Chapter Text
Aimless wandering. Two day tracks, a simple schedule to follow while being dully aware of what, exactly, day it was. Over and over, a march from the hour he awoke to the hour his head hit the pillow that same night. Desire and want falling toward the wayside, actions only taken out of obligation. He made promises to people, it was his job to hold himself to them. Work commissions, friendly hangouts, attending events that seemed to be so exciting when he signed up for them but lost their color when he had to wake up early enough to get there in time.
Most days now, he didn't want to get out of bed. The idea of rotting in it forever was so comforting, but he knew the voice in the back of his mind that urged him to at least have something to eat, to at least go to the bathroom, to at least take care of himself even if he wasn't going to do anything "productive" was right. He'd listened to it as best as he could, against the wishes of the one that wanted him to sink back into the mattress. He could find comfort while treating himself well, he assured himself.
Now he'd taken too many of these "self-care" days. He was having trouble with work, with friends. He hated writing those kinds of emails, knowing how much of a dissapointment he was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd left the house outside of dealing with the trash. The world felt like it closed in to four walls. The idea of going anywhere made him sick. He didn't want people to see him. He wasn't sure why that was so upsetting.
He'd thought about it again. It. No, not on his own. More like it was shoved inbetween his thoughts. An unsigned letter jammed into an already overcrowded pigeonhole. Watching the scene like a bystander, knowing already exactly what the body would look like.
These thoughts occupied his mind more than he'd like them too. It felt claustrophobic. Most days he was fairly successful in shutting them out at the cost of numbing everything. After so many days of that, everything felt worthless. His will successfully slipped through his fingers.
Now the weekend was coming. He'd finally planned to do something fun for himself. The first time in days. He mustered all the joy he could. He was worried that he wouldn't act right for it, that he wouldn't feel the way everyone else would. He wasn't looking forward to the stress of playing pretend. But, as he settled down to sleep, he was hoping that he wouldn't have to play.
Chris had that nightmare again.
He opened his eyes slowly, aware of a heavy weight pressing against his chest. Normally, his room was too dark to see much of anything, much less whatever was pinning him to the bed. Sleep paralysis, he normally assumed.
This time, though, a white face peered at him through the darkness in front of him. A mask, he slowly registered, as the dark, hollow eyes and lips colored eigengrau remained unchanging.
The figure tilted its head curiously at him before leaning back, seemingly aware that he was now awake. It spoke, by logic of the dream Chris understood that it spoke, but he couldn't remember what it was said. Besides, he was distracted by what was happening at the figure's hands.
…Something grew, white and hot and bright. Its light wasn't enough to affect the rest of the room, Chris noted, but he couldn't keep his eyes on it without it hurting. It only illuminated the two on the bed. The figure drew the item's length out, seemingly not bothered by the piercing glow. At length, Chris became dully aware that it was… some kind of weapon. A staff or a spear, perhaps. His eyes were drawn to the figure lying on top of him, now visible in the cast light.
The white mask stood out starkly against dark, curly hair. The formerly grey lips now bore a bright blood red. The eyes, still too dark to see any part of a face beneath, reflected a twinkle of light from the item it held.
Chris didn't get much time to register the clothes when the figure's arms suddenly raised, drawing the weapon up and down in one smooth motion. Chris stared wide-eyed as he helplessly watched three sharp points approach his face before the dream went dark.
I won't let you ignore it this time…
Chris awoke with a dull headache and the last snippet of a thought from whatever dream he had that night. He couldn't really remember it. Maybe he had a nightmare again. It'd be fitting.
He yawned and looked outside the bedside window, sleepily noting how almost no light shone through the glass. Figures. He'd had a nightmare and woken up at 3 again. He couldn't hold back a second yawn as he snuggled up under the covers again.
His bed felt extraordinarily soft. Maybe it was just a side effect from waking up in the middle of the night, but he swore there were a few extra blankets in here that he couldn't remember putting on. Maybe he'd been sleepwalking again.
Though… Tucking the top cover over his nose, he noted a faint floral scent. Something itched in the back of his mind, threatening to drag him back to a time…
He didn't want to remember, really. It wasn't important to today.
Chris fully looked around the room for the first time. Some feeling of wrongness pricked his insides, and he had to find out why. To assure himself, of course.
Despite the darkness outside, the room was cast in a dim warm glow, as if illuminated from a light in another room. He… had remembered to turn off all the lights before he went to bed, right? It was such a solid part of his routine that he couldn't imagine forgetting.
The second thing he noticed was the fact his instruments were gone.
