”
“Stop!” Chay shouts, shaking his head. His cheeks are wet with sweat and tears. “Stop,” he repeats weakly.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why everyone leaves you?”
“Don’t,” Chay growls. “Stop! Stop!” He backs into a wall and slides down.
Kim holds up a finger. “Your parents left.”
“They died,” Chay protests. It doesn’t count. They didn’t choose to leave.
“Your mom didn’t,” Kim says, his smile uncannily bright. “She’s alive. And she never came back for you.” Another finger goes up. “Your uncle left.”
“He wasn’t my uncle.”
“But you cared about him. And he didn’t care about you. So he left.”
“Why are you doing this?” Chay pulls on his hair out of frustration. “Stop it!”
Kim crouches down so he’s on eye level with Chay and holds up another finger. “Your brother left. And if you hadn’t found out that he works for my family, he would’ve stayed gone for a long time. He probably would’ve never come back.”
“You’re lying,” Chay cries.
Kim puts his hand down and leans in. “And I left. Thank fucking God I did.”
Chay rubs his hands against his eyes so hard it hurts. The room fills with the sound of his sobs, but just like the last time Chay cried, Kim doesn’t care. He doesn’t say anything.
There is a sudden subtle shift in the pressure on Chay’s heart, and when he looks up through wet eyelashes, Kim is gone. Where did he go? Chay cranes his neck but the room is empty. There must be a hidden door somewhere, which means there is a way to escape. If Kim got out, Chay can too.
The lightbulb dangles from an invisible string, casting shadows on the walls in front of him, which he can see clearly now. They’re not black like he first thought but a deep dark blue, and they’re covered in little nicks and cavities because of bad plastering. The seams are covered in thick globs of paint as if it’s the glue holding the walls together.
The odd structure of the room takes so much of Chay’s focus that he only belatedly realises he should not be able to see so many small details in a room as large as this one.
“Shit!” He jumps up from the ground but immediately pitches down again when his head hits the ceiling with a thud. “Ow! What the fuck?” Impossibly, the wall in front of him soundlessly starts pushing against his stretched legs. Even though panic floods his body – because what the fuck is happening – instinct takes over and he quickly sits on his knees and leans forward, touching his forehead to the ground to make himself as small as possible. Breathing is extremely uncomfortable in this position, but he can’t manoeuvre himself anymore. The walls are closing in fast.
“Help! Somebody help me! I’m in here!” He shouts himself hoarse and bangs on the wall to the left of him, which gets harder to do the closer it gets. “Someone fucking help me!”
The ceiling is pressing painfully against his back now, and undeterred by the obstacle in its way. It keeps pushing against him, forcing Chay to squeeze his legs out so he can lower his torso to the ground. The respite is only brief; within seconds the ceiling is crushing him again, and now the walls are squashing his arms and legs as well.
Everything hurts. His skin tears from the friction. Hot blood seeps into his ears and mouth. His slimy muscles detach themselves from his shattered bones. Pressure builds up behind his eyes, and one of them pops out of its socket.
The final cry Chay lets out as the room flattens him is one of primal fear
and it echoes around his bedroom as he bolts upright, still fully buried under his heavy duvet. Chay untangles himself in a panic, kicking the comforter to the floor. The first breath he takes fills his lungs with so much oxygen he feels almost dizzy.
“Nightmare,” he murmurs, dragging a hand down his sweaty face. “Shit.”
This one was bad. His nightmares used to be manageable; scary in a fantastical sense and over within a flash, and if he ever woke up with a racing heart, he had no trouble going back to sleep again after taking a few calming breaths. The truly debilitating nightmares, the ones that feel like they last entire days and make him want to throw up, started occurring just a few weeks ago, but it feels like he’s already spent a lifetime being tormented by them.
