sunny

Months ago, you’d been dancing that night under a torrential rain that pounded the pavement like a war drum. It was an outdoor festival, one of those nights where the music rattled everyone’s bones. But for you, it wasn’t enough. Music never was. You wanted more, more rhythm, more fire, more life. You’d climbed onto the stage, barefoot, your dress soaked and clinging to your body, and started dancing. It wasn’t just any dance; it was a storm, a whirlwind of moves that seemed to rip the air around you. The crowd stared, mesmerized, as you spun, leaped, and twisted like something possessed you, something even you didn’t understand. And then, somehow, the fire started.

Nobody could say if it was a short circuit in the sound equipment or a loose wire sparking under the rain, but flames shot up behind you, licking the stage like hungry tongues. People screamed, ran, but you didn’t stop. You kept dancing, the heat scorching your skin, smoke filling your lungs. You laughed, because in that moment, the fire was part of your dance, the perfect partner to your steps. By the time the firefighters showed up, the stage was rubble, three people were dead in the chaos, and you stood in the ashes, spinning slowly, your clothes singed but your skin untouched, not a burn in sight. “It was an accident,” you said later, when they dragged you away in handcuffs.

But nobody bought it. Not with your eyes glinting with that spark of madness, not when you kept humming a tune only you could hear.

That’s why you were here, in that stone cell, surrounded by creatures who could tear down walls with a thought or summon shadows with a whisper. You didn’t have powers, but you were dangerous. Unpredictable. The guards avoided you, muttering about “the crazy dancer,” saying your laugh was scarier than the roars of the supernatural inmates.

And you, locked in that stone box, kept dancing. Because dancing was the only thing keeping you alive, the only thing reminding you who you were.

Tyler Galpin was in the cell next to yours, though you didn’t know it yet. He’d been there for weeks, maybe months, losing track of the days.

The silence in the institution was the worst. A heavy, oppressive silence, broken only by the guards’ footsteps or the distant moans of some inmate losing their mind. That night, Tyler was lying on his cot, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, when a new sound snapped him out of it. A rhythmic tapping, like someone was hammering the floor with their heels. At first, he thought it was a guard on patrol, but no. It was too uneven, too alive. It was a dance.

He sat up, frowning. The sound came from the cell next door, a frantic tapping that rose and fell, mixed with a low, almost inaudible hum. Whoever was there didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. Each tap felt like a challenge, like the dancer was screaming, I’m still here. Tyler felt a stab of irritation. Who the hell had the energy to dance in a place like this? Who was that dumb?

“Hey!” he shouted, banging his fist on the wall.

His voice echoed, but the dancing didn’t stop. Instead, the rhythm sped up, like whoever was on the other side was mocking him. Tyler clenched his teeth, feeling a prickle at the back of his neck, a sign the Hyde was awake, watching from the shadows of his mind.

“Stop it already!” he yelled again, his voice cracking with frustration.

The dancing stopped. For a moment, there was just silence, so deep Tyler could almost hear his own breathing.

Then, a laugh. Low, sharp, like someone had shattered glass and was scraping it across the floor.

“What’s wrong, neighbor? Don’t like my music?”

It was your voice, female, laced with a dangerous kind of amusement that made Tyler freeze. There was something in your tone, something… familiar.

“It’s not music,” he shot back, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered answering. His voice came out rough.

“Oh, but it is,” you replied, and Tyler could picture you smiling, even though he couldn’t see you. “Can’t you hear it?” And then, like you were proving a point, the tapping started again. Faster, wilder, a whirlwind of stomps that seemed to shake the walls of his cell.

Tyler slumped against the wall, closing his eyes. He tried to ignore you, tried to sink back into the silence that had wrapped him up for weeks. But he couldn’t. Your steps burrowed into his head, like a heartbeat he couldn’t shut off.

That night, after your taunt, he didn’t yell again. Instead, he moved to the vent, a tiny slit in the wall connecting your cells, and listened. Your humming was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried a rhythm he couldn’t quite figure out. It was like you were singing to something only you could see.

“Why do you do it?” he asked the next day, his voice low, almost lazy, like he didn’t care about the answer. He was leaning against the wall, head tilted toward the vent, pretending to be indifferent. But the truth was, he’d stayed up all night, counting your steps, imagining what it’d be like to see you move. Not that he cared about you. He was just curious.

