Chapter Text
“Ugh.”
Techno pokes at the bruise along his side, the mottled green, purple, and almost-healed yellow an ugly reminder of his earlier mistakes.
He bundles his shirt up, sending a hopeful wish to the universe that it’ll stay, and turns to look at himself in the mirror. He needs to buy more makeup, he’s out the yellow-correction concealer he bought a while back, to cover a stray black eye.
His reflection leaves something—everything—to be wished for. He’s a canvas of almosts; almost happy, almost handsome, almost tall, almost skinny, almost smart enough, almost fast enough, almost good enough to—
—No. Techno drops his shirt, and it settles loosely just above his knees. He sends one more glance at the mirror before grabbing his backpack and heading out the door.
-:-:-:-
The problem with big cities, Techno has noticed, is that there are reflections everywhere. Windows have reflections and stores have mirrors propped in front of them for reasons no one can figure out.
He has friends that are sensitive to seeing their reflection—it makes him undeniably angry to see so many unavoidable triggers. If his day was going to be ruined by seeing his reflection, and he lived in the big city, he’d be perfectly happy with breaking the things that stress him out.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t know anyone with both the money and the will to bail him out of jail.
He really wants to hit something. His knuckles are still scabbed over from the last time he got too aggressive with the punching bag and he only has enough money to go to the gym—or anywhere with a proper punching bag, a couple times a month anyway.
He finds the nearest convenience store—some family run shop selling everything you could ever think of and nothing helpful at the same time. Ma wants a lottery ticket, Pa just wants a lighter—he lost the last one Techno bought for him at some point, and he gets grumpy when he hasn’t smoked. It’s a quick errand, in and out in two minutes, but Techno sticks around.
The park’s pretty in the morning, so he finds his normal spot and camps out there. Niki finds him, and Techno gives her what extra cash he can afford to spare without his parents noticing.
She thanks him with a wordless nod. Techno’s been sneaking money to her for months now, in the hope that the extra money might help her to buy food or clothes; Schlatt evicted her a couple months ago, and Techno can’t bear to let her go without any help.
They sit together for a bit, comfortably in the silence, until Techno’s watch lets off a gentle beep and he gets up.
“Bye Niki,” he says, breaking the silence and brushing dirt off of his pants, “It was good to see you again.”
“You too, Techno,” she replies, eyes falling on a bruise he wasn’t quite able to hide, “You know, you could—come stay with me, just for a bit. It’s not great living, but we make do.”
Techno shakes his head.
-:-:-:-
He steps into the house lightly, door swinging slowly shut behind him; the door whines, filling the silence with a loud screech, and Tecuno winces. Way to give it away, door.
“I’m home,” he calls, and tilts his head when no one answers.
The car is in the driveway, the door was still locked when he came back and—oh.
“I got your stuff!” That calls for a reaction, and a loud thump resonates through the house. Techno feels his stomach flutter. It’s bad today, then. Normally they can at least get to him without breaking anything.
“Kid.”
“Pa?” Techno riffles through the plastic bag, “I got you the—the lighter.”
“Yeah? Lemme see.” Pa stumbles through the doorway and reaches a hand out. Techno swallows around the lump in his throat.
“It’s—here.” He says, “They didn’t have any—“
“What,” Pa asks, “is this?”
He’s eerily calm. “A lighter. Pa they didn’t—”
“Did I tell you to explain?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Pa runs a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “Cant even buy a lighter right, waste of money.” He looks up, right into Techno’s eyes. “Find me a better lighter. What took you so long anyway?”
“I was—” he doesn’t have an explanation, not one he can get away with. “looking for a book in the library.”
He rushes the words, cringing at himself. It’s not a good lie, not even a good excuse. Pa obviously doesn’t believe it. Techno tenses, waiting for—something, Pa’s in a mood, but he can’t tell why it is. What he’s really hoping for is anything other than anger.
It’s not good enough, Pa scoffs, “You ain’t got a book. I don’t care what you were doing. I gave you a job, a simple job, and you couldn’t even do it in a reasonable time. I can't believe you.”
Techno nods, eyes focused on the ground, and he doesn’t see the hit coming—doesn’t see the body shifting, telegraphing Pa’s every intention.
It hurts. Gods it hurts. Techno wishes there was any way to leave—to flee Earth and take a trip to the clouds. Pa lands a hit on the bruise on his side, and the world explodes into darkness.
He floats, for a bit, after that.
When he comes back, he’s curled into a ball on his bed, blanket strewn across the floor. His first aid kit is on his bed, and he can feel a bandage on his side. At least he did something useful, when his mind decided to check out. His hands throb in sync with his heartbeat.
He pulls the side of his shirt—and when did he get blood on his hands—walks over to the mirror, glancing up, and—
The mirror stares back at him.
It’s wrong. So wrong. Techno holds back a scream—biting his already split lip—that’s new—and taking a sharp breath in—it’s impossible. He doesn’t—that’s not him.
He drops his shirt to move his hand up to his face. The mirror furrows its brow.
It’s alive.