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Graf might be going insane.
It started happening a week after Juan died.
He was in the storage room of his house in the Nether when it first happened. He wasn't doing anything specific, just mindlessly sorting items, even though they couldn't possibly be more organized. He started sorting them by color. He just needed something to do to occupy his mind. To keep himself from thinking about Juan.
He heard his voice before he saw him.
"You look like shit."
It was undoubtedly Juan's voice.
Graf almost jumped, and then went completely still. It couldn't be. Juan was dead. Multi had told him that much, and everyone on the island knew that. Tina, Foolish, and Ash had watched him die. But Graf had just heard his voice, like he was standing right next to him.
He did not move for a moment. Then, very slowly, he lifted his head.
In front of him was Juan. He was dressed in his green shirt and tie, with his red bandana and glasses on. He looked exactly like Juan. He was standing next to one of the walls, leaning back against it, watching Graf work with a slight smile, like he found what Graf was doing mildly interesting.
Graf stared at him. He tried to make sense out of this situation. Could it be…?
"Juan?" he said, voice barely above a whisper.
"Hi, Graf," Juan said, and gave him a small wave.
It really was his voice, his looks, his mannerisms. Something akin to hope stirred in Graf's chest.
"You're—"
He couldn't finish. He got up on shaky legs. Juan was still looking at him, not saying anything else. He looked way too casual for a man who just came back from the dead, but Graf wasn't thinking clearly in the moment.
"You're alive." Graf took a step toward him. "They said… Everyone said you were dead, I thought—"
He reached out to grab Juan's arm, but when he was about to do it, Juan disappeared and his hand was met with nothing. He stumbled and caught himself on the wall, touching the cold wood that Juan was leaning against just a moment before. He pressed his palm flat against it and stood there, feeling the wood that should have been Juan.
"I don't think that's possible," he heard from behind him.
He turned around fast. Juan was standing on the other side of the room, watching him from a different corner now, with his arms loose at his sides. Graf felt sick. That small flicker of hope in his chest quickly died down, replaced with the same crushing weight of grief he's been feeling ever since it happened.
He put his hand on his sword.
"Who are you?" he asked carefully.
The fake Juan had the audacity to look offended. "Who am I? Don't ask stupid questions, Graf."
He said his name in the exact same tone that Juan always said it. He sounded and looked just like him. But it couldn't be Juan, of course it couldn't. Juan was dead. Hearing it now felt like pressing on a fresh wound. Graf's grip on the sword tightened.
"You're not—" His voice faltered. "You're not real."
Juan looked at him. "I'm pretty sure I am."
"You're not real." The words felt wrong in his mouth. He looked at Juan, at the thing that looked like Juan, and the initial rush of relief turned into dread. "You're not real. Juan is dead. I— Is this all in my head?"
"It might be," fake Juan said in a carefree tone, like they were talking about the weather.
Then, fake Juan glanced over to the hand on his sword, and his expression immediately soured. He looked exactly like Juan when he was displeased with something. Graf clutched the sword handle tighter.
"What are you doing?" said fake Juan in an annoyed tone. "Are you going to attack me? I thought we were friends."
"You're not my friend," Graf said. "You're not him."
"I am," fake Juan said.
"Are you… A ghost?" Graf asked.
Fake Juan giggled in that exact way the real Juan did whenever something amused him. He was always so easy to make laugh. "No, silly."
"What are you, then?"
Fake Juan looked deep in thought for a minute, like he was really thinking about Graf's question. "Juan," he said after a moment.
"You're not him," Graf said. "He's—"
He couldn't finish. Not with something that looked and sounded exactly like Juan standing right in front of him, wearing Juan's face as it belonged there. It was the worst part in all of this. Graf couldn't really argue with him. The thing in front of him was undoubtedly Juan, just not the one he wanted.
"Dead?" Juan finished for him. He said it like it was just another word, like it didn't carry all of Graf's grief along with it. "That's true. But I'm still here, aren't I?"
Graf couldn't take it anymore. He pulled out his sword and swung.
