Chapter Text
Joost had always thought he understood himself—maybe not fully, but enough to get by. Enough to manage the rough edges of his grief, enough to keep moving forward despite the hollow spaces his parents had left behind. He’d made mistakes, sure, but nothing like this. Nothing like the unraveling that had taken root inside him, gnawing away at his sense of self until all that was left was chaos.
The house around him was in disarray, the signs of his turmoil scattered across every room. Plates sat unwashed (though barely any were used, Joost hadn't had much motovation to eat lately), clothes were strewn in his bedroom, and the quiet hum of his phone’s incessant notifications was ignored as it buzzed from somewhere buried beneath the mess. Joost stood in the kitchen, staring vacantly out the window with a cigarette in hand, occasionally taking a drag from it, blowing the smoke out of the open window. His thoughts churned, dark and disjointed, unable to land anywhere solid.
His alternate was here again. He could feel the presence without needing to see it—the cold, prickling sensation at the back of his neck that warned him he wasn’t alone. His alternate self had started to show up more frequently now, invading not just his mind but his space, his life. At first, Joost had been able to dismiss the voice as something external, something separate from himself. But now, the line between them was becoming harder to distinguish. The voice in his head, the figure lurking in the shadows—it wasn’t just something be could ignore, but a physical presence.
Joost rubbed his temple with his free hand, trying to soothe the pounding ache that had settled there for days. His breathing was shallow, erratic, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. The weight on his chest pressed down with unbearable force. He needed air, needed space, but no matter where he went, it was as if the alternate was always right behind him.
“You’re pathetic,” the voice purred, low and menacing, a cold chuckle following the words. “You’re a mess. You're in denial. You're spiraling."
Joost bit the inside of his cheek, flicking the butt of the cigarette out of the window before his hands clenched into fists. The air felt thick, tense, and his alternate’s presence only heightened the pressure, wrapping around him like a snake tightening its coils. He turned around, intending to catch sight of the figure. It was always just out of reach, but this time, there was no teasing from the shadows.
The doppelganger stepped forward, emerging into the light. Joost’s breath hitched as he saw him fully—no longer a disembodied voice or fleeting figure at the edge of his vision. His alternate self stood there, the same familiar features twisted into something colder, crueler. The same face, but the eyes... dark, unfeeling. His smile was laced with something venomous, like he found amusement in Joost’s suffering.
Joost crossed his arms, trying to ignore the erratic beat of his heart. “So... you’re actually real.” His voice was a strange mix of resignation and irritation, the creeping dread dulled by the familiar annoyance his double always seemed to provoke. “You’re... me.”
The alternate broke into a wide grin, placing a hand over his chest with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh, thank you for finally noticing! I was starting to worry you’d never put it together. It was almost like we hadn't established that multiple times previously.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course, I’m you. Though, honestly, I do feel like the upgrade here.”
Joost gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, the cold marble pressing into his palms grounding him just enough to stay focused. But his alternate didn’t miss a beat, leaning casually against the doorframe with a smirk that could cut glass.
“You look… tense,” His alternate drawled, cocking his head with a faux-concerned expression. “Trouble in paradise, bluebird?”
Joost let out a frustrated sigh, trying his best to ignore him. “You’re in my head. You’re not even real.”
“Oh, come on, don’t sell yourself short,” his double retorted, pushing off the doorframe and strolling closer. “I’m as real as your bad decisions and worse haircuts, which is to say, incredibly real.”
Joost’s hand twitched, but he forced himself to stay still, refusing to look at his alternate. He’d been through this—he knew this was a hallucination, his own mind lashing out. Yet somehow, the taunts burrowed under his skin every time. “Why are you still here?”
“Hmm, why am I here?” The alternate Joost tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think hard. “Well, probably because you made me. You remember, right? After the whole… parental situation?” His voice softened, feigning sympathy. “Poor Joost. Left all alone with his little brain spiraling, desperate for someone to pull him out of that hole. So, poof—you got me.”
Joost’s hands balled into fists. “I don’t need you. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Oh, but you did,” the other man couuntered smoothly, his smile widening. “And isn’t it poetic? Here I am, sprung from your subconscious and ready to show you how it’s done.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We could have so much fun, you and me. Flip the dynamic, make you the one trapped in the background while I take care of things. You’ve been in the driver’s seat long enough, don’t you think?”
Joost tensed, trying to shove down the surge of anger—and the flicker of fear. “You think you can just waltz in and take over? Good luck with that.”
