Hawn remained still, sitting at the edge of the bed, as if his muscles still refused to obey.
The room around him had that deceptive normality that made everything feel even more unsettling: a cluttered desk, a window cracked open to a pale light, books, clothes… a perfectly ordinary setting for someone who was supposed to feel at home here.
But to him, it was nothing more than a foreign sanctuary where he'd been dropped like a missing piece from a puzzle whose final picture he didn't know.
He ran a hand over his forehead. Even the touch of his own skin felt strange, almost new. His breathing trembled in his throat.
What am I supposed to do?
...
No answer. Only silence, heavy and suffocating like a wet blanket.
The silence didn't last.
A sudden shiver shot through him. The nervous energy — the panic simmering since his awakening — burst all at once.
He jumped to his feet, unable to stay still a second longer. His eyes darted around the room, and he began searching every corner as if his life depended on it.
The desk: nothing useful.
The wardrobe: only clothes that felt like they belonged to a complete stranger.
The drawers: a wallet, notes, papers that triggered no memory.
Under the bed: dust, a box, three notebooks of no importance.
He tore through the room like a trapped animal looking for an exit. Nothing.
Every object confirmed the same truth: he didn't know this place.And this place… seemed to know him.
He backed up until his spine met the wall, his fingers gripping the wooden edge of the dresser.
A metallic taste pooled at the back of his tongue.
Something inside him screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go.
Then, a sound.
KNOCK KNOCK.
Two sharp knocks against the door.
His heart skipped a beat.
Hawn stared intensely at the door.
" Hawn? You awake? "
The voice was clear, young. Feminine.She said his name with a familiarity that struck him — as if she spoke to him like this every morning.
Hawn didn't answer.
Not because he didn't want to, but because he was utterly incapable.
Every fiber of his body strained toward silence.
" …Hawn? "
He closed his eyes, as if that could erase reality.
She knew his name. She knew the Hawn he wasn't.
If he answered, he'd be discovered. Exposed.
And he had no idea what would happen if he made a single mistake.
A final knock, sharper, more irritated.
" Well… I'll wait for you downstairs. Hurry up, we're gonna be late. "
Her footsteps faded away — quick, steady, familiar.
Hawn remained frozen. His breath struggled to return. The room suddenly felt too small, too tight. Questions swarmed inside his skull:
Late for what?
Who is she?
What do they expect from me?
He tried to breathe deeply, nothing changed.
He turned toward the mirror, almost against his will.
The reflection staring back at him no longer meant anything.
His eyes, his hair, his face — all familiar, yet somehow wrong. Like a copy. A version drawn by someone who only had a vague description of him.
He stepped closer, raised a hand, touched the cold surface.
That Hawn might have had a life — friends, habits, routines.But not him.
He was nothing more than an intruder playing a role he didn't understand.
A wave of dizziness hit him.
He finally looked away. Staying here wasn't an option. The girl was waiting.
And what would happen if "Hawn" didn't come down? If this behavior didn't match the version of him she knew?
He could already feel suspicion creeping in through the smallest inconsistency.
He took a long breath.
Then another.
They didn't calm him, but they gave him the illusion of a fragile control.
" Alright… alright. "
I'll go out. I just… need to seem normal.
He slowly turned toward the half-open wardrobe, his gaze searching for something to hold onto — anything to keep himself grounded.
The uniform waited for him inside, perfectly folded, painfully familiar… and yet completely foreign.
He stepped closer, heart beating a little too fast.
The deep blue fabric caught the morning light, traced with thin silver lines that almost seemed to pulse under his fingertips.
He hesitated.
" This is supposed to be mine… I guess. "
Saying it aloud offered no reassurance.
He grabbed the shirt and pulled it on. Every movement felt like reenacting something someone else had done a thousand times before.
The fabric slid naturally along his skin, as if it already knew his shape better than he did.
The jacket, the pants, the belt followed. Everything settled into place with a fluidity that unsettled him deeply.
He glanced at the mirror.
A young man, dressed perfectly, stared back — faint dark circles, messy hair, tense posture.
The uniform fit him flawlessly.
" Great… not even a need for adjustments. " His voice wavered.
" Like I've been doing this my whole life. "
The sight gave him a strange, nauseating vertigo.
He adjusted the collar — a gesture that came far too naturally. Every motion felt borrowed from someone else, from the Hawn he was supposed to be but had never met.
" Stay calm… you're just getting dressed. Nothing complicated. "
He inhaled deeply.
It didn't help.
He braced himself against the desk, trying to steady his breathing.
The girl was waiting downstairs.
And every second he remained here risked raising even more suspicion.
He shook his head, trying to snap his thoughts back into place.
" Alright… alright. Let's do this. I just need… to look normal. "
He lifted his gaze to his reflection.
And for the first time since waking up in this world, he tried to look like the Hawn everyone expected him to be.
Before crossing the threshold, he set down the weight of his fears — leaving behind, just for a moment, the instinct to overthink that threatened to break him.