Same as before, Juan vanished the instant the blade reached him. The sword hit the wall with a thump and it made Graf's arms hurt. He stood there breathing hard, staring at the mark it left in the wood.
He heard a sharp inhale behind him.
"What the hell?"
He turned around. Juan was standing across the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest with an annoyed expression. He didn't look scared, even though Graf attacked him just now, just annoyed in the same way real Juan was when his patience ran out.
"What was that?" he demanded. It was such a Juan thing to do, Graf felt like he might throw up.
Graf opened his mouth, and then closed it. He had nothing to say.
After a while, Juan's expression softened. He looked at Graf the way he did sometimes when his anger got ahead of him, but he caught himself. He had been getting so good at managing it recently. Before he...
"It's okay," he said. The edge had mostly left his voice. Graf didn't feel okay at all. "I know you must be confused, so I'll forgive you for that."
Graf looked at the wall where the sword had hit. He looked at Juan. He looked around the room like the walls would give him any sort of answer.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"I don't want anything," Juan said. "I'm just here."
Graf felt suddenly very weak. He let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. His sword fell down with a clang of metal next to him. He missed Juan so bad it made his heart physically hurt.
"I'm going insane," Graf said. "That's what this is."
"Maybe." Juan crossed the room and crouched in front of him. He sounded unbothered. "Or maybe you miss me so much you're hallucinating me now. That's not insane; that's just sad." He looked at Graf intensely. "People cope with grief in different ways. Who am I to judge?"
"You're not him," Graf said again. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince fake Juan or himself.
Juan didn't look convinced. Graf didn't feel convinced either.
"I am," Juan said. He didn't say it to argue, but like a thing that was true and didn't need defending. "Can't you see it?"
Graf looked at him. It was hard to do because he looked exactly like Juan; he was Juan, and it hurt to do so. He chose not to reply.
He wished this fake version of Juan could hold him in his arms.
"What do I do?" he asked. He felt vulnerable all of a sudden, and there was no one here to hide it from. "What do I do with this?"
Fake Juan smiled again. It looked a little sadder this time. "I have no idea."
He hoped it would be a one-time thing. He spent the next three days avoiding everyone and trying to convince himself it wouldn't happen again. It was just his mind playing tricks on him because of how hard Juan's detah had hit him, nothing more.
It was not a one-time thing. Juan appeared again the following morning. He came into his dining area to make himself breakfast, still half-asleep, and stopped dead in the doorway. Juan was sitting at the table like he'd been invited. He was leaning back in the chair.
Graf stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway. Juan looked his way and gave him that small wave again. Graf felt sick. He didn't want to eat anymore.
"Hi," Juan finally said. "Are you not coming?"
Graf slowly made his way over to the shelves and pulled out some bread.
"We're almost out," Juan pointed out, looking at him. It felt weird, seeing him sitting there and acting so casual about this situation.
It felt like a cruel joke. Spending his mornings with Juan was something Graf wished he could have before and could never have now. Now the only thing he has is this painful reminder that he lost the person he loved forever.
"I'm almost out," Graf corrected him. "You're not real."
"It's my bread too. What's yours is mine if I'm part of your imagination." He sounded very pleased with this logic. Graf couldn't really argue with it. He made a sandwich and sat down, caught between the urge not to look at Juan at all and the urge to stare at him constantly.
Juan watched him eat for a while in silence, and then:
"Was everyone sad?" he asked. "When I died, I mean."
Graf almost choked.
"You— Don't ask things like that!" he said.
"But I want to know!" Juan leaned forward. "Did my death leave a big impact on everyone? It certainly left one on you."
Graf looked at him.
"You should already know if you're inside my head," he said.
Juan's mouth curved into something mischievous. He looked proud of himself. "Yeah, I do. But I want to hear you say it."
"Why?"
Juan shrugged. "I don't know."
Graf decided not to indulge him any further. He finished his sandwich in silence, ignoring Juan's continued attempts at conversation.
Even if it hurt, it was comforting in some twisted way. It was probably the most comfort Graf had felt since Juan died, and he didn't know what to do with this feeling.
