The Eyes Behind Her____________________________
"Yo—your place looks n-nice."
The voice is shaky, unsteady—definitely not Sohee. She's too busy grimacing at the sugary crime that is Lilly's orange concoction. The sound belongs to Mei. Desperate to say something, to be relevant to the scene, she fumbles through the compliment. Don't worry, Mei. I assure you, this entire moment is centered on you. You're just too questionable to realize it yet.
I shrug off the awkwardness and reply, "Thanks to Lilly, I guess." Though really, it's me. I've been the one doing all the housework since I inherited this body—another thing that belongs to some forgotten past version of me. It's a small credit, and not worth claiming, so I let Lilly have it. Secretly, she's a fan of Mei anyway. Maybe it'll score her some points, who knows? Maybe one day she'll fulfill her fantasies and have a lesbian escapade with Mei. "She likes to keep the house under control."
Mei nods, probably making mental notes that Lilly's cool. Let's add fuel to that fire.
"She even approves of her brother's romantic choices."
Sohee's eyes widen, her hand jerking slightly. Mei, on the other hand, takes it in stride, oblivious to the implication. She just sits there, slightly nodding, digesting the joke like a tasteless wafer.
From the hallway, Lilly yells, "I'm not jealous!"
I almost laugh at this sitcom-like skit, but my funny bone seems to have withered lately. The only one who even cracks a smile is Sohee, while Mei stares, utterly weirded out by this strange family dynamic.
"So, you two are close," Sohee says softly, her eyes lingering on me before shifting to Lilly's retreating form. "Siblings are strong."
Her lips quirk into a smile, but there's a sadness behind it. She's jealous. Sohee, lonely as she is, likely never had a sibling or anything close to family. Loneliness does that to people—they become voyeurs to connections they can't have. But don't worry, Sohee. There's always the delusion of family, the fantasy we all create to fill those voids. The only problem is, it's not real. No one else can see it but you.
Her comment hangs in the air. I feel an impulse to smooth things over, to steer the conversation back to safer shores.
"Yeah, I'm lucky," I say, my tone lightening, though there's something heavier underneath. "And I'm glad you two"—I glance at Sohee, who meets my eyes, then Mei, who's busy staring at Sohee's still-bruised arm—"seem to be doing okay after… earlier."
I leave it vague, calling it an "event" rather than what it really was: a small tragedy.
Sohee just smiles and nods, her relief palpable. Mei, though, retreats into herself, her body language folding inward as though she wishes she could disappear. Like a turtle, but without the shell. She's a fighter though, or at least wants to believe she is. She takes a deep breath and forces herself to face the moment.
"I… I'm very s-sorry you had to see that, Sunbae."
She says it. My nickname. And it's… oddly cute, coming from her stammering lips. Her calling me Sunbae feels like a moment of breakthrough—an unexpected connection. It's the closest thing to affection I've felt from Mei, and part of me is unreasonably proud. Who knew a word could do that?
Sohee pats Mei's thigh, breaking the tension. "It's okay, Mei. Don't think too much about it. We've forgiven you, and really, I'm partly to blame. We're both sorry."
Sorry. Forgiveness. Words we toss around like currency, hoping they'll patch up the mess we've made. But do they ever really mean anything? Can a simple "sorry" erase what's been done? It feels like a shallow exchange, like we're bartering with each other's guilt.
I sit down, finally ready to dig into the issue at hand. "Mei, let's continue our conversation."
Mei glances at Sohee, silently pleading for some kind of escape. But Sohee stays quiet, letting Mei face the music. Resigned, Mei looks back at me and gives a small nod.
Sohee places a reassuring hand on Mei's arm, a gesture of warmth. It's almost maternal, the way she bolsters her friend.
Finally, Mei speaks. "S-Sunbae… I think someone is s-stalking me."
Her voice wavers, and I try to keep my reaction in check. Stalking? This sounds serious, and yet there's something so unsettling about the way she says it. My mind races. Who would stalk her? Certainly not at school—it's an all-girls institution, after all. Unless it's some overly eager lesbian admirer. But I doubt that's what's happening here. No, this feels darker.
"It's not happening at school, is it?" I ask.
Mei shakes her head. No, it's outside the safety of school grounds. Whoever this is, they've taken their obsession to the streets.
"How long has this been going on?"
"I… first noticed him last week," Mei says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was walking home alone when I felt someone watching me. He… he only has one ear."
One ear? What the hell? That's… unnerving. My thoughts race to a grotesque image of some disfigured stalker lurking in the shadows. But beyond that, something else starts to shift—the room. It's subtle, but I feel the walls pulsing slightly, like the air itself is bending around us.
Neither Sohee nor Mei seem to notice. It's just me.
"I thought at first he was just… staring at me like men do."
There's a tinge of bitterness in her voice, a mix of fear and resignation. She's used to being looked at, but this—this is different. There's danger here.
She glances at me again, checking for a reaction, but I keep my expression neutral, offering a tight, reassuring smile. Inside, though, the unease gnaws at me.
"Then… then last Monday, he chased me."
Her voice trembles, and I can see tears welling up in her eyes. Something happened last Monday, something bad.
"What happened?" I ask, leaning in as my pulse quickens.
But then everything shifts—darkness floods the edges of my vision, the room twisting in unnatural ways. I feel cold, like the universe itself is starting to collapse around me.
Mei's voice becomes distant, warping as if spoken from a hundred miles away. "S-Sunbae…"
The world fractures. Vision shatters. Time stops.
Vacuum.
Reconnecting… Please wait.