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Chance has been thinking.
It's a question that's been at the back of his mind for a while now. No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he can't seem to forget it. There's something he wants to ask them—but he's afraid to put it into words—he doesn't want to know what might happen next. So he let that question linger, tossed his suspicions aside—until they grew too much, until they had become impossible to ignore. And now, he knows he has no other choice. He has to ask them for the truth.
Beside him, sits his best friend iTrapped—his only friend, really. They're sitting close enough that they nearly brush shoulders against one another. That sudden contact should feel familiar, and comforting to Chance—but it doesn't. iTrapped is waiting for Chance to respond—he sits there, his posture relaxed, and he's just finished talking about something that had happened in the casino recently.
Chance had managed to catch bits and pieces of what he said—another one of those reckless bets, gone wrong—but none of it really sticks. His mind keeps drifting back to that same question. He's too busy thinking about whether he should ask that damning question—or swallow his pride, and save it for another day.
He knows that something isn’t right.
iTrapped looks the exact same. He looks like how he should have—his voice, his face, everything is as it should be. But that feeling—it's wrong. And Chance knows the truth—that this man, wasn't iTrapped. He stares ahead, refusing to meet their gaze. His jaw is tight, and his fingers are curled loosely in his lap. He's completely at a loss.
The man beside him… is a stranger.
Whoever this is—it isn’t iTrapped. And he knows it.
He takes in a deep breath, keeping his breathing slow and steady. He's trying to calm himself down, and prepare himself for what is going to happen next. Everything feels tense. He's afraid. But eventually, he turns his head, and forces himself to look at them. The words come out before he can stop them.
“You’re… not really iTrapped, are you?”
iTrapped—whoever they are—flinches.
It's quick, and barely noticeable—but Chance sees it immediately. He always notices things like that. Almost instantly, that subtle change in his expression disappears. iTrapped lets out a soft sigh, smoothening his expression before bumping Chance lightly with his elbow. He's acting like all of this is just a joke.
“Didn’t know you were into comedy. It must be a new thing, right?"
Chance doesn’t smile.
He knows there's no going back. His earlier question hangs in the air, the tension from the aftermath undeniable. He straightens his posture slightly, eyes narrowing as he studies them more closely. "I'm... being serious."
"What?" iTrapped says, blinking in surprise. His voice rises just a bit—clearly caught off-guard by his statement. “What do you mean, Chance...? Why would you say something like that? It doesn’t make any sense.”
But his eyes don't match that same confusion in his voice. Instead, his gaze is focused and attentive, watching Chance as if he's waiting for their next move. After a few moments, he lowers his voice, and that earlier teasing lilt fades away, replaced by something quieter. Something more vulnerable—and it's so unlike iTrapped's usual persona.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
That question makes Chance's heart drop.
For a moment, he almost backs down. Maybe he's imagining it—and overthinking things. Maybe it would be easier to let this go, and pretend everything was fine. After all, it would make the bittersweet lie hurt less.
He looks away, fumbling for an excuse. "Sorry, I just... I've been tired. Really busy with the casino, y'know?" He pushes his sunglasses higher on his nose, trying to hide his nervous expression. Sweat gathers at his brow, sliding down slowly. "Forget it—I must be seein' things... sayin' stupid shit."
"Yeah," iTrapped's lips press into a small, tight smile—one Chance knows he doesn't mean. "You should really get more rest, Chance. It's for your own good."
Chance nearly chokes. iTrapped would never say something like that. He shouldn't sound so... concerned. He would never care about Chance—not like this.
"I know," Chance murmurs, his voice low. He forces himself to look back at them, and a tightness begins to form in his chest. "Please, just tell me the truth. Who are you...?"
“What a silly question.” iTrapped says, before chuckling softly—he's pretending to be amused by their antics. “I’m iTrapped, of course—”
Chance rises to his feet abruptly, interrupting them mid-sentence.
"Cut the crap! I know you're not."
Chance knows it isn't iTrapped—because he remembers. He remembers that night way too clearly, and that terrible game of Russian Roulette. It was a risky bet that had spiralled out of control. iTrapped had suggested it—he had been laughing confidently, saying he was certain it would be fine. The prize had been the key to the Banlands—his family's treasure. Chance remembers the revolver in iTrapped's hand, and the slow spin of that chamber, with their words of promise that nothing would go wrong.
He remembers that dreadful sound. He remembers watching it happen right in front of him. His mind can never forget that horrible memory.
