ghost sideblog

You intend to knock on the door, but find it didn’t shut all the way. You can see him curled up on the floor against the wall, and hear him breathing heavily. When you open the door, he flinches, curls in on himself.

“Hey, you okay?” You kneel next to him, and the first thing you notice are the claws, clutching at his knees. Then you realize that his limbs have somehow lengthened, elbows sticking out at odd angles. He looks at you, terrified, and something has shifted in his face too. He’s still very much Perpetua, but it’s different.

Your blood is like ice. You want to scream, can feel it rising in your chest, but you swallow it down. “Pet, can you tell me?”

He shakes his head, makes another of the strange noises—his voice is gone. “Okay.” Deep breaths. No screaming. “Okay. Nod or shake, then, has this happened before?” Nod. “Are you in danger?” Shake. “In pain?” Shake.

You touch his cheek, and he leans into it. Something’s different about his skin, but you can’t think about why right now. “How long does this last, minutes? Hours?” Another nod. “Can I stay with you until it passes?”

Confusion is clear in his eyes. Slowly, he nods. “All right, then. If there’s anything you need—I guess telling me’ll be hard, huh? But I’ll do my best.” You gently pet his hair. “Want to come back to the sofa and snuggle with me?”

He makes a confused sound, holds up his hands. You can almost hear with these? “Yes. It’s still my Perpetua in there, isn’t it?”

Too late you realize what you’ve said, you’ve never called him yours before—but he nods again, eyes wide. “Well, then. Yes, I do want you to come snuggle with me, if that sounds good to you.”

You help him to his feet, his palms pressed flat to yours, careful of the claws. He’s taller than he was twenty minutes ago. It is the hardest thing to turn your back on him to walk back to the sofa—every cell in your body is screaming danger.

But Perpetua can’t be a danger to you. Can he?

You sit all the way on one side of the sofa, giving him as much space as he needs. He tilts his head, looks at the space, looks at you. His lips are pushed forward, like he’s pouting, but with more…substance behind them. Something’s shifted in his jaw (teeth it’s teeth he has fangs he could tear your throat out—)

You pat the cushion. “Want me to rewind the part you missed?”

He tilts his head at you now, and the moment feels heavy, like one wrong move will bring it crashing down on both of you. But he nods, and carefully folds himself up to lay next to you, head pillowed on your thigh. He holds his arms to his chest with his hands curled, so his claws won’t hurt you.

You pet his hair. His hair is still the same. This one tiny thing is normal. It’s fine. You rewind the movie that neither of you are going to pay attention to, and keep petting him. He nuzzles your thigh, and you feel him sigh deeply.

His skin has gone grey. You brush your fingers along his cheek for a moment, and the texture is different, still soft, still flesh, and yet somehow stone-like. None of this should be possible this is insane where did the freaking extra mass come from that’s not how physics works—

Perpetua shrinks away from you, just the tiniest bit, curling in on himself. He can sense your fear. For a moment, your chest feels so tight you think you might pass out, but—you breathe, and pull yourself back.

You get your hand into his curls, the same curls that had caught your eye when you first met. They’re just the same. He’s just the same, inside. He has to be.

This is the same man who calls you ‘sweetness’ and wakes you with soft kisses whenever you stay the night. The same man who looks in awe at every starry sky, who baby-talks stray animals and makes sure your favorite drinks are always in his fridge.

Who, if you’re honest with yourself…you’re in love with. And have been for a while.

Hours, he said. This lasts hours. You can do hours. And then…

The movie plays out, neither of you watching it, really. You’ve fallen into an almost meditative rhythm of petting his head. He responds with a quiet chirping sound when you offer to put on another movie, so you do. You neither notice nor care what it is, just click on the first thing that comes up. All you can hear is Perpetua’s breathing, slow and steady as he drifts off against you.

You don’t see it when he changes back. Maybe you feel the slightest quiver, but that’s it. The room’s fully dark but for the light of the TV screen; you didn’t dare move to turn on a lamp when the sun finally set. You just keep stroking his hair, and at some point you let your fingers drift down to his cheek and it feels like human skin again.

