Work Text:
Jekyll didn’t die. A surprise, really. He was desperate, looking for a way to be free of Hyde, the very thing he sought to find freedom in the first place. In his desperation he concocted a potion, an antidote of sorts to cure himself of Hyde.
Although Jekyll managed to purge himself of Hyde’s presence, he was constantly reminded of it. His entire body had practically shrunk down, mimicking Hyde’s stature. It took weeks for Jekyll to feel comfortable enough to actually appear in public, and even for some time after he would only visit Utterson.
Jekyll has a thing for hands. Not in an inherently or overtly sexual way, he just likes to admire them, especially Utterson’s. He’ll watch him sign forms or type at the typewriter for hours, focused on the movement of his hands. They’re one of his favorite things about Utterson and sometimes he’ll take his hands and gently kiss every part of them, claiming it “brings good luck”. Utterson rolls his eyes, not superstitious at all, but lets him go through the strange ritual.
Utterson could listen to Jekyll talks for hours, and he does. The excitement in his eyes, in his voice, is palpable. It breathes life into whatever room he’s in. Though this is a rare occurrence, as their relationship progressed Utterson saw more and more of it. Jekyll would burst into his room, or even office, after an experiment, whether it was a success or failure, and talk on and on about what happened.
Utterson plays the piano. Sometimes when it’s too rainy to go for a walk, too early for sleep and yet too late for work, you can hear melodies trailing through the air from Mr. Utterson’s home. Jekyll will fall asleep humming along to whatever he’s playing.
Jekyll has small habits that he will claim bring good luck. After looking at his life and the Hyde incident, Utterson would love to differ, but cares enough about Jekyll to not insult him. These can range from kissing Utterson’s hands to always keeping a penny in his pocket.
After Hyde, Jekyll’s memory simply isn’t what it used to be. It frays, like a piece of cloth that’s come undone at the edge after too much use. Little things slip away from him, some names, some faces.
Jekyll likes to sketch. It’s a habit he picked up after Hyde. He claims it’s just a coincidence, but Utterson knows. It’s Jekyll’s way of remembering. If something slides out of his grasp he’ll flip through his sketchbook, searching for the drawing.