Subin’s life before now was average. At least that's how he would describe it.

  He had grown up with both his parents, and his younger siblings. He was average in school, but great at his hobbies, even if they didn't seem to match his interests at first glance.

  In school he had the highest grades in science and chemistry, because to him those things made sense.

  There were patterns in everything science based, and they showed up in unexpected ways, even where people didn't expect them.

  Like baking. His mother constantly baked, their house always smelled of some sort of pastry when he came home.

  It felt like there wasn't anything she didn't know how to bake.

  He hadn't thought there was much to baking, since it was just follow the recipe, make the item.

  That was until he got into chemistry classes. Recipes were like chemistry experiments, each ingredient having its own reason for being used in the way it was.

  Baking was a science, but one that people often thought was an art instead.

  After his first chemistry lab, he started bothering his mother while she baked, wanting to learn more about the ingredients and how they interacted with each other. Eventually he started memorizing the recipes, and learning how he could tweak them by adding certain things or replacing them.

  In all honesty he had wanted to be a baker. But he went into working for a healthcare firm.

  No matter how much he liked baking, if he went into that instead of everything his parents and family had helped him with, it felt like a waste. Like he was taking advantage of their kindness and throwing away everything they paid for and helped him with.

  So he worked in a lab, working on helping make new compounds for medicines.

  It wasn't a bad life.

  And if you asked him he would never have regretted it or wanted to change it, except for one thing.

  The nightmares.

  Ever since he was young, he'd so rarely get a peaceful night's sleep.

  Vivid nightmares would plague him every night. Visions of being chased, fighting for his life, war and betrayal, and dying, were regular companions to him in his dreams.

  He remembered the first one well. It was when he was seven, and he woke everyone in the house with his screaming.

  It had felt so real, so genuinely painful, and then he was just…

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  back in his room.

  His parents tried, desperately tried to be able to help him. They took him to a specialist, sleep counselors, sleep studies, even a therapist in case they missed something when he was a baby. Nothing seemed to help and the nightmares stayed.

  The doctors didn't find anything wrong with him, other than an unhealthy fear of sleeping.

  The only way his parents could comfort him was after he woke up.

  His younger sister would sneak into his room when she knew he had a rough night, a snack and her favorite plushie ready to shove in his face before he could protest, and his little brother would shove his newest drawing under the door.

  His mom would bake something before bed, and leave it on the counter with a glass of milk in the fridge.

  His dad tried to wear him out before bed, taking him biking, hiking, and teaching him boxing.

  It didn't always work, but he still appreciated it.

  The fear that tried to drown him would always be chased away by their care and love.

  He didn't tell anyone what the dreams were about, not after one of his parents' attempts to help went sideways. His mother had become desperate.

  When he was ten the nightmares were almost every night. He was sleep deprived, and constantly angry, so she went to unlikely places to help, nearly falling for some cult scam.

  The woman who tried to scam his mother said that he was having these nightmares because his subconscious was ‘remembering his past lives’. She insisted the nightmares were ‘pennance’ for the actions his past lives had taken and that he had to repent for it in order for them to stop.

  Like a ten year old had any power or control over it, or could even repent in the first place. Thankfully, his father put his foot down and would not let any kind of talk that he was being punished for something he didn't do or any past life nonsense inside the house.

  He didn't talk about the dreams after that.

  It didn't matter what they were about, just that he wanted them to stop.

  When people try to dissect them or judge him because of them, it just made him feel uncomfortable. Like they thought he deserved it.

  He just wanted to make his family happy.

  For a while they did end up getting better. He got through university and into his job without them being too much. It was as if the more he got his life together and the more people around him he helped, the less they could bother him.

  Then his mom got sick.

  Everyone banded together to help her, his sister helped their parents with chores, and his brother would drive her for trips to the doctors.

  Subin would show up every few days with a recipe they made together when he was younger and helped with the hospital bills.

  It was no wonder they'd start coming back during all that, he was stressed out.

  Everyone was, nobody wanted to lose his mom. She did her best to be kind to everyone. Their house was always open to his friends when they needed an escape from their own families or stresses in life.

  He started losing sleep, getting more and more tired, and his work was suffering.

  Nothing felt like it was what it was supposed to, and the lack of sleep was just making it worse. The only time he felt fine was when he was baking.

  Eventually, it started turning around. His mom began recovering, and was finally cleared to go home.

  That was when she really surprised him.

  “Why don't you put those baking skills to good use? I know you like it more than the job you're in.”

  It was the last thing he expected. And when he tried to argue that he couldn't, who would support them otherwise, his sister shot him down. She had just gotten into a good job, which paid enough to take over their parents expenses.

  His dad said that a nice café would be the best place for his mom to relax and recover.

  The thoughts of betraying their efforts were finally gone.

  So he did it.

  He found a place to rent nearby, it was perfect, cozy and welcoming. His friends had helped him get in contact with good suppliers for ingredients.

  It was looking up, even if the nightmares wouldn’t stop.

  The ones where he died, over and over.

  In the room he was standing in.