I woke up to the soft clack of the door opening, followed by the scent of coffee and something warm—oatmeal, maybe. My mom stepped in, holding a tray and wearing that strained smile parents use when they're pretending everything's okay.
"Morning, sweetheart," she said gently, setting the tray on the little rolling table. "You were already asleep last night when I brought the food. You didn't even stir."
I blinked the sleep out of my eyes, rubbing at them like someone who hadn't just had an eldritch shadow creature whisper lullabies into their soul. "Sorry. Guess I was tired," I said with a crooked smile.
Mom smiled back, brushing a hand through my hair like I was five again. "It's okay. You probably needed the rest."
"So…" I stretched a little, glancing toward the window. The sun was spilling in like it hadn't missed me at all. "Can I leave the hospital today? Or do I have to charm more nurses first?"
She gave a half-laugh, shaking her head. "Yes, you can. The doctors gave the green light this morning. Said everything looks normal." Then her voice softened, casual like a cat hiding claws. "But… they do want you to meet with a therapist. Weekly. Just to… help you readjust."
"Readjust," I repeated, nodding slowly. "Right. Because two-year naps come with baggage."
She flinched just a little, but smiled through it. "They just want to make sure you're okay. That you have someone to talk to."
I didn't answer right away. Just picked up a spoon and stirred the oatmeal absently.
Someone to talk to. Sure.
What was I supposed to say? Hi, Dr. Jenkins. Yes, I was kidnapped by a nightmare goddess who might be my cosmic mom and spent the last two years fighting creatures with too many eyes and not enough skin. Also, I think I'm not entirely human anymore. Also-also, I hear colors now.
Yeah. Real healthy stuff.
Still, I nodded. "Okay. I'll go," I said softly.
Mom's face relaxed with visible relief. She squeezed my shoulder gently. "We're proud of you, Ethan. So, so proud."
I swallowed hard, and nodded again, but the words hit weird. Pride? For surviving something they didn't even know happened? For being a good liar?
Didn't matter. I couldn't fall apart. Not yet.
Not when I could still feel her presence from the night before like perfume clinging to the walls. Not when I could hear the soft, unnatural ticking of the clock—out of sync with time itself. Not when I knew something had followed me back.
They wheeled me out in a chair, hospital policy. I didn't argue. Just waved to the nurse and flashed my best I'm-not-haunted smile.
But as we passed a janitor mopping the hall, he paused. Just for a second. He looked at me like he knew—eyes wide, breath hitched. Then he shook it off and went back to cleaning.
I didn't look back.
Because I knew.
Something had changed. And it wasn't just me.
The car ride home was quiet. Not uncomfortable—just… careful. Like the silence was bubble-wrapped so nothing sharp could poke through. Mom drove with both hands on the wheel like she was afraid letting go might make me disappear again. I didn't blame her.
The neighborhood looked exactly the same. Trees a little taller. A few new mailboxes. The Johnsons down the street apparently painted their house neon green—brave, tragic souls.
Our driveway felt smaller. The house, too. Like my absence had shrunk everything. Or maybe I'd just gotten bigger. Inside and out.
Dad helped me out of the car, gave me one more tight, chest-rumbling hug, then checked his watch and sighed. "I hate to run, but I have to get back to work. I'm only taking half-days this week."
I nodded. "It's okay. I get it." And I did. Real life doesn't pause just because you've been missing from it.
He ruffled my hair—like I was a kid again—and kissed my mom's cheek. "Call me if you need anything."
And then he was gone.
Mom unlocked the door and stepped aside to let me in first, like she thought maybe the house should welcome me. Like it owed me something.
It didn't.
But it smelled like memories—wood polish, lemon cleaner, and faintly burnt toast. Home.
I stepped in and let the silence settle over me like a familiar blanket. The living room hadn't changed much. Same couch. Same lumpy armchair. Same crooked photo on the wall from that road trip where I threw up in a canoe.
I turned to Mom, forcing casual into my voice like it was toothpaste on a brush.
"So, Mom…" I said, dropping my bag on the floor, "tomorrow I can, like… go home, right?"
She blinked at me. "You are home, sweetheart."
I smiled, sheepish. "No, I mean… like, go out. To school. The store. Back into the world."
Her expression hesitated for just a second—just enough to show the cracks beneath the calm.
"Oh," she said softly. "Well… the doctor said it's best to ease into things. Maybe not jump right into everything at once."
"I've already jumped back into existence," I said with a half-laugh. "Kinda hard to top that."
Mom smiled faintly, brushing invisible dust off the table. "Let's just take it one day at a time. Tomorrow, maybe we can go get you some clothes that actually fit."
I glanced down. Hospital-issued sweats. Yeah, fair point.
I nodded. "Deal."
I stood at the doorway, one hand on the knob, the other gripping the edge of my too-tight shirt like it might split if I sneezed wrong.
Mom blocked the door like a security checkpoint made of guilt and concern. "Ethan, I just… I don't think it's a good idea to go out alone yet."
"Please," I said, voice low, trying not to sound like I was begging—but I was. "Just… give me this. I need it."
She hesitated. I could see the war happening in her eyes. Fear versus trust. Love versus terror.
I leaned in, softening everything in me. "I'm not gonna disappear again, I promise. Just the mall. Clothes. That's it."
Almost kneeling. Almost.
Finally, she let out a breath that sounded like she'd been holding it since I came back. "Okay," she whispered. "But be careful."
I nodded, grabbed the house key, and stepped out before she could change her mind.
