I woke up and immediately checked one thing.
Was he still there?
"…Problem?"
"I'm here."
I didn't even open my eyes.
Great. Fantastic. Amazing. My life is officially ruined.
I opened my eyes slowly and turned my head.
He was sitting on the floor this time, leaning against my bed like he had always lived there.
"…why are you on the floor?" I asked.
He looked at me. "I was waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to wake up."
"…you don't have anything else to do?"
"No."
"Like at all?"
"No."
"That's sad."
"I don't feel sadness."
"That's even sadder."
He tilted his head slightly. "You're very judgmental in the morning."
"You watched me sleep again, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"…I'm calling the police."
"They can't see me."
"I'll still call them."
"I'll answer the phone."
"…don't touch my phone."
"I won't."
"Good."
"I'll just stand close and listen."
"That's worse."
—
Getting ready for school was becoming a daily battle.
I brushed my teeth. He stood behind me.
I moved. He moved.
I leaned left. He leaned left.
"…are you copying me?" I asked.
"No."
"You are literally mirroring my movements."
"I'm observing."
"You're stalking."
"I'm learning."
"You're annoying."
"You like me."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You do."
I stared at him through the mirror. "If I throw this toothbrush, will it hit you?"
"No."
"…I still want to try."
"Go ahead."
I didn't. I needed that toothbrush.
—
On the way to school, I noticed something new.
The other…things.
They weren't as close as yesterday.
They were still around, but they kept their distance.
Like they were avoiding me.
I slowed down slightly. "Hey."
"Yes?" Problem said immediately.
"…why are they not coming near me?"
"They're scared."
"Of me?"
"No."
"Of you?"
"Yes."
I nodded. "Good."
"You're not surprised?"
"I've decided not to question anything anymore. It's better for my mental health."
"That's reasonable."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"…wait, you agreeing with me feels wrong."
"You're learning."
"I don't like that."
—
School felt slightly less like a horror movie today.
More like a comedy.
A very stressful comedy.
I sat in class, trying to act normal again.
Keyword: trying.
Problem stood beside my desk.
Again.
"Sit down," I whispered.
"I don't need to."
"I know, but it's weird."
"I don't care."
"I care!"
"You shouldn't."
"I do!"
"You'll get over it."
"I won't."
"You will."
"I WON'T."
A classmate turned around. "Who are you arguing with?"
"Myself."
"…again?"
"Yes."
"…you should see someone."
"I am seeing someone."
He blinked. "Who?"
"…bad choice of words."
—
Halfway through the lesson, something unexpected happened.
My teacher dropped his chalk.
Normal.
Except—
Something else picked it up.
Not him.
Something behind him.
A shadow.
Thin. Long. Wrong.
I froze.
The shadow handed him the chalk.
He took it like nothing happened.
I stared.
"…Problem."
"Yes?"
"Did you see that?"
"Yes."
"…and you're not concerned?"
"No."
"Why?"
"It didn't harm him."
"It's helping him!"
"That's harmless."
"That's not normal!"
"You'll get used to it."
"…stop saying that."
"No."
I covered my face.
"This is my life now."
"Yes."
"I hate it."
"You don't."
"I DO."
"You don't."
"STOP."
—
Lunch was worse today.
Because now I was aware.
Very aware.
Too aware.
I sat down with my food.
Problem sat across from me again.
Like yesterday.
Like always.
"You're staring again," I said.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I'm thinking."
"That's new."
He ignored that. "Humans eat multiple times a day."
"Yes."
"That's inefficient."
"We need energy!"
"It's repetitive."
"…you're repetitive."
"I'm consistent."
"You're annoying."
"You like me."
"I DON'T."
"You do."
"I DON'T."
"You do."
"I slammed my spoon down. "STOP."
People around me stared.
I smiled awkwardly. "Just…talking to myself."
They slowly went back to eating.
I sighed.
"This is embarrassing."
"You're doing well."
