The faint sound of paws against the hardwood floor was the first thing Nate heard when he woke up the next morning. He stirred groggily, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the window, before the familiar weight of something furry leaped onto his bed.
"Rusty!" The name slipped out instinctively, and Nate found himself face-to-face with a golden retriever, tail wagging so hard it nearly knocked the lamp off his nightstand.
The dog licked his face with exuberance, making Nate laugh despite himself. The feeling of warmth and unconditional love from the animal washed over him, momentarily easing the strange dissonance he'd been living with since the accident.
"Down, Rusty, down," Nate chuckled, gently pushing the dog back so he could sit up. His hands scratched behind the dog's ears, something he apparently used to do often—he could feel the faint muscle memory in his fingers. Nate felt more connected to the dog than almost anything else in this house. Dogs, it seemed, didn't care whether you were Harry or Nate.
From the doorway, Nate's parents stood watching, his dad with a cup of coffee and his mum holding a folded towel.
"Looks like someone missed you while you were out of commission," his dad said with a smile.
Nate looked up and returned the smile, feeling a strange sense of normalcy creep into his chest. "Yeah, looks like it." He gave Rusty one last pat before the dog hopped down and trotted off to follow his parents into the kitchen.
As Nate got out of bed and started getting ready for the day, he realized something had shifted. The sharp, disorienting flashes of memory that had been jarring him since he woke up in this new life were starting to fade into the background. His mind was no longer fractured between Harry and Nate—it was starting to merge. He could remember both lives more clearly, but without the painful, disjointed confusion he'd felt before.
Each day over the past week, he'd felt it slowly get easier to reconcile the two identities. Interacting with his parents didn't feel as awkward as it had during those first days back home. He had stopped tensing every time his mum called him by name. His dad's calm, reassuring voice during dinner wasn't as alien to him anymore.
It was like slipping into a pair of shoes you hadn't worn in years. At first, they were stiff, uncomfortable, but eventually, they softened to fit your feet again.
Later that morning, Nate found himself sprawled on the living room floor, tossing a tennis ball across the room for Rusty to chase. His parents sat at the dining table, watching him with subtle glances between them.
"Look at them," his mum said quietly, smiling as Rusty returned with the ball for the fifteenth time. "They're like best friends again."
His dad nodded but was more thoughtful. "He's been a bit different this past week, hasn't he?"
His mum's smile faltered slightly. "You think so? I mean, he had that accident... maybe he's just getting used to things again."
"Maybe. But it's more than that," his dad said softly. "It's like… he's more mature. Like something's changed."
Nate, sitting on the floor a few feet away, heard the conversation but kept his eyes on Rusty, throwing the ball once more. He wasn't sure how to explain to them that they were right. He had changed—he was more mature because, deep down, he wasn't just their eight-year-old son anymore. He was a man who had lived another life.
But how could he tell them that without sounding insane?
Nate tried to brush off the lingering thoughts. He couldn't dwell on it too much. His parents were happy to see him acting more like his old self, and in truth, he felt more like himself now too—whichever version that was.
Over the course of the next week, things slowly started to fall into place. Nate found his routine again, walking Rusty in the mornings before school, helping his mum with little chores around the house, and sitting with his dad while he went over paperwork from the clinic. He was careful not to let any odd comments about his old life slip through in conversation—he could see his parents relaxing, thinking that their Nate was coming back to them.
The memories that had once hit him like flashbangs were now quieter, more like whispers. He would catch glimpses of Harry's life in the most mundane things—flipping through a TV channel, hearing a song on the radio, or even tasting a familiar snack. But those memories didn't overwhelm him anymore. They just sat in the background, like old friends he could visit when needed, but not be consumed by.
But there was still one area where Nate struggled: school.
No matter how much his new life settled into place, walking through the doors of his primary school each morning was like stepping into a bizarre time warp. He had done this already. The awkwardness of being surrounded by kids who were still figuring out how to be people, the simplicity of the lessons, the childish banter—it was all too familiar. It was as if life had hit the rewind button and forced him to relive the parts he had already outgrown.
Sitting in a tiny desk, surrounded by eight-year-olds, was the hardest adjustment of all.
His friends—real friends from Nate's life—didn't understand why he was quieter now, why he wasn't as quick to join in their games or laugh at their jokes. Nate knew he had to be careful. He couldn't let on how much he remembered about things no eight-year-old should know.
He tried to settle in, but it was hard. Every lesson felt like something he could have breezed through with his eyes closed. And the playground? It was a minefield of awkwardness. He wasn't the carefree child he used to be—he was a man in a child's body, trying to fit in where he no longer belonged.
There was, however, one moment of reprieve in the school week. During art class, Nate found himself picking up a sketchpad and a pencil, and for the first time since waking up in this new life, he felt truly at peace. Drawing was something he had enjoyed in both lives—an escape from the noise, a way to lose himself in something that didn't require too much thought.
The sketch he drew was of Rusty, his faithful golden retriever, chasing a ball across an open field. As his pencil scratched across the paper, he let himself forget about the confusion, the memories, the pressure of school. For a few moments, it was just him, the paper, and the feeling of creating something.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Nate carefully tore the drawing from his sketchpad and folded it into his backpack. It was a small thing, but it reminded him that maybe there were still parts of this new life he could enjoy—if he let himself.
By the end of the week, Nate felt more settled than he had since the accident. His memories of both lives were no longer at war with each other. His parents' love felt real, even if it wasn't the same love he remembered from his previous life. He was beginning to find small pockets of peace in this new existence.
The only issue left was school. But even that, he figured, was something he could get used to.
After all, he had already lived through it once before.
And now? He was determined to make the most of this second chance, even if it meant navigating the awkwardness of being an eight-year-old with the mind of a stuntman.