Javon, stop daydreaming!” his boss shouted, as he often did—especially at Javon, who always seemed to provoke him.

“Yes, boss. Sorry, boss,” Javon replied in a monotone voice, clearly uninterested. It didn’t go unnoticed.

That was Javon’s routine.

Wake up. Get ready. Go to work. Come home. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

Like a robot.

Yet he never complained.

As if he was made to work tirelessly every day.

—But he knows he isn’t.

“Javon, wanna go out with us tonight?” a colleague asked.

Javon didn’t answer. He simply looked, then walked away.

He was known for his good looks, his short brown hair, small brown eyes, dark eyebrows and his tall muscular frame—

And his strange behavior.

“It was worth a try,” his colleagues muttered as they watched him leave.

When Javon arrived at his small apartment, he didn’t rest.

He took a shower, packed his bags in silence, mumbling to himself in a language no one could quite understand.

Then, he began to whistle.

Through the hallways.

In the elevator.

All the way to the bus stop.

He whistled and whistled.

Ignoring everyone and everything.

It was only ever him in this world.

No one else mattered.

On the bus, Javon never slept—even after working 13 hours straight.

He just sat there, eyes fixed on a woman’s dog.

“Sir, are you okay?” the woman asked, concerned. She had noticed he hadn’t blinked in a while.

Javon slowly tilted his head and stared at her.

Then smiled.

“I’m alright, thank you…”

He paused, savoring the discomfort.

“But don’t worry about me.”

He turned away and stared out the window, whistling softly.

After the long ride, the bus dropped Javon off in front of a forest.

He walked.

And walked.

For days.

Surviving only on the food and supplies he’d packed.

Whistling with every step.

After five days, he reached a small cabin.

He didn’t rest.

Instead, he left his bags inside, grabbed his binoculars and rifle, and stepped back into the cold.

Into the snow.

Into the silence.

He could finally breathe.

Still whistling, he followed a familiar path.

He arrived at his usual spot—

A hilltop view of a nearby house.

Not just any house.

His boss’s house.

And living inside… his younger brother.

Javon saw them laugh, cook, play games.

His brother had taken everything from him—his job, his freedom, and now his boss’s attention.

But Javon didn’t cry.

He didn’t scream.

He watched.

And whistled.

For nine months, this was his routine:

Work during the week.

Spy during the weekend.

Until one weekend…

He snapped.

He made up his mind.

Jealousy blurred his judgment.

And he entered the house.

At first, he only looked around.

Admired the luxury.

Studied the photos.

The routines.

But envy is a dangerous friend.

He wasn’t careful enough.

“Aiden?” his brother called from another room, hearing something.

“Is someone there?”

Javon didn’t hide.

He wanted his brother to see him.

And when he did,

It was already too late.

Javon grabbed him.

Silenced him—forever.

Then he did the unthinkable.

He didn’t care about love.

He didn’t care about family.

He wanted to become his brother.

Javon cut and peeled,

Until he wore Aiden’s skin like his own.

Covered in blood, he laid beside his boss, staring at him kindly.

The next morning, the boss sensed something was wrong.

Aiden—no, Javon—moved differently.

Every flinch. Every breath.

But most of all…

It was the eyes.

The eyes were filled with hatred.

—He didn’t hide it.

The final clue came unexpectedly.

The boss returned early and heard something from the kitchen.

A whistle.

Aiden could never whistle.

But Javon could.

Perfectly.

He entered quietly.

And there was Javon—cooking.

Whistling.

Without turning around, Javon spoke.

“Finally figured it out?”

The boss froze. “W-w-who are you? What are you doing?”

Javon smiled to himself.

“Nothing,” he answered softly.

“I’m just cooking.”

Then, slowly, he turned around.

He walked up to his boss, face calm.

And in a chilling whisper, he said:

“Get me out.”

Those…

Those were the last words of my brother.