"BETTER THEN EVER, 'buddy'. Let's reset these memories one more time."

9:20pm

The bathroom was quiet, save for the faint hum of the ceiling light flickering above. It cast a weak, uneven glow, making the room feel smaller than it was. The air was still, heavy with the scent of old tile and faint traces of soap.

Y/n stood before the mirror, her reflection staring back at her.

She examined herself with meticulous care—eyes scanning every detail, every imperfection. Her posture was wrong. Her head, tilted awkwardly to one side, felt loose, unsupported. Without thinking, she lifted a hand to press against her chin, bracing her skull like a fragile object that might fall apart if she let go.

Her fingers twitched.

"Correction needed." she murmured.

She adjusted her stance. Feet apart. Back straight. She tried to force her shoulders into something that resembled normal posture. It was stiff, unnatural. Her body didn't settle into it the way it should.

Her lips parted slightly as she observed the way her face looked when not speaking. Was it too blank? Too empty? People smiled in the mirror sometimes, didn't they?

She tried.

Slowly, mechanically, she pulled the corners of her mouth upward. The muscles resisted at first, unused to moving without direct purpose. The result was something almost like a smile—but not quite. Her teeth showed too much. It was too sharp. Too forced.

"Not a natural expression.." she noted.

The smile dropped instantly.

She tried again. This time, less teeth. Softer. Gentle.

She held it for three seconds.

It still felt wrong.

Her fingers twitched again, this time clenching slightly against her chin.

"Fix it," she whispered.

She touched her own face, pressing her fingers into her cheeks, smoothing her expression into something normal. She adjusted her brows, tilting them slightly to mimic concern. Then curiosity. Then amusement.

But none of it felt.

It was mimicry. That was all it ever was.

Her hand fell away, fingers ghosting over the sink. Her reflection stared at her—blank, unreadable. Her posture slumped slightly as her neck ached from the effort of keeping her head upright.

She let out a slow breath.

"Unfixable, like everything else." she finally murmured.

Then, with one last glance at the stranger in the mirror, she turned off the light and walked away.

11:36pm

The ceiling was empty. Just a blank, lifeless stretch of surface, staring back at her with as much emotion as she stared at it.

Y/n lay stiffly on her bed, hands folded lightly over her stomach. The room around her was silent, save for the occasional creak of the house settling. The blankets barely moved with her breath—she didn't toss or turn like other people did. She simply existed, still and unmoving, as if waiting for something to click into place.

It never did.

Her head ached. Not in the way a normal headache would, but in the way it always did—a dull weight at the base of her skull, a reminder that her body was wrong. Slowly, carefully, she lifted a hand to press against her chin, fingers curling slightly against her skin. A familiar gesture. A necessary one.

Her eyes traced the patterns in the ceiling, as if an answer might be hidden there.

"Why am I like this?"

She had asked herself that before. Countless times. But the words never felt complete. They always bled into something bigger—something less tangible.

"How did I end up like this?"

Her memories were fragmented. Moments flickered in and out of focus, like static on a broken screen. Pieces of a puzzle that didn't fit together. She remembered people telling her things—labels, diagnoses, explanations that felt clinical, distant. As if she were a problem to be defined rather than a person to be understood.

She remembered watching other people, mimicking their movements, their words. Speaking aloud her actions so she wouldn't forget how to behave. Learning how to blend in.

But no matter how much she studied, no matter how much she imitated, it was never natural.

"Unfixable."

The word from earlier echoed in her mind.

Her fingers twitched slightly against her chin. She had heard people talk about feelings before. Sadness, anger, happiness, love. She understood them in theory—she could recognize them in others. But inside her?

Nothing.

Was it always this way? Had she ever been normal?

She didn't know.

Her eyes flickered shut, but she knew sleep wouldn't come easily. It never did.

So, she stayed there. Lying in the dark, staring at nothing, searching for an answer that wasn't there.

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