That's how he knows that this man can't be iTrapped. Because iTrapped—the one he knew, the one he cared about—was already dead.
“You’re dead,” Chance admits quietly, his voice trembling with fear. “I know iTrapped is gone. So let me ask you again—who the hell are you?”
“Hm. You got me there.” iTrapped tilts his head, studying Chance carefully, one finger tapping against his chin as if he’s deep in thought. “You... don't seem the brightest of the bunch, so I never thought you’d be the one to figure it out."
“Wait, what?” Chance stammers. “What are you—”
iTrapped’s eyes darken, and something began to creep in—with black specks mixing in that familiar ocean blue. Suddenly, he leans forward, and grabs Chance by the tie, yanking him closer. With his other hand, he reaches toward the hilt of his sword.
“Oh, my dear Chance... I love how gullible you are.”
Chance gasps, his breath catching in his throat. His body goes stiff, shock rooting him in place. He knew that it wasn't iTrapped, but still—that confirmation that the man in front of him was an imposter sent a chill down his spine.
“You’re… really not iTrapped.”
“No, I'm not.” iTrapped's grip loosens, and he tilts his head again, looking at them with an unreasonable expression. His hands slip away from the sword, and he seems to have calmed down now. His eyes remain focused on Chance, with a hint of curiosity in them. “Do you want me to be?”
The real iTrapped had always been cold. He had a sharp tongue, and was sometimes cruel with his words. And yet, Chance had stayed, because with him, he would never be alone. They had been his best friend—and his only friend.
And now, this thing remains in front of him—a stranger wearing his old friend's face. This past week, they had been kinder, gentler than usual. They... actually had cared for Chance, and that's how he knew something wasn't right. It wasn't the same.
Slowly, as if he's sensing their hesitation, iTrapped reaches for them, with their fingers brushing lightly along Chance's jaw.
“I know you need me,” he whispers softly, leaning closer. With his other free hand, he lowers Chance’s sunglasses, forcing him to look him in the eyes.
“And I… I need you.”
His smile spreads slowly, almost unsettlingly so. They're a stranger wearing iTrapped's skin, playing the part just well enough so no one else will notice what's wrong.
“I won’t leave you.”
Upon hearing that, a soft sound slips from Chance's lips before he can stop it—something quiet and broken. He feels himself wavering in his resolve, filled with guilt and regret, at causing the death of his best friend. Those memories come rushing back, and the pain of that loss cuts even deeper. This thing looks exactly like him, and it's close enough to hurt all over again.
iTrapped leans in further, then rests his chin against the side of Chance's neck. Their skin feels cold. There's no heartbeat to be heard—and no warmth underneath their words.
“I promise.”
Something desperate rises in Chance’s chest. He knows this is wrong. He knows he shouldn’t want this. And yet—
He lifts his arms, slow and unsure, wrapping them around him. It's just this once—he just needs to feel them again. He needs to pretend everything is fine, and forget what he saw.
“I... don’t mind staying with you forever."
With that, iTrapped returns the embrace, one arm sliding firmly around Chance’s back and the other settling between his shoulders, pulling him in until there’s no space left between them. For a brief moment, it almost feels comforting, familiar in a way that makes Chance’s chest ache.
"I care for you. I really do."
Then, that gentle grip changes.
Their fingers at his back curl slowly, pressing harder and harder until they dig into the fabric of his shirt. Their nails begin to bite into his skin, and a sudden sting starts to bloom across his back. Chance inhales sharply, his shoulders tensing at the sudden pain. His breath catches in his throat. His body reacts on instinct, flinching under their touch—but he doesn't move away. He doesn't fight it at all.
“Hah… you feel so warm...”
Those words make his stomach twist. He stays where he is, his jaw clenched, hands still gripping the back of iTrapped’s shirt. If this is the price for what he's done, by holding onto this impostor—if this is what it takes to keep them close, even if it's a painful consequence—then Chance will endure it, until the end of time.
“I love you—” He begins, then stops himself before he can say their name, and calls them iTrapped. The person in front of him isn’t truly him. But maybe…
That’s okay. Everything will be fine now. He and iTrapped… they can finally stay together, even if it’s only for this short, fleeting moment. After all, this is all he has left of them. Without the imposter, he has nothing—no one to keep him company, and return his affection. And he knows that they aren’t real, that this is all an illusion—an offer he’ll regret later. But right now, he’s desperate for their warmth. He wants them. No, he needs them.
“…I’m sorry…”
Something wet slips down his cheek.
He just has to pretend.