you contemplated if being a blaring goat in a herd of sheep would last through multiple lifetimes.
once, you would’ve played along with the roles.
as you’ve grown older, you've stopped.
your ego grew stronger. you developed your identity. you knew who you were.
you were you. so you’ve long stopped playing a role that wasn’t yours, in a body that wasn’t yours.
hence, maybe that's why the reflection staring back at you was utterly eerie to you.
ms. hunter was headstrong and stubborn. she would not hesitate to put sylus in his place when needed, whilst still being bright and ever determined. she was sociable. ambitious. ms. hunter was a flame that would not, could not go out. artificially made as she was in a lab, she truly represented the death and rebirth of planets. she could not die.
well. this body couldn’t die. her mind was a different story. you inhabited this body now.
as similar as you are, you felt that it — this body — was still grossly not yours.
a distant hum buzzes in your head, a faint echo of what once was. there would always be a trace of a habit that you haven’t exactly picked up. picking a hang nail, being overtly jumpier than usual, nearly kicking over a coworker behind you, a muscle jerk here and there (which you always traced up to nerves, except your arm jerked once while you were brushing your teeth and toothpaste smeared over your cheek).
and now this.
you were never afraid of thunderstorms. so you didn’t understand why your hands couldn’t stop shaking. why there were an overwhelming instinct screaming at you to find somewhere safe.
hide. hide. hide. find cover. somewhere safe. oh my GOD run, your body tells you, your muscles unnaturally tense.
like any good ole’ fashioned college student, you decided to lock yourself in your restroom.
this apartment bathroom was no bigger than a shoebox, but it was in way better condition than the old ones you’ve encountered. the mirrors were polished, toilet was clean, counters wiped white to strip mold, and the bathroom curtains hadn’t broke. hell, even the shower floors were extremely clean.
you tried to look at your—her reflection.
you ran a hand through your tousled hair. you had a similar cut compared to hers. medium, almost to both of your shoulders. dark brown, sleek, and somewhat thin. then came your body type — unsurprisingly muscular and toned underneath the uniform due to her job.
you stared, startled by what stares back at you in turn. what once was smooth coffee brown, now held specks of molten fire bleeding around oak.
you gingerly touch the skin underneath your eyes. great. another reminder about how much your body wasn’t yours.
sighing deeply, you rub your eyes with your palm and lean over the sink. fuck. were there a pair of gloves and some bleach you could use to clean the bathroom up? you might as well since this wasnt exactly your home.
you lean down to open the cabinet.
“you don’t sleep in the mornings, and you don’t sleep at nights either. you have more energy than i do, sweetie.”
you whirl around, about ready to throw a punch until a pair of red eyes stare down at you.
sylus?
“what the hell are you doing here?” you blurt out, eyes wide.
sylus gives you a dry look over his reading glasses, effortlessly spinning a ball pen around his fingers while leaning against the door frame. “you forgot that you gave me the keys, kitten?”
you roll your eyes, sighing. “you came in here without even telling me.”
“it’s more fun when you’re encountered with surprises. but cleaning? on such a lovely night?” sylus clicks his tongue, tilting his head.
the counter feels cool against your fingertips when you lean over, moving the items on the counter down towards the floor. you don’t even look at his reflection, even if you feel like your cheeks were burning. “yeah, yeah. not everyone pays someone to do it like you do.”
“on the contrary, there are things i prefer to do myself, sweetie.” drawls sylus, picking out dirt from his nails with a small, hearty chuckle. “like visiting you for example.”
you turn your face away, very deliberately hiding the heat threatening to build up to your cheeks.
it was very hard to shake his gaze off you at that moment. his eyes bore into your form like a laser pointed at your head, a target.
you shifted, rolling your shoulder blades back. “whatever. why are you here?”
sylus averts his gaze and pauses for a moment. “well, it seems like a certain kitten forgot to answer my texts. seems like she’s gone to places even i can’t come to. i was wondering if she had to hide to lick her wounds.”
your mouth goes dry, lips twisting from the implications of it.
“sylus, i—”
“come.” sylus gestures, crooking his hand as he straightens up.
silence fills the cold night sky, only your breaths creating condensation into the air. you took your place at the rooftop, watching fog cloak the N109 zone in its embrace. it never left the N109’s zones side, not even once. even if tall sky scrapers below you occasionally peeked out, the fog would smooth it over.
your hands twitch on the rails you were holding, thumb running over the cold metal.
maybe you should’ve known better than to accept his request immediately. a frown threatens to grow on your lips as you squinted. the city lights were no better than fireflies from where you and sylus were at, but they were still so bright at such a close proximity despite the N109 zone being so foggy.
you grimaced at the sudden change of light, holding up a hand in attempt to ease your sight.
sylus took you here — more or less as a distraction. both of you had climbed an abandoned sky scraper just to watch the city uptop from here, streaks of painted graffiti and some rust coming off from your calloused hands.