Juan started spending almost all his time with him. It only happened when he was alone at first, but later, he started seeing Juan around other people. No one ever saw Juan except for him. He kinda got used to it. Juan's presence wasn't exactly good, because it wasn't the Juan he wanted. It was a twisted manifestation of his grief in the shape of Juan, but it was still Juan in a way.
When Juan rejected him, he was sad, of course, but he was glad they were still friends, and he could have Juan in his life. Then, he lost him entirely. Grief was a lot different than heartbreak. The fact that Juan would never take up space in his life again was a thought Graf couldn't stand. It was hard to accept. Maybe that's why he was so eager to take this fake version of Juan over not having him at all.
He had been spending a lot of his time in the Nether, away from people, but sometimes, he would come to the Overworld. He would talk to Ewron in the Polish Cave, and Juan would be standing a few meters away, looking straight at him, acting as if he were a part of the conversation, as if he had every right to be there.
"…and we need better protection because everyone just keeps coming to the cave and stealing from it…"
"Yeah!" Juan said, clasping his hands. "He's right, they can't just take our stuff without asking."
"…because they think they can just… Graf?" Ewron stopped and looked at him, confused. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Yes, yes, sorry," Graf said.
"What are you even looking at?" Ewron followed his gaze towards Juan, but obviously, he didn't see him. He looked right at the empty space beside him. "The wall is more interesting than me?"
Juan smiled, visibly satisfied with himself. "Yeah, pay attention to the conversation, Graf."
"It's nothing," Graf said. "I just got lost in thought."
Juan looked offended at being called 'nothing'. Graf did his best to tear his gaze away from him and turn to Ewron. Ewron looked at him with a measured expression. That rare kind that meant he was thinking about what to say.
"Graf," he started carefully. "I know that Juan's death was hard for you. I'm here, if you ever need to talk about it, or—"
"I don't," Graf interrupted him.
Juan pouted. "You don't?"
Graf ignored him. "I'm okay. really. Sorry about spacing out, I'm a little tired. I should go."
Ewron looked like he wanted to protest, but before he got the chance to do it, Graf got up and started leaving. He felt a little bad about it because he knew Ewron meant well, but he couldn't do this. He couldn't talk with Ewron about Juan's death when the messed up version of Juan was right next to him.
Juan followed him out.
"Why didn't we stay? We could have talked about me."
"If you want to talk to Ewron so much, you can do it yourself. Go haunt him or something," Graf said, the venom slipping into his voice before he could stop it. He felt bad immediately. Being mean to Juan was something he never did, and it felt deeply wrong to do so, even if this Juan existed only in his head. It was still a version of Juan. "Sorry," he added quietly.
Juan hummed in acknowledgement, unbothered by his outburst.
"I don't think I can," he said. "Besides, I don't really want to anymore, now that you don't."
Graf just walked faster. Juan kept pace without any effort at all.
It was hard to grieve someone who was still there.
In some strange, twisted way, Graf was glad about it. At least he got to see Juan again. At least there was something there in the shape of him. It was probably fucked up to think that way, but Graf was past caring about that.
But the fake Juan only acted like his Juan half the time.
Sometimes he was sweet and kind, just like the Juan Graf knew. He would talk to Graf about anything and everything, and it almost felt like nothing had changed. He asked Graf if he ate his meals and slept enough hours. He laughed the same way Juan did. He made Graf feel butterflies in his stomach again, and he felt pathetic about it, but it was all he got now.
But other times it was like a switch had been flipped. He became cruel and mean in a way the real Juan never was. Never to Graf.
One day, they were in Graf's little house in the Nether. Graf had come back from gathering some materials. Juan sat on the windowsill when he returned, and he'd been quiet all day, even when Graf tried to speak to him, which was unusual.
"It's your fault, you know," Juan said, all of a sudden.
It was the first thing he'd said all day, and it startled Graf so badly he nearly dropped all the stuff he was holding.
Graf didn't respond. He didn't want to go through this. Unfortunately, Juan was really persistent.
