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Does it matter?
[---] is undecided. It acknowledges that the emotional aspect of itself that is taking over; the completely normal fear surrounding being forgotten, alone; is no good for decision-making. But when they put aside the self-pitying, the objectively unfortunate circumstance they're in that allows for it, and they remain with numbness, the perspective hardly shifts.
Maybe they had no one. Maybe they did, but something fell short. And maybe, just maybe, they're still being sought after, but simply haven't been found. She should talk with the police, but that sounds like too much of an effort to make right now.
It's so confusing. Especially when you remember nothing of it, and no one else can tell you.
No one but yourself.
…
[---] stands in front of the mirror. Whatever gazes back, it does not recognize. A thin, hollow shell of a human being stares back, matching his confusion.
It waits, until its blackened arms reach out to caress his face. The sensation feels foreign, even if they've done it before. Their arms droop over the rest of their body, tracing the outline of the ribcage down to the sharpest point of the hips. Promptly, it realizes its nails need to be cut…
…and the skin on her hands begs for some moisture.
Awful. Could’ve been worse. It does not remember the state they entered the hospital with, and it would rather not recount, though she imagines it wasn't particularly great.
Quite unfortunate that said hospital only covers what you'll need in terms of survival; the pain a mere sight of itself summons is a pain of its own, though asking her “benefactor” (and supposed boyfriend) to pay for anything solely feel-good sounds like too much. She hopes to look healthier; more human; naturally, along a controlled journey.
Hm. He wonders what his body looked like before all of this. It does have memories, yes, but none of them are particularly coherent. And speaking of his boyfriend, he seems to be the clearest in all of them.
Odd, that it can picture its boyfriend so vividly in environments that would otherwise be entirely blurry. Interesting phenomenon to potentially study… Could it simply be the so-called “wonder of love”, or was her life that tragically boring that she only remembers this man? Is there something else at play? Unknown.
…
The bathroom mirror is quite tall. You cannot see the sink from most angles, but once [---] gets close enough, it catches a peek…
…and notices the running, flooding faucet. In an uncharacteristically fast motion, it rushes to close it, and stares at the result.
The sink bowl is full; a bit of water spilled and fell onto the floor. Nothing that hard to clean, but it's certainly a shameful waste. He's not even sure how it ended up like this; [---] does not remember turning on the faucet at all.
This leads them to realize that [---] doesn't remember how it got there in the first place, and upon coming to this realization, they shove it aside, hopeful that their short-term memory hasn't failed them yet. Its gaze drifts back to its reflection; specifically, the reflection’s eyes.
There's some indecipherable emotion in them. She doesn't bother with trying to figure it out, simply continuing to stare, staring until it magically gets easier to understand.
It does not, and it will not.
The ceiling light is hurting its eyes, and with their first yawn, they also realize that they're tired. They remember that it's night, and that they're in the dorm bathroom.
Hastur's frequently used bathroom, who is currently knocking at the door, asking questions.
[---] does not answer. It waits until Hastur is done speaking, just a bit, and allows the silence to settle before opening the door. They're not sure what expression he's greeted with, but their boyfriend says nothing on it.
“Goodness. What in the Lord’s name happened?” He immediately asks, confused. His tone has a mild edge to it, speaking louder than he did before.
“I don't know.”
Her voice comes out much more shaky than intended. Hastur steps inside, takes a look around, and then looks back at [---]. It can't see anything behind that yellow mantle, to discern his expression.
A pause. His tone turns gentler. “Fret-not, vessel, this is thoroughly fixable. There's no need to weep.”
[---] is taken aback. Does it seem to be about to cry? She'd felt no need to, until Hastur mentioned it to her; now, suddenly, it's quite difficult to choke back.
“I know,” [---] sighs, hurriedly wiping away the freshly forming tears with their index finger. “I really don't know why I'm crying.”
Hastur places a hand on his shoulder, redirecting her to be facing a different angle. “Thy mind is worn. Let us go to bed, and thou shall certainly wake up with heightened ease.”
[---] does not move. Its gaze is now fixed on the cabinet door; her instinct is telling her to open it.
“Just a second.” It promptly announces, and without waiting for any input from Hastur, he does open the cabinet.
Hastur creaks in confusion, instinctively reaching to close it, but stops himself once [---] puts her arm in there.
It grabs the mouthwash.
“What do you need that for?” He gets closer. There's that edge in his tone again. “What are you doing?”
[---] does not know. But it refuses to let the mouthwash go, since as he looks at it, he remembers something.
That it's important. Her heart beats a bit faster, and suddenly, its surroundings feel distinctly off. Especially Hastur, and everything he's doing.
“Vessel, dear, it is late.” He sighs, switching back to that gentler voice. It doesn't feel genuine, and [---]’s not sure it ever did. “Please put that down, and let us go to bed.”
[---] picks his battles. Its arms fall to its sides, though it doesn't let go of the mouthwash yet. Instead, it turns to look Hastur in the eye.
“Yes. But I'd like to sleep separately.” It proposes, trying to conceal any animosity that may seep through his speech.
Hastur raises an eyebrow. “I have nothing against it, as long as you provide adequate reasoning.”
“I'd just like to. We've been sleeping together for a while already, is it not time for a breather?”
“If that is what you wish, then very well, though I'd still like to know what motivated this.”
“Nothing.”
[---] doesn't look at Hastur. Instead, she heads for the door, and begins walking back to their shared bedroom. Hastur doesn't immediately follow, and it doesn't really care what he's doing.
They get there first, and remain alone for some time. The bed she's laying in is cold, so she worms around a bit, in an effort to warm itself up.
There's nothing threatening about her surroundings. There is nothing off about Hastur, save for his occasional peculiarities. And yet, [---] can't shake off this perceived danger; can't ignore how it looms over Hastur specifically.
She'd felt something similar seeing Avery the first time as well, so perhaps it's just a matter of getting used to it, but this is not the first time they've interacted. It hadn't felt this way around Hastur before.
…
Well, it's best to put it aside, and make a mental note of it at most. After all, Hastur has done a lot for him…
…and continues to do so, as he lays another blanket on top of [---] wordlessly. It mutters a simple “thanks”, and then turns over, not really wanting to face him. Still, Hastur leans in, and presses a kiss against her forehead.
“Good night.” He says, then goes back to his own bed. [---] feels a bit lighter now…
…and less anxious. Yes, this meant nothing. It was just silly.
“Good night.”