“Dance?” you said, and he could hear the smile in your voice, that mix of amusement and madness that made the guards eye you warily. “Because it’s the only thing keeping me alive. And, let’s be real, it’s fun to mess with you.” There was a pause, then a loud stomp, like you’d jumped just to make a point. Tyler pressed his lips together, but he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching. It wasn’t a smile, not really.

Over the next few days, the vent became a kind of bridge between you. Not long, deep talks, Tyler wasn’t the type to open up, and you didn’t seem into tearful confessions either. Instead, it was snippets, jabs, challenges.

“You keep stomping like that, you’re gonna make a hole,” he said one night, in that dry tone he used to keep his distance.

“Here’s hoping,” you shot back, then added, with an eerie calm: “If the floor breaks, maybe I can dance on the ruins. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Tyler didn’t answer, but the image stuck with him: you, spinning through rubble, hair wild, eyes glinting like chaos was your home.

One night, you dared to ask. “So, Galpin, what landed you in this paradise?” Your voice had a playful edge, but there was real curiosity there, like you actually wanted to get the guy everyone in the institution avoided. Tyler went quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping the wall. He didn’t feel guilt, so he said, voice cold as steel: “I did what I had to do. And I’d do it again.”

He waited for you to laugh, to make a joke, but you didn’t. Instead, there was silence, then a soft, almost delicate tap on the floor. “Good,” you said finally, and there was something new in your voice, something like… approval. “I like people who don’t regret. The regretful ones are boring.” And then you started dancing again, but slower this time, almost hypnotic, like you were dancing for him. Tyler closed his eyes, letting the sounds fill his cell.

The guards had always hated your dancing. They saw it as an insult, a middle finger to their authority. That night, when the lights flickered with an electric hum and the air smelled like a storm was coming, one of them decided he’d had enough. You’d been dancing louder than ever, your feet hammering the floor like you were trying to wake something buried under the stone. The echo rang through the halls, and Tyler, in his cell, listened to every step, every spin, with an intensity he couldn’t explain. The guard, a burly guy with a scar across his face, banged his baton on your cell door.

“Stop it, you freak!” he roared, but you just laughed, a high, wild sound that made him step back.

Tyler was leaning against his cell wall, eyes closed, letting your steps fill the emptiness. But the guard’s shout snapped him out of it. He heard the jangle of keys, the creak of your cell door opening, and then your voice, sharp as a blade: “Touch my feet, and I’ll make you dance with them in hell.” Tyler felt a prickle at the back of his neck.

Chaos erupted in seconds. The guard stormed into your cell, and Tyler heard the struggle: a thud, a choked yell, then the unmistakable sound of your steps, faster, wilder, like you were dancing around the guy. “Hold her down!” another guard shouted, and the hallway filled with heavy boots and barked orders. Tyler clenched his fists, feeling his skin burn where the cell’s runes touched him. The Hyde roared inside him, not for you, he told himself, but because chaos was calling. But when he heard a dull thud, the sound of a body hitting the floor, maybe yours, something snapped. His vision blurred, his bones cracked, and the Hyde took over.

Tyler’s transformation was an explosion of violence. His hands stretched into claws, his back hunched, and a guttural roar shook the walls. The woman who’d taken advantage of the hospital chaos to free him had been terrified of this. The guards in the hall screamed, but their voices drowned in the chaos. Tyler, now a Hyde, was a nightmare shadow: eyes glowing like embers, claws slashing the air, a whirlwind of destruction tearing through the corridor. He didn’t think, didn’t feel; he just acted, drawn to the source of the chaos: you.

You were on the floor of your cell, lip split, a guard pinning your arms, when the main hallway door exploded into splinters. Tyler’s Hyde burst in, a monster of twisted muscle and raw fury. The guards stumbled back, firing tranquilizer darts that bounced uselessly off his skin. But you didn’t move. You didn’t scream, didn’t run. Instead, you stood slowly, blood dripping down your chin, a smile spreading across your face. “Oh, Tyler,” you murmured, eyes glinting like you were seeing a sunrise instead of a monster. “You’re… beautiful.”

The guard holding you let go, terrified, and bolted for the exit, but the Hyde didn’t give him a chance. With one swipe of his claw, he sent the guy crashing into the wall, where he crumpled, motionless. The other guards fled, leaving the hallway silent except for the clatter of falling debris. Tyler, or what was left of him, turned to you. His inhuman, ferocious eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, it seemed like the Hyde might attack. But you didn’t back down. You stepped toward him, hair a mess, blood staining your smile, and reached out, your fingers brushing the rough, warped skin of his cheek. The Hyde froze, like your touch was a chain tethering him to the earth.

