The living room is a disaster. Empty bottles lined up like soldiers on the coffee table. A half-smoked cigarette smoldering in an ashtray that definitely isn’t an ashtray—it’s a chipped mug that says WORLD’S OKAYEST EMPLOYEE. The overhead light buzzes, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow.

And the TV.

The TV is blaring at full volume. Some anime Y/n barely remembers clicking on. Shouting voices. Flashy colors. The smell of stale alcohol and the weight of another lonely birthday pressing down on her chest like a physical thing.

Y/n lifts her head from the arm of the couch, vision swimming. The screen flickers.

No. It doesn’t just flicker.

It pulls.

A low hum fills the room, vibrating through the floorboards. The static on the screen crackles, expands, until it’s not just the TV—it’s the whole wall. A swirling tunnel of light and color, reaching out.

The cigarette falls from Y/n’s fingers.

The mug shatters on the floor.

And then there’s nothing but the pull. The sound of her own heartbeat. The rush of air as gravity decides to take a vacation.