The air hit me like a memory. Bright. Alive. Too loud, too colorful. Too much.
Every sound was sharp. I could hear a bee landing on a flower halfway down the street. A dog barked four blocks over. A bird said something very rude in pigeon language.
My shirt pinched at the shoulders and rode up at the waist like it was trying to escape my body. Every step reminded me that I was wearing two-year-old clothes on a not-quite-the-same-anymore frame.
I muttered under my breath, "First stop, shopping mall. I want to get some clothes that don't cut off circulation."
The sidewalk stretched ahead. The sky was blue. The world had kept turning without me.
And I was walking through it, one step at a time.
I walked down the street, the sun warming the back of my neck, wind tugging at my too-short sleeves like it was trying to shake hands.
I let out a long breath and stretched my arms up with a little grin. "Ahh… it's great to be out here again…"
A car passed, music blasting something that probably counted as lyrics if you tilted your head and squinted.
Trees rustled. Kids laughed a few blocks down. Normal. The kind of normal that people chase with therapy and strong coffee.
But under it all… I felt it.
That little tug in my ribs. The silence between sounds. The heartbeat of that other world still whispering in mine.
I scratched the back of my neck and muttered, "Kinda miss that world, though…"
It slipped out before I could stop it.
And yeah. I did.
Not the monsters. Not the bone-deep fear or the waking nightmares or the feeling that time itself was made of teeth. But there was something about it. The power. The purpose. The clarity. That world had rules, even if they were written in blood and smoke.
This one just… smiled too hard.
I shook my head.
"Anyway," I said to no one in particular, "where was the shopping mall again?"
I spun on my heel, pointing vaguely like a lost sitcom character.
"Rrrrright—near the bus stop."
I started walking again, pretending I didn't feel the ground pulse once beneath my feet.
Because maybe I was back.
But something else was walking with me.
The mall hadn't changed much.
Same hum of chatter, smell of food court grease wafting from somewhere in the distance. Ethan moved through the crowd with purpose, ignoring the way some people looked at him like they almost recognized him. He didn't care. He had one mission: clothes that fit.
He stepped into a clothing store—basic, familiar. A staff girl near the entrance gave a quick smile. "Need help finding anything?"
"Yeah," Ethan said. "Been a while since I shopped. I need, like… everything."
She chuckled. "No problem. What kind of style?"
He glanced down at his current outfit, which looked like it lost a fight with puberty. "Something that fits. Maybe dark colors."
"Got it."
She helped him pick out a few options—some jeans, shirts, nothing flashy. Ethan grabbed a few hangers and headed to the fitting room.
After trying a few, he settled on his favorite: black jeans, snug but comfortable, and a black shirt that fit just right across the shoulders. Clean. Simple. Right.
He stepped out and walked over to the full-length mirror near the corner.
He looked at himself. Really looked.
Tilted his head. Raised an eyebrow.
"I'm kind of…" he said slowly, "hot? Wild?"
He smirked.
"Looking good, Ethan."
Then, with a quiet breath, he turned and went to the counter to pay—still smirking a little.
No shadows. No whispers.
Just a guy buying clothes.
But somewhere inside, he stood a little taller.
Ethan walked up to the counter, clothes in hand. The girl rang him up quickly, giving the black-on-black combo an approving glance.
As she handed him the bag, she smiled and said, "You know… you're kind of a looker."
Ethan blinked, caught off guard—just genuinely surprised.
"Do I?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, honest curiosity in his voice.
The girl laughed. "Yeah. You do."
Ethan smiled, a little softer this time. "Thanks."
Bag in hand, he gave a small nod and walked out of the store, feeling just a little lighter than when he walked in.
Ethan stepped through the front door, shopping bag swinging at his side. His mom looked up from the couch and gave him a once-over.
"Wow, Ethan," she said, eyes wide. "I noticed you'd changed after these past years, but with the new clothes, it's really visible now."
He blinked, confused, then squinted. "Really? Like… really really?"
She nodded, still smiling.
Ethan made a dumb face, slack-jawed in mock disbelief. "Weird. The girl at the mall said the same thing. She called me a looker."
He leaned in, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Mom… are you joking because I'm still a virgin and have no girlfriend?"
She almost choked on her tea. "Ethan!"
"What? I'm just saying! That's suspicious behavior from my own mother!"
She shook her head, laughing. "You're impossible."
Ethan dropped the bag by the stairs, grinning like a kid who just discovered he might actually be cool.
"Impossible," he said proudly, "and apparently hot."
Ethan headed up to his room, still grinning from the chaos downstairs. He shut the door behind him and locked it with a quiet click.
He dropped the shopping bag on the bed, took a breath, and muttered, "Now… let's see what I can do."
Closing his eyes, he focused. Not like meditation or anything fancy—just tuning in.
He could hear his mom downstairs, washing dishes. The clink of plates, the running water, the soft hum of her voice as she mumbled a tune. Further out, there were kids playing—someone yelling "tag," the thud of sneakers on pavement, a bike bell ringing faintly from somewhere across the neighborhood.
Ethan opened his eyes.
"Well," he said, rubbing his ear with a half-smirk, "my hearing is good like hell."
He walked to the window and looked outside. Just the usual stuff—trees, houses, streets… except everything looked sharper. Crisper. He squinted out at a bird perched on a powerline halfway down the block and could see the way its feathers ruffled in the wind.
"And I've got one heck of an eye sight," he added, eyebrows raised.
He leaned back from the window, a weird mix of impressed and unsettled. Whatever that other world did to him… it didn't leave empty-handed.