I spent most of the next day sitting propped against a wall, legs covered in blankets someone tucked around me when I wasn't paying attention.
My body still felt like it belonged to someone else—weak, light, ready to snap under the slightest pressure.
I barely had the strength to lift a glass with both hands. So leaving the room wasn't even a possibility.
But I didn't feel trapped.
Not when they kept coming to me.
The door creaked open, and the first sound I heard was Rin's excited squeal of triumph. He dragged a floating holo-console behind him as if he were smuggling treasure.
"Brother! Brother, look!" he shouted, almost tripping over the cable attached to his wrist. "I brought my game! Dad said I can play in here today!"
He barreled toward my bed, his brown hair bouncing wildly. His whole face was flushed pink with excitement, freckles standing out like constellations. He shoved the visor toward me, stopping just before he hit my nose.
"This is the DriftRacer 9! The best! You put the visor on like this—no, wait, not like that, you'll suffocate—here!" He placed it on my lap carefully, then flopped down beside my legs like he owned the place.
I blinked. "I… I don't know how to use it."
"That's okay! I'll teach you." He puffed up proudly. "I'm really good at racing games, even Arin can't beat me!"
A voice chimed from behind him, "That's because you cheat."
Arin stepped into the room with a tray of food balanced perfectly on one hand. I still didn't understand how she moved so easily. She had the same black hair as me—deep, soft strands falling around her shoulders—and striking green eyes that caught the light effortlessly.
She looked at me, then rolled her eyes at Rin.
Rin huffed. "I do NOT cheat! I just—uh—use the rails. Strategically."
Arin placed the tray on the table beside the bed and crossed her arms. "You fly off the track and bounce back like a rubber ball. That's not strategy."
Rin stuck out his tongue at her.
I watched them quietly, the banter bouncing back and forth like something familiar to them, something practiced.
Arin finally turned to me, eyes softer. "Don't let Rin teach you everything. You'll end up copying his bad habits."
I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded.
She moved closer, kneeling beside the bed and resting her arms on the mattress. "You look better today," she said. "Your hair isn't sticking everywhere anymore."
My hand went up instinctively to touch it. "Is that… good?"
She blinked, then laughed—a short, startled sound. "Yes. It is. You've got Dad's hair. It's… well, it's nice." Her cheeks reddened, like she regretted the honesty.
Rin immediately leaned forward. "And your eyes! They're the coolest! Like Dad's, but yours are brighter!" He stared at me with big, round eyes full of admiration. "It's not fair. I want red eyes too."
Arin scoffed. "You'd look weird with red eyes."
"No, I wouldn't!"
Their arguing made me feel something tight in my chest—not pain this time, but something warm, something I didn't know how to hold yet.
I lowered my gaze. "Do I really… look like him?"
Arin looked at me properly then, head tilting slightly. "Yes," she whispered. "You look… you look exactly like how I remember you. Just older. And thinner." Her expression flickered with something sad. "But your eyes… they're still the same."
I had no memory to compare. But her voice made the words feel real.
Before I could think too much, my mother appeared with more blankets in her arms—again. "I brought these just in case he gets cold," she said, placing them neatly at the foot of the bed.
"Mom, he's not going to freeze," Arin said gently.
"It doesn't matter," she replied, brushing hair out of my eyes with soft fingers. "He always used to kick blankets off. I don't want him catching a chill."
I stared at her, unsure how to process the tenderness. Her green eyes, the same shade as Arin's, were gentle and full of worry. Her hair—brown, soft, tied back loosely—framed her face in a way that made her look tired but warm. Familiar, even.
"You look more awake today," she said. "Your skin has color again. Not much, but some."
Then my father entered last.
He didn't speak at first. He just looked at me.
Really looked.
His single visible red eye studied my face slowly, tracing every feature—my hair, my cheeks, my thin arms, the shape of my jaw. The scrutiny should've made me uncomfortable, but instead… it felt like being seen for the first time.
"You have my eyes," he said finally.
My breath caught.
"And my hair," he added quietly. "And… your mother's expressions."
My mother smiled softly at that.
Arin elbowed Rin lightly. "See? I told you. He looks like Dad but nicer."
Rin nodded vigorously. "Yeah! Dad looks scary when he's mad. Brother looks soft."
My father let out a faint sound that might've been a laugh—or a sigh. He stepped closer, placing a hand on my shoulder—not heavy, not claiming, just grounding.
"You look like you," he said. "That's enough."
My throat tightened.
I didn't know how to respond, so I just held the blanket close and looked down at my hands.
We ate together in my room because I couldn't go to the dining hall. My legs trembled even when I shifted on the bed. My mother said I needed another week before walking properly. My father didn't argue.
So they stayed.
All of them.
Arin sat on the right side of the bed, leaning close and talking more than she probably ever had at school. She told me about her friends, the ones she liked, the ones she didn't, the ones who annoyed her. She talked about teachers, about school lunches, about uniforms. Every time she said something that bothered her, she frowned dramatically.
I just listened.
She seemed to appreciate that.
She talked more because of it.
Rin chimed in every few minutes, usually with something ridiculous. "And then my friend Kio fell in the fountain! He said he didn't mean to, but I saw him jump on purpose to impress Mia!"
Arin groaned. "Oh my gods, Rin, we don't care about Mia."
"I bet Brother does," Rin said confidently. "Because Brother listens!"
My mother laughed softly while wiping rice from Rin's cheek with a tissue. "Rin, let your brother breathe."
"But he likes listening!" Rin insisted.
Maybe I did.
Maybe I really, truly did.
It was strange, being surrounded by so much life. So much noise. So many voices directed toward me, including me, wanting me to be part of something.
My father stayed quiet for most of the meal, watching us with an expression I couldn't decipher. Something between pride and grief and love. His dark clothes, slightly torn at one sleeve, made him look harsher than he was acting. The missing arm, the cloth covering one eye, the aura of someone who had seen too much—it all contrasted sharply with the softness he showed in this room.
At one point, he caught me staring.
He didn't look away.
"You don't have to force yourself to talk," he said. "Just being here… is enough."
I swallowed hard.
After dinner, Rin set up the game console again while Arin stretched beside me, leaning against the bed like she belonged there. My mother cleaned up the dishes even though I said she didn't need to. My father adjusted the blanket over my legs.
I didn't speak much.
I didn't know how to.
But I listened.
To Rin's stories.
To Arin's laughter.
To my mother's humming.
To my father's quiet breaths.
And for the first time since waking in this world—for the first time across two entire lives—I felt something settle inside my chest.
A weight.
A warmth.
A belonging that didn't need words.
In their eyes, I existed.
And that was enough.