Keiran slowly opened his eyes, feeling a sharp headache pounding like each beat was a reminder of something terrible. He blinked a few times, trying to focus on his surroundings. The dim light of the room seemed strange to him, as if he weren't in his home. He tried to sit up in bed, but his body, lighter and weaker than he remembered, moved with a clumsiness that was alarming.
The persistent pain forced him to bring his hand to his skull, searching for the source of the discomfort, but an unexpected tug on his arm made him gasp in surprise.
"Ouch!" he exclaimed aloud, more from the fright than the pain. Looking at his right hand, he found an intravenous cannula inserted into his vein. He froze for a moment, watching the thin hose that connected to a bag of serum hanging next to the bed. Confusion and alarm intertwined in his mind. When had he fainted? And, most importantly, how had he ended up there? No one had access to his apartment, or at least, he thought so.
He shook his head, trying to clear the questions that were beginning to accumulate, but a soft weight on his shoulders stopped him. His gaze lowered slowly, and a cascade of hair, between pink and purple, fell over his shoulders. Long, silky hair, and clearly coming from his head. He brought a trembling hand to it, touching it with disbelief. It wasn't a wig. It was his.
"What the fuck...?" he muttered in a hoarse voice, full of bewilderment. His mind frantically went over his last image in front of a mirror. His hair had been short, black, as he had always worn it. So, what the hell had happened?
With a hesitant effort, he got out of bed. His body protested immediately, weak, clumsy, as if it had forgotten how to move. He grabbed the serum stand to avoid falling and noticed something else strange: the floor seemed closer. A disturbing feeling invaded him. Had he shrunk? He went to the bathroom with hesitant steps, fighting against the weakness that invaded him, and turned on the light.
The reflection in the mirror froze him.
In front of him was someone else. A slender, pale figure, with delicate features that bordered on the feminine. Keiran moved a hand and the reflection did the same. It was not an illusion, it was not a trick. That face was not his, but the mirror insisted that it was.
"What the hell happened?" he shouted, releasing the serum stand and bringing both hands to his face. His fingers touched high cheekbones, a thin chin, and eyes that seemed huge due to the thinness of his face. He had lost all trace of his former appearance.
With trembling hands, he opened the hospital gown he was wearing, hoping that what he was seeing was some kind of misunderstanding, but what he found only worsened his anguish. His torso, once muscular and worked, was now almost skeletal. His abdomen, which he had proudly flaunted after years of effort in the gym, had disappeared, replaced by a narrow waist and bones that protruded disturbingly.
His breathing quickened, and the questions began to swirl in his mind like a whirlwind. Where were his muscles, his height, his usual body? What kind of cruel joke was this?
"Whose body is this and why am I here?!" he shouted into the air, hoping, wishing, that someone would answer him. But the only sound in the room was the echo of his own voice, filled with despair.
He slumped against the bathroom wall, feeling trapped in a nightmare from which he could not wake up. His mind searched for answers, but each attempt led to more questions. Had he been kidnapped? Some strange experiment? Or had he lost his mind completely? His world, his identity, everything he knew, seemed to have been snatched away in the blink of an eye, leaving in its place a terrifying void.
And, for the first time in a long time, Keiran didn't know what to do.
He was lost. Confused. Where had that appearance come from? He brought his hands to his face again, as if by touching it he could confirm that everything was real. His pale skin and the sharp contours of his face left no room for doubt: this body was not his. And then there were the eyes. His eyes. A vibrant and fascinating purple tone that, although undeniably beautiful, was impossible. Who the hell had purple eyes? It was a trait that only existed in fantastic stories, not in the real world.
He knew it. He had always had the same brown eyes, identical to those of his mother, who always said they were her most precious legacy. Thinking about it caused a knot in his stomach. It was as if that intimate connection with her had been erased along with his body.
"What is this?" he murmured, his voice trembling with a hint of despair. "How the hell did I get here?"
He tried to force his memory, but the only thing that emerged was a vague memory of the night before. He had been in the living room of his apartment, reading that fantasy book that his friend Tobias had lent him. "It's amazing, you have to read it," he had insisted over and over again. Against his will, he had given in. The story seemed entertaining, although somewhat predictable, and when he reached almost the end, fatigue overcame him. The last image in his mind was that of the open book, his body relaxed on the sofa.
So, how had he ended up there? In an unknown place and with an appearance that was not his?
Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. The details began to fit together in a disturbing way, like pieces of a puzzle that he didn't want to complete.
"The book!" he exclaimed suddenly, standing up abruptly. The action reminded him of the intravenous still connected to his arm, the tug of the tube almost made him lose his balance. He grumbled as he made sure to hold the bag of serum, recovering it from the floor where he had dropped it moments before.
He looked in the mirror again, this time with a growing sense of disbelief mixed with a hint of recognition. That appearance... That face… That body. He knew it.
Then he remembered. That image was of Keiran, the marginalized and despised omega from the book Tobias had lent him. Everything fit together in such an absurd way that he almost wanted to laugh, even if it was out of pure nervousness. It couldn't be possible, but there it was: the purple eyes, the hair between pink and purple, the slender and delicate complexion. Everything corresponded exactly with the character who bore his same name.
"Fuck..." he whispered, the weight of the situation falling on him like a slab. "How the hell did I get into this book?"
His mind was racing. He thought of the stories that Tobias had told him that he had read about fictional worlds and people magically transported, but those were just stories, right? This couldn't be happening. And yet, everything indicated that the impossible had become reality. He was trapped inside a world that didn't belong to him, a world that didn't even exist... until now.
He brought a hand to his chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. If this was true, if he was really inside the book, what did it mean for him? Keiran, the character, was not only despised, but had also faced a destiny full of suffering and abandonment.
"Damn..." he muttered, clenching his fists in frustration. He needed answers, and fast. But the question that troubled him the most was: if he had arrived in this world, was there any way to get out of it?
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