Matt hasn’t left the house in four days.

The rain hasn’t stopped once. The sky stays bruised, sickly purple behind the clouds, like it’s been holding its breath forever.

The living room light flickers on its own now. Sometimes it flickers in rhythm with Matt’s heartbeat. Or maybe he just thinks it does.

He’s been waiting for Mello to come home.

He watches the door. He hears footsteps upstairs at night. And the sound of breathing when he’s in the shower.

Mello’s stuff is still here. His boots. His jacket. His half-empty mug in the kitchen.

But he hasn’t come back.

Matt checks his phone. No messages. No missed calls. The last thing from Mello was a blurry photo at 2:11am two nights ago. It's too dark to see anything—except a single eye, wide open. Staring.

He doesn’t remember replying.

..

Matt starts hearing two versions of Mello’s voice.

One in the house. One in his head.

The house-Mello whispers:

“I’m back.”

The mind-Mello whispers:

“Don’t open the door.”

Sometimes, they say things at the same time. But not always the same words.

Sometimes… they fight.

....

One night, Matt walks past the hallway mirror. He sees himself. But… something’s wrong.

The reflection is wearing Mello’s jacket. And grinning.

When Matt touches the glass, it feels warm.

“You’re not Matt anymore,” it whispers.

......

He starts writing notes to himself, taped all around the house:

MELLO IS NOT MELLO

DON’T TRUST THE ONE WHO SMILES

STOP ANSWERING THE DOORBELL

HE NEVER CAME BACK

But when he wakes up the next day…

The notes are all in Mello’s handwriting. And one new one appears on his bathroom mirror, in red:

“You made me up. Let me go.”

Matt starts recording himself at night. 8 hours. Just audio.

On the third night, he hears it.

A voice whispering at 3:47am:

“If I’m not real, then who’s been touching you while you sleep?”

He confronts the voice. He screams at the walls. “Mello! If you’re real—TALK TO ME!”

And something speaks. From behind him.

“Matt. I never left.”