On the other side of the room from the bed stood only a piano. He could've sworn he'd set his guitar up in here too. And, recently, a practice pad to work on drumming before he recorded with his kit. Where was… any of that? He hadn't thrown them out, surely, but why would he move them when he had just brought them in?
He didn't want to get out of bed, but the nagging feeling to find them urged his legs to move.
Chris removed the four (yes, there were more than he remembered. Had he splurged on bedsheets recently and forgotten?) blankets from his body, swinging his legs out to the side of the bed to stand up.
His thoughts choked up when he looked down at the rest of his body. Had he not noticed it before? Reddish brown hair cascaded past his shoulders. He thought he'd— He raised his hands to work fingers through the tangled ringlets, soft and airy. His flesh itself he could hardly believe, half hazy in a cover of starlight. Or was it shadow? He took his eyes off it, looking straight ahead as he pulled at his hair. A monitor, he was looking through a monitor, surely. Everything felt fuzzy, far and distant…
Chris snapped to awareness, stilling his rocking as the dull pain at the base of his spine grew sharper. He adjusted his position, sweeping whatever it was out from under him and into his hands. He hesitated a moment before peeking.
His hands held something long, thin, pointed…
He was transfixed. A tail? He had a tail?
He stared dumbfounded at his hands, a smile creeping to his lips as he tried moving it around. It twitched to life in his hands, before it slid from his grip. He stood up, watching it over his shoulder as it whipped back and forth in excitement.
Chris took a few hesitant steps forward, finding new ways to balance with said tail, moving over to the mirror on the other side of the room.
A second of dread flashed through him as he gazed into his reflection, though his eyes quickly flicked to the top of his head. Small horns seemed to sprout from the edge of his hairline. Chris nudged the hair around the horn buds to see them better. They were small enough to be covered in some kind of red velvet.
Chris took a step back from the mirror, still looking at his horns. Between them appeared to be a small pinprick of light, red and angry. He tilted his head and the light followed with it, remaining in a fixed point between the horns.
His smile grew as he skipped his face, looking at the rest of his body. It felt strange, seeing himself like this, but it felt right. While the imagery of horns and a pointed tail generally brought negative connotations to mind, he felt badass. Cool. For once in his life.
He let out a little laugh, warmed now inside and out. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Despite how scarily real this dream felt, he couldn't contain the overwhelming joy of seeing himself like this. Perhaps when he wakes, he should take notes, try to replicate the look as best as he could.
Though, perhaps he could only look the way he wished in the comfort of his own home. Maybe he should finally try—
("Oh thank Harmonia, you're actually awake.") Chris let out a yelp as his attention was drawn to a figure at the door. Their expression turned to one of confusion, maybe mild concern? ("Are you feeling alright?") They tilted their head at a 45 degree angle at him.
"Never better!" Chris tried to disguise his own surprise, forcing a smile.
The other figure hummed. Chris took a moment to take them in fully. They wore a thin, albeit oversized, black hoodie and matching sweatpants. Half their face was obscured by some black piece of fabric. Actually… most of their body was covered up. They seemed to shift like a shadow. Their face was wreathed by long ringlets similar to the ones Chris had seen in the mirror, though these were tinted a dark purple. Seeing them felt comfortingly familiar, though more out of relief than actual familiarity. Chris chalked this feeling up to the dream-logic. After all, he can confidently say he's never seen this person in his life.
("You're looking at the mirror again, aren't you.") It was more a statement than a question. ("Didn't you tell us you weren't going to do that anymore?")
"Oh, I think I like how I look," the other raised an eyebrow at him, so Chris coughed and rushed to add: "today."
The Other hummed again, evidently a sound of disbelief. The two stood in silence for a moment, before Chris had remembered his task from before he got out of bed.
"Sorry, but do you, um…" Chris wrung his hands together. The Other seemed disinterested, but stayed to listen to his request. "Would you happen to know where… my bass is?"
The Other recoiled, face scrunched up in a sneer. ("Your bass?")
Chris nodded. The Other heard no sound of disagreement. Their expression softened.
("I mean, Mind is playing with her bass. I don't know if you've come up with any others.")
"Oh, um, thank you," Chris felt flushed as the Other turned away again.
He looked back over to his bed. He thought he would've woken up by now. This dream had felt like nothing he'd ever experienced before, full of sensations he didn't think a dream could produce.
"I'm going to try to get some more sleep," Chris muttered half to himself. The Other nodded before stepping into the hall and closing the door.
Chris slinked back towards the bed he woke up in. It was cold, now. Not as cozy as when he'd woken up. He tucked himself in, hoping that when he awoke, he'd be back in his own bed in his own apartment, out of this dream.