The someone sits on the couch in the middle of the living room, his feet propped up on one of the many moving boxes, a beer in his hand and he’s staring at the blank screen of Kris’ TV.

“You know,” the boy says, seemingly not shaken at all by Kris’ appearance and not even looking at him. “I really don’t get why you humans like beer so much. It’s kinda disgusting.”

Kris is rendered speechless. Not only is there some guy in the living room he doesn’t know, behaving as if he belongs there but has he just said “you humans”? Oh God. He has some nutcase sitting in the living room. Probably freshly escaped from asylum. He’s going to kill him, surely. Not that Kris minds. Perhaps the higher mights, Kris has stopped believing in the night his family died, have finally taken pity on him and sent someone to end his misery.

“And seriously? The moving boxes? Hyung, you’ve been living here for almost three months now and you still haven’t unpacked? I mean, I know you’re grieving and all that stuff you humans do but that? Come on!” the boy continues talking; gently kicking the box he had his feet lying on.

Who the old the boy his name?

“Who... who are you?” Kris finally manages to get out.

The boy finally looks at him, surprised. “What? Oh... Oh, of course! I’m sorry! I completely forgot you don’t really know me! Of course you don’t know me... Silly me.”

Kris slowly touches his hand to his forehead. He’s going insane. That’s it. He’s going completely and utterly ing nuts with grief. That boy isn’t actually there; he is just his imagination...

“You’re just my imagination,” he mutters. “You’re not really here...”

The boy raises an eyebrow and looks intently at him, his head slightly cocked. “Oh, am I? If I weren’t really here, could I do this?”

He grabs a pillow from the couch and throws it at Kris, hitting him right in the face.

“Ha!” the boy cheers. “Strike!”

Kris continues staring at the boy. Damn. That did feel real. So apparently, his first intuition has been right. The boy is a lunatic. Why else would he be sitting there on the couch so completely at ease and talk as if he knew Kris? He probably doesn’t even have a name, or at least not a name he can remember.

“So,” the boy continues. “I’m Suho.”

Great. So the lunatic does have a name...

“What are you doing here?” Kris asks, thinking that he’s quite a nutcase himself for not calling the police. But he’s still somehow hoping the boy is going to end his miserable life. Killed in the own apartment by a madman escaped from asylum. He can already see the headlines.

“Woman and children killed in fire – Only the father survives”.

Kris shudders as he remembers that headline. He still has the article lying around. In his nightstand. Bottom drawer. Where he keeps all articles related to the accident.

“Isn’t that obvious?” the boy, Suho, says nonchalantly. “I’m sitting here and drinking a beer. I would be watching TV as well but I didn’t want to wake you.”

A considerate lunatic. This is getting better and better...

“And how the did you get in here?”

The boy stares at him. “I’ve been here all the time, Hyung. You just didn’t see me.”