"It's your fault that I'm dead," Juan continued, in a sing-song voice. "If you didn't involve me in your own problems, I wouldn't have gone to the reactor at all."
"Shut up," Graf said. He forced his eyes shut.
"I died trying to save you," Juan continued. "Doesn't that bother you? Doesn't it keep you up at night?"
"Shut up!"
"Why did you have to tell me about the chip?" Juan's voice went relentless. "You knew how dangerous Multi could be. You knew what the situation was, and you still chose to put me in that danger."
"I-I didn't— I didn't want you to die, I only wanted—"
"It doesn't matter what you wanted, Graf." He didn't seem to stop. "My death is on you."
Graf felt tears running down his face.
"It hurt so much," Juan said, quieter now.
"Please." Graf's voice broke on the word. He just wanted this to be over. "Please, stop."
Juan didn't seem to take mercy on him.
"It wasn't quick." His voice had gone soft, and it was somehow more unbearable than the cruelty. "I died suffering. I begged for help. You weren't even there to see it."
Graf finally lifted his head. Juan's voice had started shaking, and he was crying too. Tears were leaking down his face, and it was the worst sight Graf could possibly see.
"You sent me there," Juan said. "And you weren't even there when I died."
"I'm sorry," Graf said, choking on his own tears. "I'm so sorry, Juan."
Juan was quiet for a long moment.
"I know," he finally said. The cruelty had drained out of his voice completely, leaving only the sadness. "But it doesn't change anything. Your guilt can't change the fact that I'm dead."
Graf had no answer. He sat down on the floor and sobbed until there was nothing left in him, and Juan sat on the windowsill and cried quietly with him, and neither of them said anything after that.
Juan didn't appear for the next few days. Graf missed his presence more than he'd like to admit.
"You're not real," Graf muttered.
He was sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. He was having a horrible day, and he didn't want to see this fake version of Juan. He wanted the real Juan. The Juan who was his friend, the Juan who went on three dates with him because he wasn't sure how to say no, the Juan who laughed at things Graf said, and cared about him so much he died because of it. He wanted that Juan, and that Juan was gone, and this was what was left.
"You're not real," he repeated it, like it would make it true.
"Oh, but I am." He couldn't see the fake Juan anymore with his hands over his eyes, but he could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm very real."
"You're only in my head."
He lifted his head. Fake Juan was still there, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, watching him with that particular expression. He looked so much like the real Juan. Actually, he looked exactly like the real Juan, with all of his mannerisms down to every single detail. It hurt so much.
"So I'm as real as I can get," Juan said.
"I… I made you up."
"Sure." Juan rolled his eyes. "Does that make me less real, or does it just make you the one who put me here?"
Graf tried to cover his ears, even though he knew it wouldn't work. Juan's voice seemed to exist in his head even when he tried to block it. It made sense if he himself existed only in Graf's head.
"Please," Graf said. "Why are you doing this?"
He opened his eyes. Juan was standing directly in front of him now, much closer than he'd been a moment ago. Close enough that if he were real, if he were tangible, their faces would almost be touching.
"You're doing this to yourself," Juan said.
"I'm not," Graf replied defensively. "I don't— I don't want you tormenting me like this."
"Stop lying to me," Juan said. "You know you can't do that. We both know you think you deserve this."
Graf didn't answer. The problem with a hallucination made up in your own head was that it knew everything about you and could reach all the same conclusions you could.
Juan's expression shifted into something warmer. "Besides," he said, quieter, "isn't it nice to see me again?"
It was. That was the worst part. Even like this, even when Juan was saying all these horrible things to him, and it hurt, it was.
Graf felt Juan's gaze on himself for a while.
He was sitting at the small table in the Nether house, trying to fix his broken pickaxe. Juan was sitting across from him, watching him work. He's been mostly quiet, but not in that weird way that made Graf uncomfortable. He looked up. Juan's chin was propped up on his hands, eyes fixed somewhere around Graf's right arm.