“Oh, I don’t think—I know.” His alternate’s voice was practically purring with delight. “I’ve had a front-row seat to every little failure, every moment you’ve wished someone else would take the reins. And now? Now I’m here to give you what you wanted.”
Joost gritted his teeth, fighting back against the frustration that was building into something sharper, uglier. “And what, exactly, do you plan to do that’s so much better?”
The alternate Joost’s smile widened, as if he’d been waiting for that question. “Well, first, I thought I’d have some fun. Shake things up a bit, live a little, you know? Unlike you, I don’t hesitate, don’t waste time overthinking every single decision.” He leaned in, his voice a low murmur in Joost’s ear. “And unlike you, I know what I want—and I’m not afraid to take it.”
Joost’s hands clenched harder, his knuckles going white. “Get out of my head,” he hissed, but his voice was thin, uncertain, and he hated that his double heard it.
“Oh, but I’m just getting started,” the other man purred, circling him like a cat playing with a mouse. “Don’t worry, bluebird. It’ll be you in the background soon enough. Just think of it as… letting go. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”
Joost fought back the wave of frustration, but deep down, he knew his alternate was enjoying every second of his resistance. The smirk on his face grew, mocking him, challenging him, daring him to push back. “You’re not getting anything,” Joost snapped, voice finally firm.
His counterpart's smirk didn’t waver. “Guess we’ll see about that.”
Joost’s jaw tightened, and he turned away, trying to steady his breath. “Just… stop talking.”
“Aww, sensitive, are we?” The alternate leaned in, his voice soft and coaxing. “What’s the matter, Joost? Can’t handle a little self-reflection?” He laughed, a light, taunting sound that grated on Joost’s nerves. “Listen, this is my time to shine, and your time to sit back and—oh, I don’t know—maybe just watch the show.”
Joost rubbed his temples, his patience unraveling by the second. “You’re not taking over anything. You’re… a hallucination. Something I can ignore.” He sounded desperate, even to himself, clinging to the idea that he still had some semblance of control.
“Oh, really?” His double’s eyes gleamed with amusement, that same smirk dancing on his lips. “Then tell me, Joost—have you noticed how much control you really have? Those little gaps in your memory? The… interesting choices you’ve made recently?” He made a show of inspecting his nails. “If that’s your idea of control, I think I can do better.”
The irritation in Joost’s chest flared into something hotter, sharper, and he could feel his hands start to shake. “You can’t just—” He struggled to keep his voice steady. “You can’t just take over my life.”
His alternate laughed again, a genuine laugh that bordered on a cackle. “Take over? Oh, Joost, sweet, naïve Joost. Haven’t I already?” He gave a grand, sweeping gesture, like a ringmaster presenting his prize act. “Think about it. Those little bursts of temper? The nights you don’t quite remember? I’ve been here a lot longer than you think.”
Joost swallowed hard, his mind reeling as fractured memories flickered through his mind—those times he felt disconnected, like a stranger in his own body, every impulsive decision, every misstep, suddenly feeling like pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t wanted to solve.
“You’re in over your head, buddy,” the alternate continued, tone dropping to a soft, almost affectionate purr. “But don’t worry. I’ll handle it all from here. You’ve done enough.”
Joost’s hands balled into fists, his entire body rigid as he fought the growing sense of helplessness clawing at him. He opened his mouth, but his double’s mocking expression, that self-satisfied smile, had him stumbling for words.
“Face it, Joost,” his alternate murmured, eyes glinting with satisfaction. “You’re already mine. And soon enough? Everyone else will see it, too.”
"Get out of my head!" Joost repeated, this time his voice raising to a shout, his voice cracking as he attempted to throw a punch right at his alternate’s face. Oh how he'd love to shatter those stupid black sunglasses. Though his punch only phased through his alternate, hitting the wall instead.
But his double only chuckled darkly, his presence growing heavier. "You really think you can get rid of me?" His voice nothing but calm calm, mocking, as if Joost’s misery was nothing more than a game.,
As if? No, no. It was a game to him.
Joost clenched his fists, his iritation bubbling dangerously close to anger as his alternate stepped back and leaned against the doorway once more, arms crossed with a smug expression. It was maddening, that constant look of control and patience.
“You’re getting all worked up again,” the alternate remarked, voice dripping with amusement. “I don’t know why you bother. You know I’m not going anywhere.”
Joost let out a sharp breath, the air thickening around him. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You think I’m just going to let you take over?” He shook his head, eyes narrowing. “You’re not even real.”
