Stalker with a Secret

..............Like A Doll On A Shelf..............

Koji sat in the living room.

A full day had passed since the dream, but the hollowness inside him hadn't budged. It wasn't the loud kind of pain—just something steady and slow, like the echo of a gift being taken back. Like someone had offered him the thing he'd craved his whole life... then yanked it away without a word.

He sat curled on the cream-white couch, knees tucked against his chest, the royal blue blanket he'd dragged from his room draped around him like a makeshift shield. The couch was soft—almost too soft. Still plush from lack of use, like the comfort it offered was foreign. Unpracticed.

Koji stared out the glass balcony doors, eyes fixed but unfocused. He wasn't really looking. More like... drifting. Caught in the space between thought and numbness, somewhere deep in the folds of his mind—but not thinking. Not really.

That ache in his chest pulsed like a birthmark. Ugly. Constant. Hidden most of the time but always there, just beneath the surface.

His hand shifted, the blanket falling with a whisper of fabric. Slowly, he opened his palm. Red lines marred his skin—fine, shallow grooves from how tightly he'd clutched the keychain all night.

The stone lay there. Silent. Waiting.

He stared at it, dull-eyed. Knew that if he kept holding it like this, it would draw blood.

Didn't loosen his grip.

Outside, the world was still damp from the rain that had lingered for two days—falling, stopping, then falling again. Water clung to the leaves, tiny droplets catching the lazy morning light.

Most stomatal pores are on the lower surface of the leaf, his brain offered helpfully, because accumulation of water on top would block air supply.

A useless fact.

But facts were safe. Clean. Facts didn't leave you crying over dreams you couldn't explain.

His gaze drifted to the flower-shaped clock on the wall. Something his mother had bought in an attempt to make the room look elegant. It didn't. It looked like her—too polished, too fake.

5:27 AM.

He never woke this early, despite always being a morning bird. But sleep had refused him. It felt... undeserved. Like peace was a luxury he hadn't earned.

Going back to bed wasn't an option.

So he sat there.

Like a doll on a shelf.

Komi hadn't come home last night.

He wasn't surprised. She disappeared sometimes. A night, sometimes two. Maybe she'd left a message—some lie about being "busy with work."

He didn't check.

He knew better.

She earned enough to support three people and still buy her little luxuries, yet she acted like survival was a favor. Like her son was some costly inconvenience.

Koji used to try to win her love. Back when her sweet tone hadn't yet turned slick and sugary. He'd been a perfect student, a perfect child—perfect on paper. Just trying. Hoping.