Chapter Text
Graham (because that’s still his name, even if it’s harder to believe that without Gabriel to back him up) can clearly pinpoint the exact moment he realizes he’s no longer a guest in the hallway.
It’s become somewhat of a habit for him to stop by the bigger, less-twisted mirrors during his stay here. It helps him keep track of his progress, lets him watch as his hair grows longer every time (it looks like it’s been growing for months already), or see that the red cuts on his face had finally faded into scars, not to mention letting him appreciate the ever-changing splash of color on his clothes. (It reminds him of the oil that spills from cars sometimes. He used to hate those stains, but he likes this version of them very much.)
That’s all the changes he usually sees, though.
This time, he notices something different.
The first thing that draws his attention are the scars on his cheek. The last ten or so times he’s checked, they were no longer changing, they were fully healed scars. They’re different now, though.
What was once a horrid reminder of a monster that took his own name from him is new. They have shifted somewhere between his glances. The three lines running up his cheek, previously jagged and uneven, are now so… smooth, with a slight curve to them, truly curling in the end. At their tip, they turn up and into themselves, they mark circles into his face and they spiral and spiral until they’re too tiny to trace… and he’s sure they continue to do so even beneath his skin.
They’re spirals. There are tiny, sweet spirals that now adorn his skin. They’re not a reminder of fear, a claim on his face and his life, they’re his. They fit.
If that was the only change in his appearance, he’d still feel more than satisfied, but when he glances at the top of his head, a similar surprise awaits him. The scars there are hidden by his hair now, but he doesn’t feel the need to brush it aside and check them. That’s because the change around them is visible without that. He can clearly see three strands of his hair sticking out in an unnatural way, and just like the scars on his cheek, their ends curl and twist into three tiny spirals at the tip.
They're beautiful. All six of the previously-scars, now his very own marks, are downright beautiful. They draw him in, closer to the mirror, and he feels like he could admire them for hours. Still, he forces his eyes away from the changes and tries to get a better look at the bigger picture. He wants to see how they change the way he sees all of himself, how they affect his perception of self, of his face, will it feel more his or-
The moment he meets his own eyes, he leans forward so fast he nearly smashes his forehead against the mirror. He stares into the deep blue of his irises with his mouth agape and then blinks. Blinks once and twice, shakes his head, rubs his eyes- no matter what he does, he can clearly see a purple vortex spiraling in each of them. He can’t quite tell if they’re moving or not, his vision gets blurry this close to the surface, but if they are then the motion is slow, steady. Either way the feel near hypnotic, and either way just looking at them makes his chest burst with joy and energy.
He laughs, just once. It's a quick delighted noise that leaves his throat before he can think better of it.
He does pause briefly after letting it out and quickly realizes that if he were to laugh again, it would most likely fade into tears of relief, and those would blur his vision too much. With that in mind, he settles on letting himself grin so widely that the corners of his mouth start to ache, and squeezes his notebook close to his chest. It almost feels like an embrace. The hallway around him also feels like one, and it certainly looks the part too.
That is exactly when it hits him.
He is no longer a guest. He’s been accepted, he belongs here now.
“Thank you,” he says to no one in particular, but especially his friend- Is the hallway also his friend now? It certainly looks like Friendship. “... Oh, thank you!”
All the relief and joy he feels is almost overwhelming. His knees threaten to buckle under him, so he preemptively lowers himself to the floor and rests his side against what looks much more like a Hug than a “Wall” but supports him sturdily all the same, nearly melting into his side. Yeah, they’re definitely friends now.
For a moment, he closes his eyes and reaches up to his face, searching for his composure. When he finds his fingers trailing his own scars, turning in and in and in- well, he realizes it’ll take him a lot to calm down enough for the joy in his chest to stop sending electric shocks through his body. He…. does know a different way to let the feeling spill from him easier, to maybe even preserve it for later to some degree…
His eyes snap open and he quickly sets his notebook on the ground in front of him. Before he knows it, there is a pen in his hand and a blank page lies before him expectantly. He doesn’t keep it waiting long, starting to leave his mark on it before his brain catches up to what he’s writing. He can feel his new friend peering over his shoulder, curiously following the ink with what clearly isn’t their eyes, and he pauses ever-so-briefly to re-read his new work.
I Belong.
He nods. He does like the sound of that.
I belong.
It doesn’t give his emotion justice, but nothing truly could. It certainly makes his feelings easier on his chest, so he continues to write it time and time again, filling page after page, up until his heart stops hammering in his ribcage so much. By then, he finally gives in to the relieved laugh that’s been bubbling in his throat for so long, resting the side of his face against the wall as the joyous sound ripples and echoes through the hallway.
“Ohh, thank you,” he sighs with contentment once his laughter finally dies out.