“Oh, come on, don’t pretend you don’t know better,” the alternate replied, sounding almost bored. “Real or not, here I am. And you’re the one who made me, Joost. You’re the one who’s kept me here, hanging on, like a bad habit you refuse to break.”
The words struck a nerve, but Joost refused to show it. Instead, he gritted his teeth, glaring at his alternate as if the sheer force of his will alone could make him disappear.
The same words echoed endlessly, circling back again and again, like a broken record left spinning on an abandoned turntable. Each repetition sank deeper, but the reality of it all still slipped through Joost’s grasp, elusive and surreal. No matter how hard he tried to confront it, the truth seemed to dance just out of reach, leaving him caught in a strange limbo between awareness and denial.
“Go away,” Joost muttered, more to himself than to his double. “Just… leave me alone.”
But his alternate only chuckled, a low, mocking sound that echoed in the small, enclosed space of the hallway. “Leave you alone? You know better. I’m not going anywhere, especially not while there’s so much of you left for me to inhabit.”
Joost scowled, turning away, unable to stomach the way his double looked at him—as if he were a puzzle already half-solved. His head was pounding, his thoughts sluggish and muddled, unable to settle on a clear path. He needed space, needed air—something to ground him.
Joost found himself walking out of the kitchen, each step felt heavy, but he needed to clear his mind. He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the dull ache, but it only worsened, a weight pressing in on him from all sides.
The house felt stifling, the silence oppressive. His feet carried him forward, almost like they had a mind of their own, until he was standing at the end of the hall, in front of the attic door.
It had been a while since he’d been up there. It was a whirlwind of old memories, most of which he tried to forget. The window there led to the roof, a place where he could get some much needed fresh air to clear his crowded mind.
The alternate was still behind him, lingering like a shadow, his presence impossible to ignore.
“Running away again?” he drawled, his tone one of casual derision. “It’s just like you to retreat instead of facing things head-on. How’s that been working out for you, by the way?”
Joost’s jaw clenched, a flash of anger sparking in his chest. He tightened his grip on the doorknob, suddenly compelled to escape, even if he didn’t quite understand why. “Shut up.”
He pulled the attic door open, and the scent of dust and stale air hit him like a wall. He didn’t hesitate—he pushed himself up the narrow stairs, the creaking wood echoing in the silent house. The familiar, musty scent of old wood and forgotten things surrounded him, thickening as he climbed higher.
The attic was dim and dusty, with boxes and crates neatly lined up along the walls, each labeled in Joost's old handwriting. Light filtered through a small, grimy window, catching on dust motes that floated lazily in the air. Cobwebs clung to the corners, but the room was far from filthy—just untouched. A few covered mirrors leaned against one wall, forgotten along with everything else he’d meant to throw out. It was organized, but held a quiet, comforting stillness.
At the top of the stairs, Joost finally paused, his breaths evening as he surveyed the room. The dim light filtering through the single, small window cast long shadows over the piles of boxes and covered furniture. It was quiet. But he could feel his alternate’s presence still, lingering just out of sight, his gaze like a weight pressing down on him.
He rubbed his temples, trying to clear his head, when his eyes landed on something in the corner. Two old mirrors stood side by side, partially hidden under a dusty sheet. He had forgotten about them entirely—old relics he’d meant to get rid of months ago. He huffed, his mind clearing as the presence of his double faded to a lingering shadow. Or, that's what he thought, at least.
He remembered the mirrors, how he’d somehow ended up ordering three by mistake (Dont ask how, not even he knows.) One found its place in his bedroom, but the other two were forgotten after he missed the return date, left to gather dust beneath their cloth covers in the attic.
Joost pursed his lips, taking the thin yellow-ish white sheet off of the mirrors. Why he did so was unknown, although he wished he didn't. Joost always found a way to get himself into some sort of situation, didn't he?
Though the sight that greeted him stopped him cold.
One mirror reflected his alternate’s taunting gaze, that infuriatingly smug smile gleaming with dark satisfaction, like he knew Joost’s every thought and savored each one.
But in the mirror beside it stood something else—a blurred reflection of himself in some sort of blue garments that were somehow familiar. The figure looked gentler, even with his expression unreadable, with features just out of focus, as if he were hovering at the edges of Joost’s consciousness.
Joost’s stomach twisted, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. “What… the fuck?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Joost narrowed his eyes, a frustrated confusion in his voice as he finally asked, "Who's..." his words were left unfinished, his gaze fixed on the other mirror.
