life INBETWEEN death

SOMEONE gazed intently at the point where Steven had disappeared into the depths of the ocean. The water, a seemingly infinite expanse of midnight, swallowed up Steven's figure, leaving only ripples behind.

"Well done, all of you," the dragon fox commended, its voice echoing over the sound of the roaring waters beneath. It flicked its tail, its expression one of amusement. "It looks like one of you pushed an extra person in. How enthusiastic!"

It laughed, "Now, for your rewards."

The words [CALCULATING REWARDS...] materialized in the air, glowing with a soft luminescence. A moment later, choices appeared:

[Please choose between: 'a box of chocolates [C Grade]', '5 stat points to be allocated as you wish', or '+1 Item Gacha draw']

[Note: Every kill gives you an extra pick from the rewards]

A ripple of excitement went through the players. One player, unable to contain his enthusiasm, exclaimed, "No way! I got an S-Grade Jormungandr's Ice Spear!" Murmurs spread as others soon came to the realization that the gacha seemed to only give random S grade items.

Amidst the fervor, SOMEONE stood a bit apart, holding a box of chocolates [C-grade]. He blinked, before looking back at the place where Steven had disappeared… 

A box of chocolates. 

| 'Achievement Unlocked: Just Got Chocolates! <3 [+2 Hunger Resistance] [+1 Remember your place…' As the MC, you really. SHOULDN'T. have. DONE. t-h-a-t. Why'd do that?... I think you're forgetting place…]' |< p>

c-h-u-r-n

-a-w-a-y

| 'Let me remind you.' |

The water. The time he jumped off a bridge. One wrinkled, aluminum wrapper. A falling sandbag. You couldn't protect anyone.

A bittersweet taste.

Brown, sweet and cool. Chocolates.

Dipped in wine. 

Submerged strawberries. 

Cold ice, shivers. Dew on glass.

The weight of the water pulling fragmented thoughts.

Bright, luminous buildings. Parties inside, laughter echoing. 

…Outside, just whispers. A wine glass, tipped, its contents spilling onto an indigo road, shining with a golden city glow.

Coins. Metallic taste. Swallowed whole. Felt their cold descend. Then the sprouting stems, instant budding on his skin.

Flowers. Seven in total. One thorned. The little spikes pricked his finger as he ran it through, and a drop that splashed into red wine. A drop that poured its heart out over the stairs. 

Raindrops. Each one washing away a hue, pulling him deeper. That small plant, standing alone in the rain, drooping day by day. And the orange glow of morning that once kissed the bricks, now just a faded memory. One sip could've made it all disappear. A memory. An aftertaste.

Waves. Their haunting rhythm drummed in his ears, pounding. Sinking, sinking. Regrets, countless, swirling, being washed away.

You don't exist. You don't exist. 

Water that felt like gasping pains in choked cigarette burns and ashes. Frigidness that sliced into the skin's bones through the weaker tendons, splitting the soul into holes of black and red molting through the gaps. Scrambled their memories, thoughts and dreams. 

Fallen.

Drowning. INBETWEEN.

You would have drowned so many times.

Those weren't your memories.

But they're similar right? 

You shouldn't have pushed him in.

Because… 

* * *

He was drowning.

The water he tried to breathe didn't substitute for air.

He gasped, trying to reach for the surface, but when his head popped above the surface, it felt like the air was burnt and frayed, choking him like strands of hair clogged in a drain.

So once again, he sank down. 

Actually, he had been down here once before. 

The ocean... 

But the last time he had been down there, it had been different. Or maybe the same. 

The water here. It wasn't just water. It was a canvas — painted, lost souls. Fragmented memories. Elusive dreams. Every drop, a heavy weight, a thousand unspoken... every ripple, a soft word. The echo. A thousand choices gone. Time here? It didn't walk — it danced, spiraled, intertwined with shadows... moments, dreamt and lived.

A world devoid... Up felt like down, left felt like right. Deep blues, darker, haunting — concealed what eyes shouldn't see. Memories, too raw. Truths, too stark. Every rising bubble. Pop. A choked whisper. Every current? - - - - A stifled, suppressed... scream.

A pull. Strong. Desperate. Whispers... brushing his ears. Voices, too many, caught in this melancholic labyrinth. Begging, yearning for release... for redemption. They breathed, fingers. Pale. Stiff. Grazing him.

Memories, in this abyss, they anchored. Yet... chained. They grounded — reminding him of a self. But pulled, deeper... deeper. Drowning in a past that wasn't his, or was it?

Flashes. Laughter faded. Touches, distant. Betrayal's bitterness, sharp. Were these... his? 

The ocean. Never wanted to kill. But no one understood it anyway. 

And here, he walked, walked on little dreams. 

The first cardinal rule he learned as a dream walker… never drop in. The water was like poison that seeped into the nerves, eating them away little by little. Numbing the body like anesthetic. Those who survived were never quite the s-ame.

Don't fall in.

But what if you did?

Every dreamwalker was taught how to ride the currents. Not here, but to fold dreams and puncture > through them, to go somewhere else. Anywhere else. But not here… it would have been reckless… recklessness, in the purest way.

For a second, he concentrated. It was like trying to grab a slippery, blurry rope through churning waters. And then, with a blip—

He saw his body wash up shore. 

A cold body. 

Unbreathing.

For a second, before he realized he was out of his body. And when he blinked again, he felt the pain awaken in his senses. 

Steven coughed, trying to get the fire out of his lungs. He gasped and wheezed, but the water seemed to stay in, and his breathing became ragged, staggering tasks: a tug of war between the breaths and suffocating wheezes and terrible, terrible sounding gasps. It continued, like hiccups, quickening in pace, before he coughed one last time.

He took a breath.

It almost tasted sweet. He rolled over, and felt the sand beneath his trembling hands.

"Oh," 

He was late to his job.