Elise woke to an unfamiliar ceiling, her head sinking into warm pillows. A heavy blanket draped atop her, keeping her thoughts hazy. The Izakaya, a passing thought, surfaced, jogging her memory.

Her head throbbed, scattering her memories.

Images flickered across the ceiling, an office, sharp and wrong. Elise blinked. The vision only grew clearer. The vision snapped to the abyss. And starting to march towards it, barely staying upright. A figure approached, a reflection. It continued to come closer until it stopped. It pressed its trembling palm against the glass, fingers splaying wide.

Her body moved. Not her choice. Her legs swung over the bed and carried her to the mirror. She tried to stop, but her body wasn't hers anymore.

Elise's reflection stared back from the mirror, but wrong. It is her face, but beneath it, another face pressed through like someone drowning under ice. Same blonde hair, but lighter, brighter. The other face's lips moved silently.

She tried to blink it away. The image stayed, even in the moments of darkness.

—How's this happening?!

Then both hands flew to its face, nails pressing against the skin, covering everything but the eyes. Those eyes, wide, unblinking, stared into her. Searching. Recognising something.

Elise tried to step back. Her legs locked.

Her lungs seized.

No air.

She tried to claw at her throat. Set it free. But her fingers felt distant, numb. The room greyed at the edges. Her vision blurred.

The other face watched her suffocate, still searching.

Still searching.

Then nothing.

Hours passed in dreamless unconsciousness.

Morning light filtered through unfamiliar curtains when her breath finally returned to her lungs in ragged gasps. She tried to stand, but her legs shook, sending her tumbling back down against the unmade bed where she'd woken. Her lips parted, trying to joke—anything to break the tension—but her body was still trembling from the aftershock of the episode.

She sat down for a moment, forcing herself to think logically. Whispering to herself, thinking aloud. As if trying to snatch smoke, memories associated with the vision eluded her.

She began to settle as she came to terms with being without answers.

Taking in her surroundings, seeing the boxes sparked fragments of last night's drinks, rants, and more drinks. However could not figure out how she ended up in Aris's house. Those were answers she could get; the strange vision could take a backseat.

She leaves the room quietly, walking to the open-plan lounge-kitchen. She catches him on the kitchen counter, distracted by his phone, standing next to a box of pots he planned to organise with his other utensils.

"This isn't what I had in mind when I told you to take care of the sleeze for me." Elise starts, startling Aris.

He stammers out a good morning.

She lets out a soft chuckle, "So, Aris, how wasted was I?"

"You were fine," he paused, looking at Elise's judging eyes. "You were pretty far gone. You kept falling asleep at the bar, and I tried to help you get home, but you were like, 'Why go back to my place when we could go to yours?'" Elise gave him an embarrassed grin. "I said your place would be better, but you were pretty insistent. Something about your place being a mess. So I brought you back here. You were sober enough to walk somewhat, but you were pretty chatty for someone barely awake. You were basically narrating the walk back."

"You're pretty chatty yourself," she observed. "I don't remember you being this much of a conversationalist."

"I guess some conversation practice with a drunken narrator helped," he teases.

"You won't hear back from her if you start testing me." Her threat rang hollow as her mouth twitched to suppress an annoyed grin.

Elise felt the last of her tension ease. His explanation made sense, and his awkwardness seemed genuine. But the vision, should I ask him? She asked herself. His wide eyes and youthful face made her want to hold on to her burden a bit longer.

Whatever had happened with that vision, at least she was safe here.

Minutes later, Elise emerged from the bedroom with her bag.

"I'll be going home now, see you later."

"See you later," Aris responds automatically, then pauses. Later? Is she expecting to see me at the Izakaya again? he wonders.

The clock strikes eleven.

—Time for orientation.

Aris finally pulls himself together, grabs his things, and heads downstairs.

Outside his building, he spots Elise still there, deep in conversation with someone. She sees him from the corner of her eye and waves the person away with a subtle gesture—urgent, almost panicked.

The stranger turns at her signal, beginning their retreat down the street: blonde hair cascading past their shoulders, a white trench coat billowing slightly in the breeze. They glance back over their shoulder, studying Aris briefly before continuing. Their hair falls like a curtain across their face, concealing their features in shadow.

Elise hasn't moved, seemingly caught between staying and fleeing.

"You're still here?" Aris asks, confused.

"Got... held up." She glances down the street where the figure disappeared. "Friend from work. Persistent." The lie is obvious, but Aris doesn't press.

"Who was that?"

"Nobody important." But her hands are shaking slightly as she adjusts her bag. "You should get going. Don't want to be late."