His double's smirk vanished, replaced with a flicker of irritation that was impossible to miss. His lips curled just slightly, and for the briefest moment, he looked as if he might actually answer—until, with a sharp wave of his hand, the mirror in question cracked, splintering into a hundred spidering lines. The figure in the blue suit flickered, the blurry outline clearing just for a heartbeat. Joost saw himself in it, but… softer somehow. A fleeting vision of something kinder, something quieter, shattered in an instant as the glass fractured fully and the image vanished.
"What the fuck!" Joost shouted, stepping away from the glass.
“That’s for me to know,” He sneered, his voice laced with venom as he leaned in closer, “And for you to keep wondering.” he smirked at Joost, looking at him in with a smug, almost mocking satisfaction. "So, how about you stick to things you can actually handle?"
Joost’s patience snapped. With a shout of frustration, he spun to the remaining mirror—his alternate’s reflection staring back at him with that same smug superiority—and lashed out, fist colliding with the glass. Shards rained down, slicing his knuckles as he destroyed the only thing tethering his double to the reflection. But instead of disappearing, his alternate's voice came smoothly from behind him, closer than before.
“Break as many mirrors as you want, bluebird,” The other man murmured from behind, his tone one of cold, sardonic amusement.
Joost turned, and there his alternate stood, closer than ever, casting an unsettling shadow over the ruins of glass that lay at their feet.
Joost's breath came quick, his pulse pounding as he faced his alternate, who looked almost relaxed, arms loosely crossed and a satisfied glint in his eye. Joost’s hand throbbed, blood seeping from the cuts he’d inflicted on himself in his desperate attempt to silence this tormentor, but the pain was nothing compared to the twisted anger coiling in his chest.
“All you do is take,” Joost muttered, his voice low, shaking. “Torture me with these stupid fucking games, ruin my relationships, my thoughts, my memories, and for what? To stand here and watch me… break? To act out your stupid, edgy plan?”
The other man laughed, a sound as sharp and grating as the broken glass underfoot. “You’re really still asking why, after all this?” He looked around the dusty attic eyeing the now empty shards of glass that showed an ordinary reflection, brows raised as if he’d just walked into the mess and was judging every corner. “Oh, come on. You know it’s more fun to watch you squirm, isn’t it? You’re miserable anyway—you just don’t like that I’m making it obvious.”
Joost’s fists clenched, but his voice was trembling, lost somewhere between fury and exhaustion. “You’re just—what? Here to torment me? To… make sure I don’t forget what a mess my life is?”
“Look,” his alternate said, leaning in as if they were sharing some dark secret. “I’m not just here to torment you, Joost.” He cocked his head, the smirk dropping as his eyes took on a cold, calculating edge. “I’m here to be you. The version of you that doesn’t hide from this.” He tapped a finger to his temple, his voice dropping to a soft, mocking whisper. “You’re too afraid to admit you’ve wanted this all along. To forget the messy, pathetic mess you’ve become.”
Joost stepped back, teeth gritted. “I don’t want this, I never did,” he spat, his hand shaking, aching from the cuts of the glass as he gestured to the fractured mirrors, the attic that now felt more like a tomb. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“Then why,” The doppelganger said, each word slow, sharp, “have you done nothing to stop me?” He took a step forward, and Joost felt his back hit the wall. “You know I’m not leaving, right? Every choice you make, every step you take—whether you like it or not, I’m part of it. You’ve let me in, Joost. And now?”
His smirk returned, a twisted, triumphant grin. “Now, I’m all you have left.”
Joost was speechless, his throat tight, mind whirling as he felt the full weight of his alternate’s presence settle in, unyielding and permanent.
Joost glanced back at the shattered mirrors, his throat dry, mind racing with a thousand questions he couldn’t even begin to articulate. It was as though the alternate had not only shut down his attempt to understand but had carved a sharp, jagged reminder of his control, his power over this twisted reality Joost had found himself trapped in.
The alternate leaned back with that maddeningly smug look, as if savoring the confusion etched across Joost's face. "You thought you had answers, didn’t you? Thought maybe you’d finally cracked the code." He chuckled, his tone turning mocking. "How... adorably naïve."
Joost's hands twitched painfully at his sides, anger simmering beneath his skin, an urge to demand more—answers, explanations, something solid in this mess. But his alternate seemed to sense it, tilting his head with a bored smile, as if daring Joost to push further.
He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to step back from the broken glass and the taunts lingering in the air. But even as he did, the weight of that final sneer clung to him, sinking into his bones like ice.
"You can't win this, bluebird."