The bathroom tiles were an indifferent slate beneath Arian's bare feet, each ceramic square a cold, slick shock against his skin. His reflection in the mirror was less a distinct image and more a phantom blur—a wisp of silver hair, skin so pale it verged on translucent, and blue eyes that had long since lost their starlit sparkle. He remembered a time, not so long ago, when he'd been told his eyes held the universe, a boy made of stardust. Now, he simply looked… hollowed out. A constellation consumed by a black hole.
His phone vibrated again, a persistent hum against the cool porcelain of the sink. Damon. The name flashed on the screen, a familiar torment.
> "Come on, don't be so dramatic. I said I was sorry. Trina meant nothing."
>
Arian's gaze drifted over the words, each one a dull, repetitive thud against the inside of his skull. There was no emotion left to churn, no fresh wound to inflict. He didn't reply. He didn't even bother with the futile gesture of deletion. He just set the phone down, careful not to make a sound, a silent surrender to the sting in his chest that had become a permanent resident.
He was so profoundly tired.
It wasn't just the endless, looping arguments, each one a reenactment of the last. It wasn't merely the insidious creep of Damon's gaslighting, slowly eroding his sense of reality, or the razor-edged affection that cut as often as it comforted. No, the true exhaustion came from the relentless, crushing weight of hope. That foolish, grotesque, stubborn hope that, despite all evidence, still whispered in the quiet corners of his mind: maybe… just maybe, one day Damon would truly choose him. Entirely.
He closed his eyes, drawing a slow, deliberate breath, willing the tremor in his hands to still. He wasn't going to cry again. Not tonight. He'd shed enough tears to fill an ocean, and each drop felt like a further emptying of himself.
His fingers, still trembling despite his efforts, reached for the faucet, twisting the cold tap. A jolt of icy water hit his skin, sharp and immediate, a desperate attempt to ground him, to anchor him to something real. But it wasn't enough. The oppressive silence of the apartment began to press in, thick and suffocating, like a wall slowly closing in, transforming the small bathroom into a cage.
Then—
A soft, ethereal yowl, barely a whisper.
Arian's eyes snapped open.
Perched precariously on the narrow windowsill, where moments before there had been nothing but frosted glass, stood a cat. It was utterly drenched, its fur plastered to its small, fragile frame, outlining every bone. But what truly arrested him were its eyes—two brilliant orbs of molten gold, burning with an unnerving intensity.
He blinked, once, twice. Where had it come from? There was no open window, no possible entry. The logical part of his mind, however, felt strangely distant, overshadowed by the sheer, impossible presence of the creature.
The cat stared at him, unblinking, not with the typical curiosity of an animal, but with an unsettling wisdom, as if it were a being of ancient knowledge, observing him, assessing him.
He took a hesitant step forward, his voice a low, raspy whisper. "You okay, little guy?"
The moment his fingertips, cool and hesitant, brushed against the cat's surprisingly warm, wet fur, everything fractured. The bathroom dissolved, the silence shattered, and reality as he knew it fractured into a million shimmering pieces.
Flash — The Echoes of a Future Broken
HEAT.
NOISE.
A searing, disorienting rush. He was dislodged, flung into an unfamiliar room, the air thick with an oppressive humidity and the cloying scent of stale perfume. A silk sheet, impossibly soft and strangely unfamiliar, was tangled around his bare legs. His own body felt different—thinner, almost gaunt, etched with an exhaustion that went bone-deep. Bruises, a landscape of purple and yellow, marred his skin, a silent testament to unseen battles.
He wasn't alone.
Laughter, a sound that twisted into something ugly and mocking, rippled through the air.
It was Damon's voice, unmistakable, yet deeper, coarser, aged by years Arian hadn't lived. "You're so dramatic, Arian. You should be thankful I kept you around after marrying."
Marrying? The word struck him like a physical blow, stealing his breath. Who—? The question was a desperate, unheard cry in his own mind.
His heart plummeted, a lead weight dragging him down into an abyss of despair, as his gaze fell upon it: a glimmer of silver on Damon's left hand, a band encircling his ring finger.
"Trina?" Arian's voice was a ragged croak, alien even to his own ears.
Damon turned, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face, a mask of triumphant malice. His eyes, once so capable of feigning tenderness, were now cold, devoid of any warmth. "She's my wife now. You're just… nostalgia."
Arian stumbled back, each breath ragged and torn. The air in his lungs felt like broken glass. "You said—"
"I lied." The words were delivered with a casual shrug, a dismissal that felt more devastating than any shouted accusation. Each syllable was a nail hammered into the coffin of his already fragile hope.
Flash — The Abyss of Isolation
A bottle of pills, the label a blur through unshed tears. His fingers, shaking uncontrollably, fumbled with the child-proof cap, each click a deafening roar in the silence. The world around him spun, a kaleidoscope of pain and despair. Screaming. A piercing, raw sound that tore from his throat, a primal scream of anguish and betrayal.
Leon's voice, sharp and cutting, sliced through the haze of his agony: "You've ruined everything. Stay away from me."
His brother's face, utterly cold, utterly detached. The look of someone who had once tolerated, now utterly devoid of emotion, as if Arian had become a stranger, an inconvenience, a stain.
Then, the terrifying silence again. The hollow echo of a life utterly alone.
Flash — The Awakening
Arian jolted back to reality with a violent gasp, his body arching as if he'd been struck. He was still in the bathroom, still standing on the cold tiles, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The searing heat, the deafening noise, the cruel laughter, the desolate silence—they were gone, vanished as if they had never been. The cat was gone too, the windowsill empty save for a few glistening drops of water.
But something inside him had fundamentally shifted. Something had irrevocably broken—
Or perhaps, something essential had finally awoken.
He stumbled back to his room, his legs feeling like lead, and with a sudden, fierce resolve, he locked the door. His body still trembled, a residual tremor from the visceral visions, but his eyes were wide open, clear and unnervingly bright, seeing for the first time.
The phone buzzed again, a faint, insistent tremor against the wooden nightstand. Damon.
He didn't even glance at it. He simply reached out, his hand steady this time, and grabbed it. With a decisive press of a button, he turned it off. The screen went dark, and with it, a suffocating silence settled, a different kind of quiet. A peaceful one.
Then he stood before the mirror again, not with the vacant stare of moments before, but with a gaze that was sharp, piercing, almost defiant. He looked at the boy in the reflection, truly looked, past the pale skin and the dull eyes, to the flicker of something new, something resolute, burning within.
"You won't ruin me again," he whispered, his voice hoarse but firm, a vow whispered to the reflection, a promise to himself. "Not this time."
Behind him, in the shadowed corner of his room, the hoodie he'd tossed onto his desk chair shifted almost imperceptibly. The golden-eyed cat, unseen and silent, sat curled in the folds of the fabric, watching. Waiting. Its golden gaze, ancient and knowing, fixed solely on Arian. The moment had passed, but the awakening had just begun.
.