Satoru couldn’t stop looking, even though his mind was screaming the truth at him. He knew you weren't you. You’d even admitted it on one of those quiet, heavy nights when his restless energy pulled you from sleep. He’d been hovering over you, dissecting every breath and flinch, searching for a soul that was no longer there.

To any stranger, you were… normal. You had the same messy hair and the same habit of rambling about nonsense. But you were too childish now, too unburdened by the memories of the life you’d lived. It was a masterpiece of a performance - so realistic, too realistic. It was all so real. Almost cruel in its accuracy.

But the fact remained: you had died. The person sitting on his couch was merely the vessel you’d left behind, inhabited by… something else. A ghost? A curse? He didn't care. He could accept whatever took over your body, as long as you stay with him a little longer. He was weak for a version of you he could still touch.

“Uh-“ He flinched when you caught his gaze, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second. “I wasn't staring. I just- this game is boring,” he mumbled, dropping the controller he hadn’t pressed a button on in minutes.