"I am not doing well!"
"You're functioning."
"I am barely surviving!"
"That counts."
"…you're not helping."
He leaned forward slightly. "Eat."
"I am eating."
"Eat more."
"Why do you care?"
"You need energy."
"…that sounded normal."
"I can be normal."
"That's suspicious."
"You're suspicious."
"I am human!"
"That's your first mistake."
"…I hate you."
"You don't."
"I DO."
"You don't."
"…I'm done arguing with you."
"You'll start again."
"I won't."
"You will."
"I WON'T."
"We'll see."
"…I hate that sentence so much."
"I know."
—
After school, I didn't go home immediately.
I stopped at a small shop.
I needed snacks.
Emotional support snacks.
Problem followed, of course.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Buying food."
"You already ate."
"I'm stressed."
"That's inefficient."
"It's comforting!"
He watched as I picked snacks.
"You choose unhealthy things," he said.
"You don't even eat."
"I observe."
"Stop observing my life choices."
"I can't."
"You can."
"I won't."
"…of course you won't."
I paid for the snacks and left.
He walked beside me.
Close.
Always close.
"Do you feel things?" I asked suddenly.
"Yes."
"Like what?"
He paused.
Then said, "Interest."
"That's it?"
"For now."
"…that's creepy."
"You'll get used to it."
"STOP SAYING THAT."
—
When I got home, I threw my bag down and collapsed on the couch.
"I'm tired," I said.
"You didn't do much."
"I EXISTED."
"That's minimal effort."
"IT'S NOT MINIMAL FOR ME."
He sat beside me.
Again.
Of course.
"…you always sit close," I said.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I want to."
"That's not a reason."
"It is for me."
"…everything is 'for me' with you."
"Yes."
"You're selfish."
"I don't share."
"…that's not something to be proud of."
"I'm not trying to impress you."
"You already failed."
"I don't fail."
"…you're unbelievable."
"I know."
I opened my snacks and started eating.
He watched.
Again.
"Do you ever stop staring?"
"No."
"Do you blink?"
"No."
"That's disturbing."
"I don't need to blink."
"…I hate everything."
"You don't."
"I DO."
"You don't."
"STOP."
He leaned slightly closer.
"Say my name."
"…why?"
"Say it."
"…Problem."
He smiled.
Satisfied.
"…you really like that name."
"Yes."
"I regret it."
"You won't change it."
"I might."
"You won't."
"I will."
"You won't."
"…you're so confident."
"I'm right."
"That's the problem."
He paused.
Then said, "You called me Problem."
"I regret everything."
—
I leaned back on the couch, closing my eyes.
Just for a second.
Just to rest.
Silence.
Peace.
Then—
"You're quiet."
I opened one eye. "I was resting."
"You stopped moving."
"That's what resting is!"
"You looked dead."
"I AM NOT DEAD."
"I know."
"…you need to stop saying that."
"I won't."
"…of course you won't."
I sat up.
Looked at him properly.
"You're not leaving, are you?"
"No."
"…ever?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He just looked at me.
Then said, "No."
I stared at him.
"…great."
"You don't sound happy."
"I'm not happy."
"You will be."
"I won't."
"You will."
"I WON'T."
"We'll see."
"…I'm going to throw something at you."
"It won't work."
"I know, but it helps emotionally."
"You're interesting."
"I'm tired."
"You'll get used to it."
"…I swear if you say that one more time—"
"You'll get used to it."
I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him.
It passed through him.
Hit the wall.
Fell down.
He smiled.
And I realized something.
This wasn't getting better.
It was getting worse.
Because now—
I was starting to get used to him.
And that?
That was the real problem.
—
I didn't just gain a problem.
I gained something constant.
Something stubborn.
Something that wouldn't leave no matter what I said or did.
And the worst part?
He looked completely comfortable.
Like he belonged here.
Like he belonged with me.
And honestly?
That thought was way more terrifying than anything else.