"What?" Graf said, even though he knew what Juan was looking at. He was very aware of what was there.
"Nothing," Juan said.
Graf looked down at his arm. The red bandana was tied just above his elbow, the way he'd tied it since…
"Just say whatever you're thinking of," he said.
Juan sat up in his chair. "You're wearing it on your arm."
"Yes…?"
"That's not how I wear it," Juan replied, pointing to his own red bandana that was around his forehead.
Graf took a good, long look at him. "I know," he replied.
Juan rolled his eyes. "I'm saying, you should wear it as I do."
Graf thought about it for a moment, imagined himself looking like that, and immediately blinked that vision away. It wouldn't feel right.
"It's not mine to wear like that," he replied.
"Well, you have it. It's yours now," Juan said, like it was obvious.
"It's yours," Graf argued. "It's— It's still his."
"I'm Juan, and I'm telling you you should," Juan said, smiling at him. "I think the red looks good on you."
Graf blushed at that, immediately feeling pathetic. Was he really flustered because of the voice in his head? It was Juan's voice after all, so who could blame him? He looked at the bandana again.
"It would feel wrong," he said.
"Wrong how?"
Graf tried to think about his reply. He was never good at this, finding the right words to express himself. "It was yours. It should still be yours."
Juan tilted his head and looked at him in a way that made Graf's legs feel weak. "Can you try it on just once? For me?"
Graf considered it for a moment. Then, he reached up and slowly untied the bandana from his arm. He held it for a moment and touched it softly. Juan wore it when he died. He raised his hands and tied it around his forehead, adjusting it in a way that made it feel comfortable.
He felt ridiculous. He looked at Juan, who had a huge grin on his face. For a moment, he just looked, taking Graf in, and Graf let himself be looked at.
"Come on, don't you want to see yourself?" he said.
Graf got up and went to the mirror. Juan went along with him. He looked in the mirror and saw himself, wearing Juan's bandana, and next to him was Juan, in the same red bandana, giggling when he saw them. Graf felt awful. It didn't feel right at all.
"I like it," Juan said. "It looks good on you."
Graf reached up and quickly untied the bandana. He put it around his arm again.
The smile disappeared from Juan's face. "Do what you want," he said, and then disappeared. Graf was alone again.
It was late. Graf had been awake too long, and he knew it. He was sitting on his bed doing nothing in particular when Juan appeared at the foot of the mattress, casual as anything.
"You never got to kiss me," he said, matter-of-factly.
Graf certainly didn't expect him to say that. His heart jumped in his chest, and his face went hot.
"I know you wanted to," Juan continued. "You've been thinking about it for so long, haven't you? Wondering how it would feel." He watched Graf with a curious expression. "You imagined it a lot."
Graf wanted to deny it in a last-ditch attempt to protect his bruised pride, but it would be pointless. They both knew it was the truth.
"Please stop," he said. His voice came out weak, and he hated it.
Juan only smiled. Then he giggled, and the sound that used to make Graf feel like the luckiest man in the world only filled him with dread in the moment.
"We can change that," Juan said. "You can kiss me now. Just one small kiss. Aren't you curious?"
Graf was. Of course he was. He thought about how it would feel to kiss Juan more times than he'd like to admit.
"You told me you didn't feel the same," he said instead.
"Well, we've established I'm not real, so it doesn't matter, does it?"
It did to Graf, but before he got the chance to voice it, Juan reached up and grabbed his face, actually grabbed it. Graf could feel his touch on his skin. He gasped. Juan's hands were cold. He could feel them on his skin, which shouldn't be possible, because Juan wasn't real. It was the first time he could actually touch this Juan. It shocked him so much that he went completely still in Juan's hands.
"H-how?" he managed to choke out.
Juan smiled. He touched Graf's bottom lip with his thumb, gently grazing it at first, and then pressing it hard, like he wanted to make sure Graf could actually feel it. Graf couldn't move.
"I told you," Juan said smugly. "I can make it happen."
He tilted Graf's head to the side. Graf felt like time froze for a second. He wanted to move away. He wanted to stay in this moment forever.
