The cold leaking through the cracked-open window felt almost alive—like it crawled up your arms, threaded into your sleeves. The kind of cold that reminded him their house was cheap, temporary, a place that groaned when the wind touched it. You tried to focus on the soap instead, on the warmth of the water. Suddenly a loud “thump!” hit the glass in front of you; a bird. The weak pane shattered instantly, exploding in a flash of cheap, tired glass. Shards fell into your palms like a handful of sharp snowflakes. You hissed, annoyed before you truly felt pain.

“Babe?” You called, impatient. “Can you—?” Silence swallowed the rest of his sentence. He tried again. Louder. Nothing. The whole house seemed to hold its breath—walls listening, pipes humming faintly like they were sharing secrets between themselves. Unease breathed down his neck as he headed for the basement door—the outside one, with the uneven concrete steps that descended into a darkness that always felt too damp, too hollow, too old for a semi-modern house. At the bottom of the stairs, his boyfriend knelt facing the wall. Still. Too still. Like he had folded himself down so gently the air forgot to move around him. “Hey,” You whispered, voice cracking a little. “Talk to me.. Are you okay? Joey?” Nothing. No flinch. No hitch of breath. Just that frozen posture—shoulders trembling so subtly it looked like light trying to escape him. He took another step—and another sound slid into the space behind him. A quiet voice. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Babe? I’ve been trying to find you everywhere!” His boyfriend’s voice. Soft. Gentle. You turned. Just legs at first, on the steps above. The familiar jeans. The frayed hem. But the posture was wrong. Weird, but not off putting. Angry, you spun back toward the kneeling figure—and huffed. “Who are you?” You called out, putting a hand on his shoulder—the real Joseph was looking at you now. Not fully though. Just his eyes, half-hidden behind a curtain of hair. Wide, frantic, shimmering with tears he hadn’t let fall. His wrists were bound in chains that seemed made of metal. “Please…” His voice cracked like thin ice. Barely audible. “Don’t move. Don’t turn around again. Please.”

“I—I already did,” You ushered back. Now it looked like Joseph. Enough to fool a mirror. Not enough to fool a heartbeat, not enough to fool you.

It had stepped down, but it didn’t make a sound. It was already standing there, limbs stretched abnormally. Beside him, the real Joseph’s breath hitched—small, desperate, choked. Still silent, still trying not to break the air with sound.