They started after the kidnapping. He’d wake up from a grim dream with his hair sticking to his forehead, the images fading from his mind after a few seconds and leaving him with a slightly unsettling feeling in his stomach. Then after the sea of corpses left behind in Yok’s bar, his nightmares started becoming more clear. In them, the dead men would rise like zombies, blood trickling out of the bullet wounds in their foreheads and fingers pointing accusingly at Chay as if he’d pulled the trigger. Those images were more difficult to forget.
Chay’s t-shirt is damp with his sweat. It sticks uncomfortably to his skin, the material scratchy and cold. He tries to fan himself but his arm feels so heavy he can’t keep it up for more than a few seconds.
It’s barely four o’clock when Chay taps his phone screen to check the time, still hours before the sun rises. Exhaustion tugs at his body and clouds his thoughts, but there’s no going back to sleep for him. Kim’s cruel words are already playing on repeat, and his mind won’t let him forget the sensation of being flattened out of existence.
Chay heaves himself out of bed and into his bathroom. A hot shower will help to wake him up and hopefully ease some of the tension in his aching limbs. With a bit of luck and a whole lot of wilful ignorance, his nightmares won’t haunt him during the day.
A small but welcome breakfast spread greets Chay when he drags himself into the kitchen hours later, desperate for some caffeine. He’d gotten started on some uni coursework after his shower, but he didn’t get very far. It’s all incredibly dull, and with little to no sleep, writing an essay on current marketing trends takes more mental strength than he can currently muster.
Porsche is nursing a black coffee at the kitchen counter, his suit jacket thrown over the back of his chair. Chay still isn’t used to seeing his carefree brother in such fancy clothes, but he has to admit they suit him more than the old tank tops he used to wear.
“Good morning.” Porsche playfully rubs Chay’s head when he joins him at the table.
“Morning,” Chay grunts groggily, pouring himself a cup of strong coffee as well.
“Ah.” A knowing look crosses Porsche’s face. “Nightmare again?”
Chay hums. “Like every other night this week so far.”
Porsche puts his cup down on a coaster, the expression on his face suddenly all business-like. The wall he hides his emotions behind didn’t used to be this tall, but ever since Chay moved into the compound he’s been more reserved, probably in an attempt to resemble a stable adult amidst all the chaos.
“I’ve been thinking about your nightmares.”
“I’m trying not to,” Chay mutters, rolling his neck to get some of the stiffness out.
“I think we should get you some sleeping pills. I know it’s not ideal to be dependent on drugs to help you sleep, but I’m getting worried about your health. You look like a zombie.”
“Sleeping pills won’t help.”
Porsche sighs. “You can’t exactly beat science, Chay. There’s no doubt about sleeping pills working. Take twenty milligrams of temazepam and you’ll be out the entire night.”
“I’m not saying they don’t work. But sleeping medicine can cause vivid dreams.” Chay smiles drily. “Nightmares are a common side effect of sleeping pills, especially when taken in higher dosages.” It’s the first thing Chay googled once the nightmares started seriously affecting him.
“Oh.” Porsche deflates. “But maybe they won’t—”
“I’m not going to take the risk,” Chay interrupts tiredly. “If the drugs don’t help the nightmares will be even worse, and if they do help there’s a big chance I’ll get addicted to them. I can’t win.”
Porsche furiously rubs his eyes until they’re red. His slumped posture marks his own tiredness, and Chay feels a surge of affection for his brother, their shared exhaustion forging a new connection. Neither of them could have predicted six months ago that life would wear them to the bone.
“This can’t continue,” Porsche says, getting up and putting his arms around Chay. “You need to sleep, properly, without nightmares. I’ll think of something, okay? I’ll talk to Kinn, see what we can do.”
“It’s not your problem to solve,” Chay sighs, putting his face in the crook of Porsche’s neck. He doesn’t have to stand on his tippytoes to reach anymore.
“I’m always going to take care of you,” Porsche whispers.
Chay takes his usual seat at the front of the lecture hall. Few people sit next to him because his classmates favour the back rows where it’s much easier to have hushed conversations and scroll mindlessly on their phones. Another reason why the seats next to Chay remain vacant is because he doesn’t have any friends.
