The rain hadn't stopped. Hours had passed since Jackson came, and the world outside the shuttered windows was nothing but the endless sound of water striking pavement. Inside, the apartment smelled of cooling coffee and damp wool.
Tyler hadn't moved much. He sat at the table, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, staring at the floor as though he could bore a hole through it and fall out of himself. Jackson sat across from him, patient, the silence stretching between them.
At last, Jackson spoke.
"You're not sleeping."
Tyler's laugh was humorless. "When I do, I wake up somewhere else."
Jackson's eyes softened, but he didn't look away. "What do you mean?"
Tyler dragged his hands down his face, leaving his skin red, his voice low and shaking. "Sometimes I wake up with my hands dirty. Sometimes blood. Sometimes bruises I can't explain. I look in the mirror and—" He faltered, throat closing, memory scraping raw. "And it's not me. I don't know who it is, but it smiles when I'm breaking."
Jackson's breath caught, but he forced himself steady. "You think you're losing time."
"I know I am." Tyler's head snapped up, eyes rimmed red. "What if it's not just in my head? What if there's another me, one I can't control?"
The words shattered something inside him. He hadn't said it out loud until now. It sounded insane, and yet truer than anything.
Jackson leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, trying to catch his gaze. "Then let me be here when it happens. Let me see it with my own eyes."
"No." Tyler's voice cracked sharp. His chest heaved, breath shallow. "You don't understand. If you're here when he—when I—" He broke off, pressing a fist against his mouth. The thought of Jackson seeing it, seeing him, filled him with terror. "You could get hurt."
"Tyler," Jackson said firmly. He reached across the table then, hand resting inches from Tyler's own. Not touching, but close enough to feel. "You don't have to do this alone. Whatever this is, whatever's happening—you don't scare me."
Tyler wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to. But he could still see the reflection in the window, smirking, leaning closer as if eavesdropping on every trembling word.
"You should be scared," Tyler whispered.
The words hung like smoke between them.
Jackson didn't pull away. His hand shifted, the barest brush of fingers against Tyler's knuckles. A small gesture, nothing more—but it sent a shock through Tyler's chest. He hadn't been touched in months. He hadn't let himself want it.
His throat tightened. "Why do you even care?"
Jackson's voice was quiet, steady. "Because I see you. The real you. Not the one in the mirror. Not the pieces you're afraid of. You."
For a moment, Tyler couldn't breathe. Something heavy pressed against his ribs, a pressure he couldn't name. Was it hope? Was it longing? Or just the cruelest trick of all—the idea that maybe he wasn't completely lost?
But then, from the kitchen window, the reflection grinned wider, teeth flashing in the dark glass. Tyler's gaze snapped toward it, and the reflection mouthed something he couldn't hear.
Jackson followed his eyes. "What is it?"
Tyler swallowed hard. "He's here."