Takumi stood in front of a his mirror, watching himself. What used to be himself.

Bloodshot eyes stared back, ringed by exhaustion. His hoodie clung damply to his back. He felt hot and disoriented.

The others followed like dreamwalkers. Not out of something that could be truly called loyalty. Not out of fear. Something deeper. Something wrong. His presence was like a drug to them.

He was a prize to be won.

He touched his chest. Still beating. Still warm. Still... his. He hoped.

Then the door swung open. He didn’t turn to look.

Their eyes were already on him, weren’t they?

“You came.”

There was no accusation in his voice. Only resignation. And, beneath it, something that sounded almost like pity.