His hand pressed to the glass, a fervent desire in his bones to leave his shelter. To go out into the world... But he couldn't. He daren't. There was so much he needed to account for, first.
Shaded crimsons alighted on the figures far below, and he retreated back into the dark of his room. He looked over the Dark that wrapped up his arms, that he knew would be creeping along his jaw by now...
It had been far too long. It had been hard, the past few years, to stay away. To keep those he had grown to care for safe... He'd made sure they wouldn't remember him... Or, at least, he hoped.
It was growing later, past the edge of night into morning. So early, and yet so late... He settled on the couch, slowly producing the flickering crystal and running a clawed digit over the faceted surface.
"The past behind me... My future dead... All I am is this moment. A parting thing, a sad echo of what was... If I could go back... Perhaps I would. Perhaps I would go back on everything. What I was. Who I was... Would it make a difference? ...Perhaps. Or perhaps I would repeat the same mistakes."
Hold tightening, feeling the cracks growing wider, splintering... He thought on it for a moment. He knew that he was a monster. But even so, he couldn't bring himself to shatter it. It was his lifeline as much as his shackle. He wouldn't risk the world for his selfish desire to go out.
A sigh left his lips as he went for a drink... He stared at the bottle for a time, then decided against it. He instead headed upstairs. Staring at the bed, the blond paused for but a moment, contemplating. To feign humanity... Or to embrace himself?
Weak. That was what he was. Thoughts that came to mind as he slipped between the sheets. He wanted, so badly, to be what he wasn't... And how had that worked? He had been one of them, alright. Had murdered like one of them...
No. No, he had murdered like... Himself. And for that, he had paid. But the debt wasn't really paid. He would fix that. In the morning. He turned over for the night, glancing over the clock. Twelve. No better time...
It felt like only a moment. Closing his eyes... then dragging them open. His bed was hard, his bones ached. He rubbed at his eyes, patting the nightstand for his familiar shades.
The pair that he held made him pause. Aviators? He squinted, then placed them on his face. Slowly dragging himself out of bed. Early. Far earlier than he should have been awake.
Dragged himself to the closet and paused... took a step back. Because... Those weren't his clothes. Not any more. He staggered to the mirror, looking at himself. His features were far younger than he had thought... And when he took off the sunglasses, his eyes were a pristine blue.
A step back. Then another. He felt... off. And when he reached out to the darkness, he only felt the strain of... muscles. Reaching for something that... didn't come?
He grabbed his clothes, yanking them on. They were uncomfortably familiar, but they would do. Heading to the kitchen, he paused as his stomach growled. Normally, the blond would forgo eating... but with his circumstances...
He went and made himself food, setting down at the table. His eyes darted over the walls, familiar but... old. Dated. He wracked his mind to remember why. What made them so familiar? His eyes wandered until they settled on the calendar there.
He choked on his coffee, jerking up so quick his chair knocked over, and he raced to the wall, leafing through the pages, staring. He pulled off the sunglasses to get a better look... He must have been mistaken...
Because it was 1995, in his old Raccoon City appartment, and Alpha couldn't believe it.
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