Abyss || blessed-dissimulator
Jim had noticed the signs. To anyone else, they would have been blinded by their own ignorance, and the great detail and nuance of the other man's mask. But being his mirror, his echo, well, himself--he caught the subtle twitch of his lips, the far-off look in his eyes, the slight slouch in his posture. Today was a low day. These were the kind of days that were the most dangerous.
They had the power to topple empires, corrupt nations, cause the highest of the high to fall to their knees before them.
But little could protect them from themselves. The endless static--the buzz of an unending v o i d of a mind. Consuming them bit. By bit. By bit. Jim understood. He saw the emptiness in his mirror's eyes.
He had kept a fair distance from the other man for the course of the day; quiet, leaving him to his thoughts--yet always in the room. Sitting in the corner, reading, humming to himself softly. The goal was to be aware, yet unknown. Any kind of agitation could set the mirror off to a rather violent extreme, and Jim wasn't about to risk that. There was a purpose to his stagnation; he was patiently awaiting his soundless invitation.
With the sounds of shuffling Jim glanced up from his book, absently marking the page as he saw his mirror stand from his place on the couch; dark eyes following the man as he made his way to their shared bedroom. Ah, there it was. Silently, he set the book aside and stood, following after him cautiously. The door was ajar, and as he slipped inside he saw that the other was already lying on the bed, his gaze pointed up at, or better put, through the rather high ceiling.
A sigh. Wordlessly, Jim stepped over to the rather luxuriously large bed they shared and climbed onto it, making himself comfortable before slipping his arms about the other man pulling him to his chest. Now, he didn't expect it to be reciprocated. The cardinal rule with them: expect the unexpected. But regardless he hummed, raising a hand to card his fingers through his mirror's hair. The melody was soft and familiar, the other had hummed this little piece to him before. It was for the piano, one of their mutual favorites. Now Jim would never use the term "hope for a solution", but the point was to lull his echo through the fog of his own mind. Let the sound be a trail he can follow back to reality. Or at least a soft trace of familiarity to hold on to as he lay in tatters.
Dante was right in the end. Hell was cold. Cold, black, and empty, the ultimate void. And it was into this void that Jim Moriarty stared on his darkest days, in his lowest moods.
He had worked this morning with a sense of detachment. Hands moved, words spilled from his mouth, orders were given all with the same level of efficiency as any other day, but there was no one behind them. Moriarty's mind was elsewhere, trapped in a prison of his own design.
Darkness consumed all. Every distraction, every connection he ever found inevitably ended up here, sucked into the blackness to never be seen again. And the darkness called to him, stronger and stronger. It called for him to take that dive, to fully separate himself from reality and the world of the living.
Each time, denying that call got harder.
Vaguely, Jim was aware that his mirror was constantly in his presence. Soft noises drifted in and out of his consciousness, noises he knew he wasn't making. He'd given up on work hours ago and taken to simply staring off into space instead. Working in these moods was far from enjoyable.
It was tiring, contending with the voices in his head. Parts of him wanted to lash out, to destroy himself and take everything along, but he quelled those parts again and again. There was more yet to work for, he tried to tell himself, more to achieve.
There were people out there that mattered.
Finally, Jim gathered enough presence of mind to rouse himself from his position on the couch, walking into the room he shared with his mirror in a manner reminiscent of spectres walking through haunted hallways. He hadn't eaten or slept in a couple days, and the effects were starting to wear on him, mind and body.
The door was left ajar, an invitation to the other. And, while Jim would never admit to it, a pleading cry for companionship, for reassurance. For anything to bring him back to reality.
Once he was on the bed, he felt the real world slipping away from him again, shadows curling into his head from every corner. It was by no means a pleasant feeling.
The slight dip of the bed by his side was the first sign he had of the mirror's presence, the only sign before he felt himself being pulled to rest against the other. His mirror was so warm compared to the cold within that Jim couldn't help but lean into the embrace, trying to use that warmth to guide himself out of the abyss.
Sound filtered into his ears again, this time closer. His own mind translated the humming into notes played by ivory keys before switching back. It was an old song, one he knew they both could play and quite well. This was a song he would consider as a duet.
It was that music that reminded him once again that he couldn't dive off the ledge in his mind, that he couldn't escape from the world. The warmth of familiarity chased the edge of the cold away and Jim could take a step back, trying to focus on the world of the physical, the true world that surrounded him.
His heartbeat sped up and his breath came in short, shallow gasps as he tried to regain his grasp on reality. One hand came up to clutch at his mirror's shirt, a physical tie to his lifeline, his guide out of the void of his mind.
"James...." The word was whispered, a ghost of breath that would have been unheard had the two not been as close as they were.
