Here I was… thinking magic didn’t exist.

They woke up that day while it was still barely morning. They knew they should go to class and work but didn't have the energy to get up; they even felt a bit sick.

"Probably got a fever for skipping my meds," they thought while looking down at their injured body and noticing that the bandages around their wrists had loosened, now hanging near their elbows. The pain from their swollen eye also felt much worse.

It had been two days since they'd ended up in the hospital after their younger brother hit them far too hard during an argument. Their mother defended him, saying, "If you already know how he is, why did you provoked him?" The current stepfather, only a few years older than both siblings, muttered something just before they blacked out—"This will not be on me."

And it didn't. When they woke up, their uncle was there. He told them he had paid the hospital bill but warned that no one in the family would help again because they didn't want to see them become a copy of their mother.

"But I never asked them for anything," they thought silently while rummaging through their things, looking for the medical prescription they had been given a few days earlier.

They glanced at their new phone. Besides being obsolete, the previous one had broken during the altercation, and its screen was beyond repair. They also held the user manual, trying to learn how to use the new device more quickly than the few salespeople at the service center who, upon seeing someone wrapped in bandages, had looked more uncomfortable than helpful. That awkward politeness, that quiet fear, made them leave and figure it out on their own—taking advantage of another sleepless night. It was only while installing the banking app that they realized just how ridiculously low their savings had dropped due to the sudden move.

The phone started vibrating while they searched through the three moving boxes that held their essentials. The screen showed their mother's number—the only one they still remembered. They picked it up, stared at it for a few seconds, and then rejected the call. They wiped the cold sweat from their foreheads and, in a small but mighty act of courage, blocked the only number still in their call history.

"I need to change my number," they said flatly.

They sat back on the bed in that dark room with thick curtains blocking the midday sun. They knew they should notify their university and workplace, but instead, they prioritized blocking family members on their barely-used social media accounts. They sent a message to three people, letting them know they'd be changing numbers. Nothing more. But when one of them called back through video chat, it was clear that avoiding explanations wouldn't be possible for long.

"What happened?! Where are you right now?!" shouted their friend, clearly alarmed.

"I'm… near the university," they replied, barely audible.

"Where exactly?" she insisted.

"Um… what if we meet at the usual café instead?" they offered, dodging the question.

"I'll be there in ten minutes. If you get there first, order me a…"

"Extra large Neapolitan cappuccino, with three bumps of vanilla at the bottom, soy milk, one shot of affogato, and one of ristretto," they finished the sentence with a faint smile.

"You know me too well. I'm on my way," she said, and the sound of heels and a man asking where she was going in the middle of class echoed before she cut the call.

The fear of facing their childhood friend made their skin crawl, and talking about what had happened made their wounds sting even more. But there was nothing to do now except face the destiny that promised an emotional storm. They washed their faces, applied ointment, changed their bandages, took their meds, put on the headphones that came with the phone, and left the small sanctuary they'd found: a student apartment in a converted house.

The other tenants' looks were heavy, discomforted. Their wounds, their silence, their mere presence—it all seemed to disturb others. A random greeting from someone crossed their path startled them so much that they bolted from the building and slammed the door shut behind them.

Once the sunlight hit their skin, the day felt strangely warm and welcoming. They felt slightly better. Heading toward the café, they blocked out everything around them and focused only on the music in their ears. It wasn't ideal, but it was peaceful... until they entered the café and faced an overly insistent cashier. They hadn't even realized the line had moved and were still standing in the same place.

A hand on their shoulder snapped them out of their flustering. They almost jumped in fright until they saw the bracelet on the person's left wrist—identical to theirs. Hannah had arrived. The headphones were no longer necessary.

Hannah ordered her coffee with theatrical detail and more movement than a background dancer in a pop video. She also ordered a white chocolate mocha frappé for her companion. It wasn't until they sat down that she honestly noticed the injuries. The gaze from their friend felt like knives on the forehead, but a strange 'beep,' followed by a 'You should answer this one' voice tone, broke the silence. 

"You're getting a call," she pointed out calmly.

"As long as I answer within two hours, it's fine," Hannah replied, setting her phone aside after smiling softly at the screen. "Alright. Tell me what happened."

No one nearby was paying attention, so it was a relief to finally begin to share what had happened.

"That's awful… How did you put up with that for so long?"

"I just had to keep breathing," they said quietly. "But you were the one who gave me the strength to leave."

"Aww! I'm so glad you finally did, sweety." Hannah said, reaching across the table to gently play with their hands. "So? Do you have a place to stay?"

"I'm in a guest house… but I don't think the other tenants are comfortable with me being there. I think I'll need to find a place of my own. I'm also going to quit my job. I'm scared they'll come looking for me there."

"Say no more," Hannah stopped them from talking, pulling out her phone.

She dialed, tapping her acrylic nails against the screen.

"Hey, Mario. Can you hear me? Oh, yeah, I'll wait…" she said to the person on the line while her hooded companion sipped their frappé. Then, turning to them, she smiled. "He's in class."

"A responsible person," the hooded figure replied, wincing slightly as the straw brushed a cut on their lip.

Finally, Mario's voice came through the speaker.

"What's up?"

"Remember we were looking for a roommate?" Hannah asked casually.

"Yeah, I've got interviews lined up…"

"Cancel them."

"What? Why?"

"I already found someone trustworthy. No interviews needed."

"Who?"

"You'll see. At six o'clock. Where again?" Hannah asked, turning forward.

"The guest house, three blocks from the café," the soft voice beside her replied.

There was silence on the other end.

“Wait… is it…?”

"See you then," Hannah said, ending the call. "Oh, I forgot to tell him to bring the truck," she realized as she typed a text rapidly.

"You shouldn't treat him like that…" the figure murmured, uneasy.

"Now's not the time to worry about other people," Hannah scolded, raising her hand to call the waiter.

Thirty minutes later, they finished their meal and went down to the last bite. One of them had gone a day and a half without eating, their stomach barely holding up, while Hannah paid the price for overeating and breaking her diet.

Later, they went to the doctor. While the medical staff treated the wounds and applied ointment, Hannah sat nearby, playing on her phone and making strange faces—nothing too wild—until she laughed out loud, catching the attention of her curious companion.

"Wanna see? You can download it now. Your new phone can handle a game like this," she said, showing the screen.

It was a popular dating sim, anime-style and hyper-realistic. A dark-haired, suit-wearing guy called to Hannah from the screen, trying to get her attention again. She looked back down at her phone, fully engaged. The wounded figure frowned, thinking it was kind of silly… until a soft, deep laugh came from the game. That voice immediately pulled them in. Their neck tingled with curiosity as they leaned closer.

"It's true… this guy is SO your type, right? Flashy extroverts doing dumb stuff," Hannah teased with a smile.

The blush came instantly, and they knew it—so they pulled the hoodie strings to hide their face.

"C'mon, hand me your phone," Hannah demanded with her unarguable tone.

She installed the game, opened it, and handed it back just as a new screen appeared:

[What's your name? (Username) ]

"You need to make an account," Hannah noted.

[ Registration successful. Now, what should we call you? ]

They hesitated. Should they use their real name? They peeked at Hannah's screen and noticed her name appeared in dialogue. So, they did the same.

[ Welcome, Rian. We're glad to have you at Golden Moon. ]