He looks down at the last page he wrote over and, after a short moment of consideration, rips away one of its corners and gives it a try. As expected, it doesn’t quite do his feelings justice, but the sweet taste of Security and Belonging, with a hint of Something Twisting, Turning Until It Reaches A Comfortable Form is close enough. He’ll need to save these pages for later.
A noise startles him out of his thoughts and he straightens his back, lifts his head, and listens. He hears shuffling coming from one of the branches the hallway splits into (it wasn’t there a second ago, but it’s a great addition, really.) and it seems to be coming closer. He can’t quite tell if the sound is really there, or just his new friend giving him a heads up about what’s to come, so he waits.
It doesn’t take long for Gabriel to turn the corner and regard him with a warm, clearly sculpted expression.
“Hey!” the short man greets him, a friendly smile stretched unnaturally across his face. It doesn’t look disturbing anymore. “I heard you’re done?”
He’s done. He belongs. He knew that already, but it’s still a relief to hear a confirmation. Slowly, he nods.
“I think I am,” he answers, feeling his own grin brightening to match Gabriel’s expression.
“Oh, perfect!” the man claps his hands together with a (pleasantly…?) sickening, wet noise. “That’s great. Congratulations, Graham,” he says as he makes his way over and offers Graham one of his hands to help him up.
…Graham. The name feels truly his all over again, but in an entirely new way. He’s held onto it for so long, trying to keep it even though it was already taken from him, he still wanted to be Graham so badly… but in a mundane, logical way. He wanted the name to be really, truly his again, because it was all he knew and because it would make sense. Now, he feels like he’s not the same Graham that fell through a Yellow Door that opened in his bathroom floor, he’s a new Graham that belongs on this side of the threshold.
Using this name like a new one even though a part of him insists it’s always been his, it feels like a deception. Hearing Gabriel say it feels like they’re sharing an inside joke only the two of them (well, three, including the hallway) are in on.
It’s a lie.
He’s starting to like those.
He takes Gabriel’s hand and can’t help but smile at its familiar lack of solid structure. It doesn’t feel wrong anymore, it feels right. Or rather, it feels wrong on the same side he is wrong, which is probably better. He lets the shorter man pull him up to his feet and stretches briefly, careful not to drop his notebook. Gabriel’s eyes seem drawn to the item at that point.
“You’re not out of pages yet?” he asks with amusement. Graham looks down at his hand and realizes that he’s keeping a finger jammed between the filled pages and the clean ones. It’s neatly in the middle and he can swear he’s already filled over half of the notebook with ‘Keep Watching’s alone.
“...Oh, yeah,” he nods, considering. It doesn’t feel heavier in his hand, and he can tell all the pages he made are still inside without looking. “Huh. Another gift?” he muses.
The Hallway doesn’t agree. It doesn’t disagree either, and it certainly understands the notebook on a level no living thing ever could, but it doesn’t own up to the change.
“Or not,” Graham shrugs. He removes his finger from between the pages and tucks the item under his arm, briefly noting that the words on the cover are wavy, distorted, and a neat spiral adorns it as well. It looks nice. “Either way, it’s good.”
As long as it means he won’t run out of clean pages anytime soon, he’s more than okay with this. Even if it’s Fake Paper that the notebook is supplying him with, or… something. It doesn’t seem to be affecting the taste too much, so it’s just… convenient, really. He won’t be replacing it anytime soon.
“That’s the spirit,” Gabriel’s smile widens, and the tension makes one of its sides slide down his face slightly. He notices and brushes it up. “Alright, alright, I think it’s time you get a proper look at Zemlya Sannikova. I’m sure you’ll appreciate it this time.”
“It was beautiful the first time you showed me, too,” Graham remarks. A part of him just knows that Zemlya Sannikova, Sannikov Land, is the island that holds the Impossible Altar. Gabriel just laughs at that.
“And now it’ll be even better,” he assures. He pauses then, looking Graham up and down a couple of times, clearly in thought. “You know, I thought about making you my apprentice, but… I think we’ll need to find you your own role,” he concludes. “Any ideas?”
“...This?” Graham lifts his notebook after a short pause.
“Good start,” Gabriel nods. “You know what? I think we can figure it out by the ritual site. That place always plays the right tricks on the mind, makes ideas flow…” he assures, letting his voice trail off.
And that’s it. They walk until they reach a door, they walk out onto the greenest arctic island in all of Russia if not the world, and it is more beautiful this time around. It's so beautiful Graham can't get enough of it, and can't wait to see even more of it. Can't wait to see it be the stage for The Great Twisting.
He feels like his life is just starting again.
With how freeing the feeling is, he can’t help thinking that all he’s been through has been worth it.