Work Text:
Brian flopped himself onto his bed, his head landing on the pillow, his eyes looking up. The white popcorn ceiling seemed miles away. Thousands of miles. When he stretched his hand up, as if to touch it, it grew farther.
And farther.
When he dropped his hand back onto his chest, the sensation was dull. Even when he scraped his fingernails across his pale skin, it was numb.
Disconnected.
The phone in the living room began to ring, but he didn’t get up to answer it. It sounded like a memory sounds. Like remembering your mother’s laugh or your favorite song. Muddled, distant, unreal. Garbled by the imperfection of the human brain.
When the phone ceased it’s ringing, Brian let out a breath of air he didn’t know he was keeping in.
He sat up, an achey twitch in his muscles telling him he had to do something. But what? What could it be?
He looked down at his hands, calloused fingertips and pink palms, not recognizing them. Whose body was this?
He stood up, not remembering why he was in bed and floated to the bathroom, the house around him hazy. Smudged like wet paint. Like water dripping down glass.
He closed the door behind him, an action that felt hollow. He felt hollow. Was he?
There was another person in the room. He jumped and so did they, seemingly unaware of each other until that moment.
Brian took a step forward, his foot sinking past the tile into the earth but his body didn’t budge.
The person stepped closer.
They both squinted.
It started to rain outside, the droplets beating against the bathroom window, echoing like drums. Drums that were eons away. So far away.
Brian toddled closer to the person and they copied him. He looked down at the hands that didn’t belong to him. His peripheral vision blurred.
He held them up to the person, hoping it was their hands, their body. They reciprocated.
He leaned forward until he couldn’t anymore. There was something hard and cold in between them.
Cold.
Brian rested his cheek against it, the person obscured. His eyes were closed. His head felt untethered to him. The world was dark but he could see it all. From the clouds it felt like.
What is it to feel?
To feel?
He exhaled and came to in another room. The living room. Just standing in the middle of it, no recollection of walking out of the bathroom. No memories of anything.
Brian pushed some hair away from his face, his face, hands and hair wet. He smelled lavender.
“I’m not myself today,” he mumbled, although he wasn’t sure what today was.
Was he ever himself?
Who is he?
Who am I?
Brian looked down at his palms again, eyebrows furrowed.
His hands looked so far away.
Far away.