“you’ve never been so sensitive to light before.”
you slowly turn your head to see sylus flipping a coin nonchalantly. he stands right next to you, his demeanor an open sort of playful nonchalance. he lazily traces the coin’s patterns in his fingers, red irises flicking to your expression.
he wore such a casual outfit; a graffiti’d leather jacket with a dark low cut v-neck underneath, exposing his cleavage, ripped jeans, and chains strapped in a half-loops to accessorize his look. on top of this, he wore a choker with a small buckle to accessorize his look.
you’ve never seen him wear anything akin to streetwear before. it almost throws you offtrack until you remember how oddly on-brand it was for him despite his practiced elegance.
you open your mouth, then close it. you side-eye him. “and what about it?”
sylus shrugs. “it’s interesting,” he drawls, his gaze lingering. “i wonder if the N109 zone has truly changed you all that much.”
you keep your face composed, instead looking at him as if he said something so incredulous and on point. “i’m going to need you to legally shut up for five minutes.”
sylus smiles. “you know the law has never applied to me, sweetie.”
fuck this guy.
you launch up in your attempt to strangle him, staggering up to reach his height. sylus allows himself to bend back quite a bit, going along with your attempts with a hearty laugh rumbling through his chest.
“you've got to try harder to catch your prey."
"shut up!" you, with a stroke of luck, deliver a solid smack square on his chest.
unfazed (much to your frustration), sylus leans back and raises both brows. he gives you this look — him tilting his head back, red eyes glinting with undeniable mischief. “make me.”
so you do.
you leap up to smother his mouth with your palm, which, unbeknownst to you, was bait because he hoists you up by your waist effortlessly, keeping you levelled with his head. your bodies press against each other for the first time in a long while.
sylus reaches up with his other hand to gently pry your hand away from his mouth. he captures it, intertwining his fingers over yours with an amused glint in his eyes. “oh? you’ve gotten bold. after depriving me, here i thought you were avoiding me.”
ah.
“i’m… not avoiding you.” you pause, trying to scramble for the words to articulate your loss of reaction. “it’s just— when we had that conversation before, i just didn’t know how to… process everything. i’m—i thought you didn’t want me around because of…”
you gesture uselessly to your body, then your brain. “this body still isn’t… ”
sylus levels with you eye-to-eye. his voice, usually so sure and filled with confidence, softens. “silly thing. i told you, i would get to know you again. didn’t i?”
“it’s.. it's not me though.”
“then we’ll make it yours again.”
sylus was not unfamiliar with change— of feeling out of place in one's own body.
a millennia of different lifetimes. centuries of different births in different circumstances. each time, viewed as an other. an outcast. a monster.
he's long since met peace with it.
the thing about him —ever since you became a shadow of the young woman who owned this body, until you were born into consciousness— was that he was perceived as cruel and dangerous.
perhaps, in many ways, he is. perhaps he was tired too.
he never attempted to hide that, and had unapologetically put it all out in the open. he had even done so much to emphasize this. to warn you to what you were getting into.
“my “business“ isn't what normal people imagine it to be. so taking someone who's not used to my way of life is like carrying a firearm that doesn't fit in your hand. It can be a liability,” he had said once. sylus did not even look at miss hunter when he said this, polishing his firearm with the finesse of experience.
you had just glared at him, as stubborn as you'll ever be.
he wasn't worried. you would catch up soon to him.
“allow me to jog your memory. from your past to your future... to even all the crimes you'll inevitably commit. after all, you and I... we're the same. true kindred spirits."
perhaps that was why it was so easy for him to help you with this matter. and perhaps that was why you opened up to him about feeling so out of place — a little more quickly than he's used to.
your body could change. your mind could change. your soul, however...
always so consistent, he thinks as he watches you turn around to asses the outfit he picked for you -- a fur coat reaching down to your thigh with leopard patterns inside, a black lace-shirt inside, fur-lined shorts with fishnets to hug your bare skin.
you've long since styled your hair differently too — if only to fit your face better.
after a while, your eyes previously flashing with surprise with his choice, had gleamed in approval.
he sighs through his nose, arms uncrossing when he props his chin over your head smugly. you grunt, attempting to look at him once he slings an arm over your shoulders.
to no avail, his chin stays propped on you.
"you're free to express yourself however you like, sweetie. if i'm able to correct how i'm perceived by others, including you, then you have no excuse." he murmurs into your ear, tightening his hold around you.
he had done this before; he would do it again. and again. and again. as long as it takes.