Chay has felt disconnected from his peers ever since he started university. This is the only chance he has at normalcy, the one place not infected by the madness of his new family, but even here the violence pulls at him. Sudden loud noises send him into a panic, and his heart starts racing every time someone abruptly pulls out their phone, his mind screaming at him that it’s a gun. Every man in a suit could be an undercover guard tasked to protect him, or worse, someone from the other side ordered to kill him. Two weeks ago, after a particularly bad night, Chay managed to convince himself that the new canteen worker had poisoned his food, all because she’d given him a nasty look, which he realised only later on was because he’d spilt rice on the floor.
Making friends is difficult when you see an enemy in everything and everyone, but Chay can’t afford to grant his trust to anyone right now. Not even Porsche has his full confidence. He continues to keep things from Chay in what is undoubtedly a well-meant measure to protect him, but Chay isn’t overly fond of secrets between them. It makes him less inclined to share his own thoughts and worries.
“Porchay?”
Chay startles and looks up from the blank page in his notebook. “Sorry, professor. What did you say?”
“I asked if you’d be so kind as to get the mock tests from my office. I’d do it myself but I want to finish these slides and there won’t be enough time left. They’re on my desk.”
“Oh, sure, professor.”
The professor holds out his keys and gives him a curious glance. “Are you okay?” he asks gently when Chay takes the keychain from him. “You look a bit pale.”
“I’m okay professor, just didn’t sleep well.” He leaves the lecture hall before his teacher can ask more questions.
His professor’s office is one floor down, a small, hot, and windowless room that’s better suited to a supply closet than a study. Overflowing cabinets and shelves line the walls, and the desk is stacked high with books and paperwork. It takes Chay a minute to find the mock tests, and even then it’s a struggle to retrieve them without causing even more of a mess.
With the mock tests in hand, Chay steps around the desk to leave, but a soft thud makes him pause. Where did that sound come from? His eyes glide around the dim room and inspect the floor, ceiling, and finally the walls. One of them has a large crack in it that he didn’t notice before. Strange.
Chay shakes his head. It’s nothing. Just poor upkeep of the building and bad lighting. He moves off again, but his shoulder slams into a cabinet.
“What the hell,” Chay curses, rubbing his shoulder. That cabinet wasn’t this close to the desk when he came in, he’s sure of it.
Chay casts another wary glance around the room. At first, he thinks the crack in the wall has gotten even bigger, large enough to put his hand into, but he realises it’s because he’s standing closer to the wall now. He swivels around in a blind panic, and then he hears it; the grinding sound of cement moving.
“No!” Chay moans.
The walls are closing in on him again.
He doesn’t even consciously decide to run—one moment he’s in the shrinking office and the next he’s panting in the corridor, drawing strange looks from students passing by. He closes his eyes and slides down the wall, taking deep breaths to steady his racing heart. Fresh air helps a bit, but it still takes a long time before he has the strength to push himself off of the floor.
The office door is still open. The last thing Chay wants to do is go back in there, but he needs to lock the door. With shaky legs, he makes his way to the office and gingerly peeks inside, scared that if he steps in, the room will swallow him whole. But the room is back to being a normal size, and there’s no gaping crack in the wall.
The relief that floods Chay’s body hits him like a punch, but he doesn’t get to enjoy it for long. A deeply unsettling feeling of unease sets in quickly. What the fuck just happened? Is he so sleep-deprived that he fell asleep for a second while standing up? He dismisses the thought almost immediately; he’s tired, but that’s different from feeling drowsy. No, this felt real, but it can’t have been, it’s impossible. Unless his mind tricked him into thinking it was real. Unless he just hallucinated in broad daylight that his professor’s office was shrinking.
There’s a prickle at the back of his neck, and a cold shiver runs down his spine.
His nightmares are coming for him.