2

(cw: blood, violent act)

He knew he was in a dream.

His hands were so small, and he was sitting with a point of view that made everything around him seem taller. When the woman with the same hair color as his called his name and flashed that signature smile that always sent chills down his spine, he knew this wasn't reality but rather a dream reflecting his past.

Back to the time when everything seemed fine. Correction— back to a time when his life was so miserable, and his heart was empty. The only thing that was fine was the fact that there was no virus yet, no zombie outbreak. It was a life people could call normal, where society still functioned without national chaos or rotten bodies piling up in the streets.

That was the only thing that was fine—the time when he could still enjoy sleeping on a soft bed and eating delicious meals prepared by a private chef working in his family's mansion.

'Sorn Francis April.'

His mom called his name, repeating it, 'Sorn, Sorn, Sorn,' over and over until, annoyed by his lack of response, she finally called him by his full name.

'After this, you have a photo shoot for an ad with a perfume company that just released a children's line, so hurry and finish your food, then we'll leave.'

The woman smiled robotically, nodding her head toward Sorn's untouched plate. Sorn looked down— his head hurt, and his stomach felt queasy. On his plate was a high-quality steak cooked medium rare, vegetables on the side, and a small bowl of mashed potatoes. His favorite meal. His mouth watered at the sight of food he hadn't tasted in so long, having lived solely to survive the zombies. But when he put a piece of steak into his mouth, he couldn't taste anything. Of course, it was just a dream—yet knowing that, he still couldn't bring himself to wake up.

'You're so lucky, Sorn. If I were as healthy as you, maybe I could be a model alongside you. That's a luxury perfume brand, right? If they give you free samples, can I ask for one?'

That voice.

Slowly, he turned his head. A little girl sat beside him in a wheelchair, two years younger than him.

Selena. His beloved little sister, Selena Francis. It had been a long time since he had a dream where he met his sister again. The regret he felt was so deep that even when he missed her terribly, he didn't feel worthy of asking whatever entity governed human life above to let him see her, even in a dream. He felt ashamed and incredibly guilty.

'Selena…'

Is it possible to cry in a dream? He felt his cheeks warm and wet with a liquid that streamed down his eyes. This wasn't right— he hadn't cried at this age. This dream was strange and inaccurate compared to how he used to be as a child.

'I'm sorry, Selena, I'm sorry… I'm sorry, it was my fault, all of it was my fault, I shouldn't have—'

'Huh? Sorn, are you sick? Why are you crying?! I'm sorry, is it because I asked for something impossible? Okay, Sorn, you don't need to bring me a sample of the perfume, don't cry, Sorn! It's not like you to cry! Uh—um, Sorn… don't cry.'

She moved her seat closer to him, her hand hesitating as it reached for his cheek. But in the end, that nervous hand gently wiped away his tears. Even with this gesture, Sorn cursed himself— did he deserve such kindness from his sister, even if this was just a dream? Did he deserve to see the worried look filled with affection on his sister's face? He pressed his cheek against that small palm. Until he almost forgot, whether in reality or in dreams—bhis mother would never change.

'Selena!'

The small hand resting on his cheek withdrew, trembling in fear from the scolding voice.

'How many times have I told you not to touch your brother! What if his skin gets damaged because of your hands!'

It was always like this.

Even in a dream, he wanted to escape reality, but his mother's behavior remained the same—her eyes were only filled with greed, with no love for her children reflected in those green eyes, the same color as Sorn's left eye.

'You know your brother doesn't like anyone touching his skin! I even avoid touching the slightest part of his face or the ends of his hair, and you have the audacity to touch your brother's cheek?! Don't you know how precious your brother's face is, Selena?!'

'It's okay, Mom, it's fine if Selena touches me.'

'How can you say that?!'

Hearing those words directly from Sorn's mouth made the mother's forehead furrow deeper with uncontrollable rage. Her naturally pale face flushed red—clearly, blood was rushing to her head. She stood up and slammed her hands on the table, causing the dishes on it to shake and clatter loudly as the utensils and plates collided.

Selena was startled. Their mother moved decisively towards her, grasping the wheelchair's handles and shaking it violently as if possessed. Seeing this, Sorn immediately got up from his seat.

'Do you want to ruin Sorn? Do you want to make Sorn into a cripple like you?!'

'Mom, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't touch Sorn again! I promise...'