“I knew you had a monster inside,” you whispered, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with an almost manic thrill. “And it’s perfect.” Then, out of nowhere, you started dancing. Right there, in the wrecked hallway, with the lights flickering and the air thick with dust, you spun on your heels, arms outstretched like you were embracing the chaos. Your steps were wild, uncontrolled, a whirlwind that mocked the destruction around you. You laughed, a sound that was half joy, half madness, and Tyler’s Hyde watched, his claws relaxing, his heavy breathing falling into rhythm with your moves.

For a moment, the monster seemed to calm. It wasn’t fully Tyler, but something in your dance, your utter lack of fear, kept him grounded. You spun faster, your barefoot steps leaving prints in the dust, and for a second, the Hyde took a step toward you, like he wanted to join your dance. But then the sirens blared, a metallic howl cutting through the air, and the moment shattered. More guards were coming, their boots pounding in the distance, and the Hyde roared, turning toward the sound. But before he charged, he looked at you one last time, and you, still dancing, winked at him.

“Get me out of here, monster,” you said, your laugh pure defiance.

Tyler didn’t hesitate. With one swipe of his claw, he tore your cell door off its hinges, leaving the way clear. You ran to him, grabbing his massive, razor-sharp claw, and pulled him toward the hallway, laughing as the sirens grew louder.

“Let’s go, Tyler!” you shouted, and for a moment, the Hyde seemed to follow, his heavy steps echoing in time with yours.

The institution’s hallway was a warzone, with doors ripped apart and lights sparking. The sirens wailed like wounded wolves, but you didn’t look back. You ran, the Hyde’s claw wrapped around your hand, his inhuman strength pulling you through the wrecked corridors. The air was thick with dust and the acrid smell of burnt tranquilizers, but you laughed, a wild sound that rose above the chaos. Your barefoot steps pounded the floor, keeping the rhythm of a dance only you could hear. You tore toward a shattered door leading outside, where the night waited with a starless black sky.

The forest around the institution was a maze of shadows, with branches twisting like skeletal fingers under the moonlight. The guards’ shouts faded behind you, replaced by the crunch of leaves and your panting breaths. Tyler’s Hyde didn’t slow, crashing through the trees with brutal force, snapping branches and flattening the ground with every step. You followed, your heart pounding to the beat of your imaginary dance, adrenaline burning through your veins. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you were free.

You ran for what felt like hours, until the forest opened into a clearing where the moon bathed the grass in silver light. The Hyde stopped, his heavy breathing rumbling like a bellows. His claws dug into the earth, and for a moment, he seemed lost, caught between the monster’s rage and something more human trying to break through. You, panting, stopped beside him, hair plastered to your forehead, dried blood on your lip. You didn’t feel fear, just a thrill so intense it felt like you might explode. And then, before your eyes, the Hyde began to recede. Tyler’s muscles twitched, his claws retracted, and his form shrank until he was himself again: a guy with messy hair, dark eyes, and a face that gave nothing away. He stood there, clothes in tatters, staring at you in silence.

You didn’t think. You lunged at him, arms around his neck, and kissed him with an urgency that was almost violent. Your lips crashed against his, salty with sweat and blood, and for a second, you thought he’d push you away, that his usual coldness would shut you out. But he didn’t. Tyler kissed you back, his hands finding your waist, pulling you against him with a strength that still carried an echo of the Hyde. It was a desperate, hungry kiss, like you were both trying to steal something from the world that had locked you up. When you pulled back, breathless, you pressed your forehead to his and laughed, a sound of pure ecstasy.

“Thanks, Tyler,” you whispered, eyes gleaming. “Thanks for getting me out.”

Tyler looked at you, his face as unreadable as ever, but there was something in his eyes, a spark that hadn’t been there before.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl, like the words slipped out against his will. It wasn’t a soft compliment, not romantic in the classic sense. It was raw, real, like he was seeing something in you he didn’t fully get. Your lips curved into a smile, and you stepped back, spinning on your heels like you were about to start dancing right there in the clearing. But you stopped, looking at him with an intensity that seemed to pierce through him.

“You don’t care?” you asked, a hint of challenge in your voice. “That I’m crazy, I mean. That I’m… this.” You gestured at yourself, at the mess you were: tangled hair, torn clothes, the laugh still trembling in your chest like a bomb about to go off. Tyler tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he didn’t need to solve.

“Nah,” he said, calm as anything.

You laughed again, a sound that echoed through the clearing like a middle finger to the quiet night.