Rain drop start pouring on my head~

The ceiling above him seemed to shift and ripple, the faint cracks in the plaster twisting into shapes he couldn’t comprehend. Nimdok lay still, the oppressive silence of the room broken only by the faint dripping of water outside the window. The weight of the blanket felt like a shroud, pinning him to the bed. His sister’s touch still lingered on his skin, ghostly and unwelcome, yet… not entirely unwelcome.

The thought made him recoil, his breath catching in his throat.

What was wrong with him? Was this his mind playing tricks again? His thoughts felt tangled, like a web spun too tightly, catching even the faintest flicker of clarity and twisting it into something monstrous. Darcia—his sister, his caretaker, his one constant in a world that seemed to crumble around him—had she truly said those things? Touched him like that? Or was it his broken mind, weaving fantasies from fragments of reality?

He groaned softly, his hand running over his face, desperate to scrape away the warmth of her lingering presence. His body betrayed him, the heat in his chest and the tension low in his abdomen making him feel sick with shame. Was it real? Was she? He tried to remember her exact words, the way her hand had lingered, the cherry on his lips. Each memory blurred as if smeared by his own uncertainty.

No, no, no. It’s me. It has to be me.

The thought struck him like a hammer. If he imagined it, then it wasn’t her. It wasn’t her fault. It was him. The twisted fantasies of a broken man, reshaping the only pure thing in his life into something sordid. I’m the pervert. I’m the one who’s ruined this. His stomach churned, and he clenched the sheet in his fists, wishing he could vanish into the mattress.

But then another thought crept in, insidious and unrelenting. What if it wasn’t me? What if this is her? The way she looked at him, the way she smiled, the jokes that always lingered too long, too close to the edge. What if she truly…? The possibility was a knife, twisting in his chest. If he rejected her, would she hate him? He couldn’t bear to lose her. She was all he had. But if he didn’t reject her, if he allowed himself to fall into her web, what would he become? A monster, worse than the whispers already claimed him to be.

He wanted to scream, to tear his mind apart and sift through the pieces until he could separate truth from delusion. But there was no escape, no clear path through the fog. His chest tightened again, a sharp, familiar pain that made his vision blur. Not now. Not this again.

He clutched at his chest, his breath hitching, the world around him spinning into fragments. Somewhere in the chaos, he thought he heard her voice again, soft and gentle. “Relax, Nimdok. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Tears burned in his eyes as the pain ebbed, leaving him trembling and weak. Was she real? Was anything real? He didn’t know anymore. All he knew was that his sister was his anchor, his light in the dark. But now, that light felt like it might burn him alive.

Shame and confusion warred within him, each feeding the other in a vicious cycle. He turned his face to the pillow, willing himself to disappear, to fade into the sheets and never wake again. But deep down, he knew sleep wouldn’t bring peace. It never did.

When he finally drifted off, it was into a restless haze, filled with her voice, her touch, her smile. And somewhere in the shadows of his dreams, the question lingered: Is it me, or is it her?