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Arthur watched himself in the mirror, over Ciaran's shoulder. The soft lamps, surrounding their reflection, were the only sources of light in the entire room.
Ciaran was changing after their rather bloody venture out into the streets. They discarded their shirt and pants and looked through whatever was available to throw on instead. They talked themselves through the process and laughed at their own suggestions.
But Arthur was more interested in seeing their bare skin. Not just from admiration, but because he forgot what it was like.
He reached out to touch his shoulder, only to feel the flesh of the frame. He rubbed his chin and felt the hard tip, spreading metal down his neck. All that was left of his own body was his scarred face and a rough cut of salt and pepper hair.
When Entrati used the serum on him, Arthur didn't quite realize how much of himself he would be giving up. Not just the physical parts, but all that came with it, all that came before. The first bone broken. The cuts from surgeries. The scars from battlefields. Small moles and freckles.
He couldn't say where they used to be.
“You alright?” Ciaran called, looking at him through the reflection of the mirror. Their eyes softened when he looked back.
Arthur rose from his seat and wandered over to Ciaran. His arms slid around them, and they smiled, looking away from their reflections. He wanted to take his time, to explore them. There was a deep hunger to his need for this. Maybe to remind himself of his own humanity. Maybe to be reminded of the humanity of others.
But Ciaran's voice and the slight vibration of their body and the smell of the Void reminded him they, too, weren't as human anymore.
“You have a beautiful body,” Arthur said. He remembered talking with Ciaran about this once. How they shifted from reality to the next, matter versus Void. How their corporeality was just as real, just as palpable as their mind state.
Ciaran caressed his arm.
“So do you.”
“I'm still getting used to it being… my body, if you catch my drift,” Arthur sighed.
Ciaran leaned back against him, and Arthur kissed their hair. It was coarse and tickling against his cheek.
“I don't really remember what it's like to feel my own skin,” he added.
Arthur rocked Ciaran in place, feeling himself almost addicted to the warm and soft sensation against his own body. They were angly and flat and broad, and he loved it, and his hands roamed as Ciaran spoke.
“You must have had a lot of scars…”
“Oh plenty.”
“Body hair…”
“Plenty, too.”
“Tattoos?”
“None yet- Hah.”
They fell quiet together.
Arthur tasted the words in his mouth, unsure if he wanted them said or not. At the end of the day, Ciaran could be themselves again, without any layer but what they were born as. They wore him like an outfit and could hang him on the hook like an old coat. Arthur taught himself to be a weapon.
And now it was all he had.
Arthur wasn't sure which of his bodies, past and present, he liked best. And he wasn't about to fall into Entrati's teachings of Eternalism, even if its proof was right in his arms.
He kissed Ciaran's cheek, then neck, then shoulder. In the reflection, he could see their eyes closed, their lips softly smiling. Their hand reached up to slide in his hair, and he felt their fingers close and tug.
Even that slightest bit of affectionate pain grounded him.
He kissed their neck again, and Ciaran whispered, “Do you even know what you are? What you mean?”
Arthur paused, lips but a fraction of an inch away from their skin.
Ciaran's hand slipped to his cheek, then jaw, and they made him look into the mirror.
“What do you see?”
Arthur breathed out.
“I see…”
A weapon. A soldier. A young man with hopes. An old man with regrets. Arthur Nightingale.
“Me.”
Ciaran caressed his cheek, looking up at him, real him.
“Will making out make you feel better?”
Arthur laughed, turning Ciaran around to face him. He cupped their head and brought them closer, lovingly planting a kiss on their mouth.
“You know me, sweets.”
“Not as much as I'd like to yet.”
Arthur sighed, still holding them close. The words felt heavy, meaningful far and beyond. He knew full well Ciaran only needed to ram their fist against the wall, and he would forget, and they wouldn't.
“Then we better start getting to know each other more, right now…” Arthur whispered, pushing the darker thoughts away, kissing Ciaran again, and again, and again.