Before you can decide whether to wake him or let him sleep, Perpetua stirs and shakes himself. “Fucking hell…” His voice is gravelly, but it’s his. He sits up and stares at you, confusion turning to dread in his eyes. “No.” Even in the dark, you know the color’s drained from his face. “That was real?”

“That was real.” He looks terrified. You faintly wonder if you look the same. Before you can think too much, you hug him.

He’s so hesitant to touch you, hands resting lightly on your shoulders as if he expects you to pull away. “I… I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be sorry, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Are you okay? I didn’t…”

“I’m fine.” The long-swallowed panic attack is trying to rise in your chest again, insisting that you’re not fine at all, actually. You hug him tighter, pressing him against you, his warmth soothing your racing heart.

Slowly, as if he’s afraid to startle you, Perpetua wraps his arms around you. When you don’t move, he buries his face in your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“Is too.”

“I should’ve told you…”

“Tell me now, then.”

Perpetua squeezes you tighter for a moment, and lets you go. He looks at you, searching your face for something. When he speaks, his voice is as soft and sad as you’ve ever heard it. “You could walk out the door right now and I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Fuck that.” The words leave your mouth before you’ve consciously thought them. “Not a fucking chance.”

You take his hand—normal, human, short blunt nails and soft fingertips. Holding it in both of yours, you wait for him to look you in the eyes. “I,” you say, and you kiss his knuckle. “Am not.” Another kiss. “Going. Anywhere. So you’d better tell me.”

***

He was thirteen the first time it happened. An awful day at school, walking home to the awful family he never felt he belonged to, not really. He’d been trying to get a hold of himself, bury his feelings deep enough to hide, when he looked down at his hands and realized he had claws.

There’d been a forested park nearby, and something told him to hide there. After ducking through the branches, feeling increasingly wobbly, he’d found a little creek that was clear enough to see his reflection in.

He’d changed. Grey skin, claws and fangs, long spindly limbs. As his terror grew, he felt something shifting in his back, almost as though—

No. It was too much. He was already a freak at home and at school, and now this? He’d fallen to the ground, unable even to cry, praying to any god that would listen to make it stop.

And slowly, it did. He’d gotten in trouble for getting home after dark and refusing to say where he’d been, but the family never found him out.

From that day on, he had to be very careful. Heightened emotion could bring it out, but so could being too relaxed. It didn’t happen every time, especially as he got older and learned to control it, but it was always there lurking in the background. The creature, he called it.

If he let go completely, the creature sprouted wings. He’d only gone that far a couple of times, never tested whether he could fly, but they were there. Waiting.

***

By the time he finishes his story, there are tearstreaks down his face, but his voice is steady. “It hasn’t happened in a long time,” he says. “I thought, maybe I’m finally free. Maybe I’ve got it under control. But I was wrong.”

“But tonight…” He’d said it had been a normal day, you’d come over for a quiet evening, nothing that should’ve… oh no. “Is it my fault?”

Perpetua looks stricken. “I—No. I don’t blame you sweetness, not at all. It’s my fault for letting my guard down.”

“But if you felt…”

Something shifts in the air between you. For a split second you think he might change again, and your stomach lurches. Perpetua looks so sad. “I’m not who you thought,” he says softly. “I’m not who I thought. Whatever I feel… sweetness, don’t make me say it.”

Heightened emotion. What could be more heightened than what you’ve been feeling? “Would it help if I said it first?”

“You were afraid of me. I’m not going to ask you to endure that.”

“I was afraid for you.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t lie to spare my feelings, please. You were afraid of me. I could feel it.”

“And I could feel it was still you. My body might have been afraid, but my heart isn’t.” Out of words, you kiss him. He hesitates, but soon melts into it, unable to resist you.

But no kiss can last forever, you have to break apart to catch your breath at some point. When he tries to pull away you hold him close, your forehead pressed to his. “I love you, Perpetua. And if the creature is a part of you, then I love him too.”

He whispers against your lips, as though it’s a secret, “I love you, too.” For the rest of the evening, you find you don’t need to speak much at all.