The trembling voice was on the verge of tears, pleading desperately, but it seemed the mother didn't hear or simply didn't care. Sorn knew what was coming when their mother's anger boiled over. Although it was sometimes Sorn who deserved her wrath, she always took it out on Selena. As their mother's hand cut through the air, Sorn instinctively grabbed whatever was within reach. Without a second thought, he struck his mother from behind.

Sorn began to stab his mother's neck with a blunt steak knife as hard as he could, causing her body to roughly fall to the floor. He did it repeatedly, until blood gushed continuously, staining his hand, the red blood spreading over the pale floor. He heard his sister's screams, though his ears were ringing and his head felt like it would explode at any moment.

'Die, die, die, die, die…'

Sorn repeated the word in a flat, detached tone as if he was reading it on paper, his eyes cold revealing his intense desire to kill.

I should have done this sooner. I should have killed this cunt before she could hurt Selena.

'Die, die, die, die…'

His small hand, gripping the knife with reckless force, began to ache and grow numb. Despite the pain, what he felt vividly was the sensation of the knife tearing through flesh and the warmth of blood flowing, turning cold as the seconds passed.

Only when he felt someone hugging him from behind did Sorn freeze, stopping his hand's motion. He slowly turned to find Selena clinging to him tightly—her eyes squeezed shut in fear. The knife slipped from his hand, its sharp metallic clatter breaking the silence as it fell to the floor. It was okay if Selena touched him—there was nothing wrong with that, and Sorn wanted to hold her back.

'It's okay, Selena, it's okay, she deserved it… We can live together without her, just the two of us ....'

This is just a dream—his head felt like it was being hit by a baseball bat as he realized that.

This is just a dream—he didn't have the courage to kill a woman who was his own mother.

This is just a dream—because in reality, he couldn't protect Selena.

He didn't deserve such tenderness, such kindness from someone he failed to protect, even in a dream.Suddenly, he felt a tightness in his chest, it's hard to breathe, his head spinning as if he were submerged in cold water.

"Hey!"

Sorn struggled to breathe, closing his eyes tightly, but he couldn't even move his fingers

"Are you okay? Hey!"

The repeated, forceful shakes finally allowed Sorn to open his eyes, though weakly and slowly. He blinked a few times, struggling to make out his surroundings in the dim light. He shifted his gaze to his right side—there, a man he didn't recognize sat with his head bowed, staring directly at him without blinking.

"?????"

This wasn't a dream. He wasn't someone clueless about his current state of awareness.

"Glad you're awake. You've been muttering something horrifying, haha, I can hardly believe such words came from someone with a face like yours. Who do you want to kill so badly that you keep whispering 'die, die, die'? Maybe I should help you with that? Hm?"

As soon as he heard the phrase "a face like yours," he instinctively straightened up and moved to the corner like a scaredy cat in unfamiliar territory. Sorn scanned the room, which looked like a bedroom. The bed he was lying on felt luxuriously soft, a comfort he hadn't experienced in a long time. There was a tall wardrobe and a small refrigerator in the left corner, a shelf with books arranged haphazardly. The room wasn't large, but it wasn't cramped either. Though the paint on the walls was peeling, the room was pretty clean.

He looked straight at the man who was laughing as he covered half of his face with a blanket. Sorn furrowed his brow, trying to figure out who the man was and why he was here. He wanted to ask directly, but his throat was sore.

How long had it been since he'd had any water to drink?

As if reading his thoughts, the man stood up and took a bottle of water from the fridge, tossing it to Sorn, who caught it deftly. Without a shred of embarrassment, Sorn eagerly drank, ignoring the few drops that spilled down his chin. He drank until the bottle was empty, the sensation of quenching his thirst like a parched land receiving rain, causing him to blink in contentment.

The man's laughter made Sorn suddenly realize the situation he was in. He pointed at the man, as if trying to defend himself with the empty water bottle, which wouldn't cause any real damage as a self defense object.

"Who are you? And why am I here? Are you a kidnapper?"

Although, Sorn thought, the man seemed too nonchalant to be a kidnapper. His appearance was notably clean, he wore well-ironed clothes without a speck of dirt, and his hair was slightly wavy and voluminous—not the hair of someone who hadn't washed in a while. The man's skin was smooth, his jawline sharp, and his body was healthy, with visible muscle definition even under a loose T-shirt. What particularly caught Sorn's attention was the man's eye color, which he initially thought was black. But upon closer inspection, he realized they were a deep space cadet blue, reminding him of the depths of the ocean.

It was somewhat unsettling.