I should move. I should stop this.
Before he got the chance to do anything, Juan pressed his lips against Graf's.
Graf was a weak, weak man. He closed his eyes. Juan's lips were soft against his, softer than he'd imagined. He kissed Graf desperately, as if he had also been waiting to do it for a long time. The coldness of his hands was still there, both hands still cupped around Graf's face, and Graf leaned into it. He wanted nothing more than to keep kissing Juan like this.
He wanted to hold Juan's face in his hands as well. He reached out, and—
Juan wasn't there.
He opened his eyes. He was holding onto thin air. Nothing was touching him. He looked to the side, and Juan was lying on the bed next to him, propped on his elbows with his chin resting on his hands, watching Graf with an expression of pure amusement.
"Did you really think you could kiss me?" he said. "Come on, Graf. You're smarter than that." He had a smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm dead, remember?"
Graf sat very still for a moment.
Of course, he couldn't really kiss the hallucination of Juan that only existed because his stupid brain decided to torment him even more. But why did it feel so real if it was all in his head?
He felt like he might be sick. He felt tears running down his face, and he didn't bother trying to stop them. He felt pathetic enough about what just happened, there was no point in trying to save his face.
He didn't want to look at Juan. He couldn't stop looking at him.
"I miss you," Graf said. It escaped his lips before he got the chance to stop it. He should be angry, but he just felt exhausted.
Juan held his gaze. "I know," he said softly. It hurt more than the cruelty.
"I wish I could have been there," Graf said. "I wish — maybe things would have gone differently. Maybe I could have—"
"Graf."
"I know." He pressed his hands against his knees. "I know. I know it doesn't help to think about what could have been, but I can't stop."
"I know you can't," Juan said simply. "I'm still here, after all."
"I think you need to do something about this," Juan said to him a few weeks later. Graf was just working on something mindlessly to occupy his hands.
He looked up from what he was doing. "About what?"
Juan gestured at himself. "About this. About me."
"What do you mean?"
"You should..." Juan trailed off, seeming to think about it. "Get some help. Talk to other people instead of the ghost in your head."
Graf blinked. "You said you're not a ghost."
"Figure of speech. I mean—" Juan exhaled, sounding almost frustrated. "Talk to people who care about you. You can't live like this forever."
"You can't just say that," Graf replied. "I don't— I don't want to move on from you."
"I'm not telling you to move on," Juan said. His voice softened. "That's not what this is. You just can't live like this forever. It's not good for you. It won't—" He stopped. "It won't bring him back."
Him. Third person. It was the first time Juan had referred to himself that way.
"Talk to Katie or Ewron. They care about you," Juan continued. "Or maybe talk to Foolish, talk to Tina, I don't know. I know you feel like you weren't close with them, but… They are also hurting. You could understand each other. It could help."
Graf looked at him for a long moment.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "You torment me, and then you tell me to get help."
Juan shrugged. "Maybe you finally feel like you should get better." He smiled. "I don't know, man. I'm only in your head."
Graf looked at Juan. He thought about his friends who had been trying to talk to him for a long time, but he didn't allow them, isolating himself in the Nether. Whenever he came to the Overworld, he either avoided everyone or let them talk at him without making any meaningful conversation. He definitely didn't allow them to talk about Juan with him. He thought about Foolish and Tina. They were the closest to Juan that Graf could imagine how much they were hurting as well. He thought about what it would be like to go and talk to them, to say I miss him out loud to someone who loved Juan as well and could say it back.
Juan wasn't saying anything more, just looking at him with a small smile. Graf didn't want to lose him. He already lost him once. But it wasn't really his Juan, and it's been getting worse recently. Their interactions consisted mostly of Juan being cruel towards him in a way that his Juan would never do.
"Maybe I will," Graf said, finally.
Juan looked at him, looking pleased with that answer.
"Maybe is better than a no," he said.
Graf looked at the door to his small Nether house. It was closed. He hasn't opened it in a long time. Somewhere on the other side of it, the world kept on spinning without him.
For now.