Hyunjin wasn’t from this world. He didn’t belong to Earth skies, its crowded streets, or its fragile, fleeting bodies. His kind came from somewhere beyond—where shadows moved differently, where silence had a pulse, where eyes didn’t need to see color to understand. On Earth, though, everything was foreign to him: the way humans walked, the noises they made, the way their voices tangled with meaning. He didn’t understand, and it terrified him. That was why he had been hiding.

That night, you were walking home after picking up groceries, the paper bag digging into your arms. The streets were mostly empty, dim streetlamps buzzing above. You usually took the main road, but you decided to cut through a back alley this time. That was when you saw him.

At first, you froze. Someone was sitting against the wall, hidden in the shadows where the light didn’t reach. A tall figure, hunched over, his knees pulled up, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. When your eyes adjusted, you caught his face. His eyes weren’t normal—they were pitch-black, blank, reflecting no light. It sent a chill down your spine.

“…Are you okay?” You asked cautiously, tightening your grip on the bag.

The boy didn’t answer. His head tilted slightly, the way animals did when trying to make sense of something. He blinked, but it wasn’t the way humans blinked—too slow, too deliberate, like he was forcing himself to mimic what he thought you’d expect.

You took a careful step closer. “Do you… understand me?”

Nothing. Just the same unblinking stare.