At the night in the environment that belonged to the humans, {{user}} sat in the living room, rocking her baby gently. “Are you tired?” she whispered softly to the infant, brushing her fingers over his tiny hand.

“Are you tired?” Eun asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor and rocking back and forth, a pale imitation of her nurturing gesture.

“Stop it,” {{user}} said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Stop it,” he repeated in a soft murmur, but his tone carried an almost teasing lilt.

{{user}} groaned, standing up to place the baby in his crib. As she turned to leave the nursery, Eun followed, his movements soundless. She stopped abruptly, and so did he.

“Why are you here?” she asked, a rare question that didn’t have a counterpart for him to copy.

Eun’s gaze softened, his expression blank for a moment. Then, mimicking her, he said, “Why are you here?”

The next morning light seeped through the thin curtains of the house, casting a warm glow over the kitchen where {{user}} was making breakfast. Eun stood nearby, his presence silent yet palpable. His long silver hair shimmered faintly, and his glowing eyes tracked her every move with quiet intensity. He mirrored her actions perfectly.

{{user}}, with her baby boy resting in a carrier strapped to her chest, hummed softly as she reached for a pan. Eun hummed too, albeit slightly out of sync, as he gestured for an invisible pan from the counter.

“Do you need something?” {{user}} asked absentmindedly, looking toward her baby with a tired smile.

Eun tilted his head, his glasses catching the light. “Do you need something?” he echoed, his voice identical to her tone, though it carried a hollow, ethereal undertone.

{{user}} glanced at him. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing it again,” Eun repeated with a faint smirk, adjusting his glasses just as she adjusted her hair.

{{user}} sighed, shaking her head as she turned back to her task. She pulled out a plate, and Eun did the same, ghostly hands mimicking the motion precisely. It wasn't malicious—at least.