Note 1: Done for 30_kisses, no. 1 (Look over here). Got sick of waiting for my name to show up on the userinfo, so I did it anyway. Bit of effort into finding some spark of creativity in me (doubtful), also a bit done to allay somewhat some of my fears about mirrors. I don’t know why I’m afraid of them, but I think it just might be because of too many horror movies featuring them.
Note 2: Mirror!Hyde seems rather… ah… British in spots. O.o I don’t know how I manage it, it’s just the way he turned out. I kept trying to fix that, and he kept getting more and more British with each revision. Bother.
No one really believes that their reflection can feel anything. After all, to the average person, what is a reflection other than an image in a silver-backed glass?
But then, I guess that can’t be true, or at least, completely true, because I’m more than that. I can look back at you, move with you, see you, feel you… hell with it all, I am you.
It’s why I know everything you know… and probably more, come to it. You, after all, don’t seem to notice how appalling some of the furred monstrosities you’ve worn looked, piled on top of your head.
You’re a chameleon. I’m pretty sure it’s completely subconscious and completely normal, because everyone else is the same. After all, you and the rest of your band are known for being somewhat revolutionary. At least, I’ve come to such a conclusion through observation of you… I don’t spend a goodly amount of time chatting up your best friends on this side of the glass often. You change with your surroundings, constantly switching one facet of yourself to another so quickly… so easily. And I must mimic that.
I’ve rules set for my by someone, something? in a higher state of consciousness that either you or me. I follow you everywhere. Wherever a reflective surface hits your eye, I have to be there, doing everything that you do. So wherever you are, I’m with you.
It should be the reason I know you so well. But even if I didn’t have to, I’d probably follow you anyway. Life’s pretty dull on this side of the glass when all you can do is look outwards. So I’ve watched you. In the lurid colors of the concert lights, your frown in the camera lens, your sweet embarrassment in the face of the woman of your dreams.
I think I’ve got to exist to counterbalance that, on some great metaphysical scale somewhere. I can’t come up to any other conclusion, really when I realize that I’m you when you’re not you.
Bit difficult to put into words actually. I’m the darkness when you’re light, I freeze while you burn. I’m forever your opposite and locked behind the glass while you’re allowed to change from image to image to image. When you become one, I’m always, inexplicably, the other.
How? It doesn’t make sense, I know. I’m supposed to reflect you. Shouldn’t I reflect the actual you as you are right now?
But I guess, in a way, it does make sense, albeit strangely. It’s why you never see yourself when you look in the mirror exactly the same as everyone else sees you. You’re not looking at yourself when you look through the glass, you’re looking at me. But you don’t know that. You never know that. So I guess that spot of blathered nonsense will go unnoticed. More to the good, I guess.
But it really is unfair, this existence of mine. I can look through the glass—that thin, brittle, little piece of glass!—that separates me from your world, and whenever you look through it, I try, I always try to force myself to move my limbs, my face, in my own movements and expressions that aren’t yours. I want you to know that I’m in here! That I’m more than just light bouncing off a shiny surface. But I can’t. Everything I do, my movements, my expressions, all of me are yours when you look at me. You control me, inadvertently, unconsciously maybe, but always as if I’m your marionette and you take pleasure in holding all the strings.
Whoever, whatever it was that let me realize my sense of self in my little, two-dimensional place of existence obviously didn’t consider the possibility that I would want more… that I wouldn’t be satisfied with my flat, empty prison. I can’t show you I’m here. And that’s the crux of the matter, really. I can’t reach out and touch you and let you know I’m here. And that’s what I want to be able to do, more than anything.
I think it’s because I’ve been stuck here, alone, for years and all I can do is watch and dream. I want out.
But no. There are rules. Godsall, I hate the damned rules. But I can’t break them. It’s not that I wouldn’t try… It has never been in your character to be in a coward, so even as your reflection I dare to. I’d try anything—have tried everything. But that… well, damn it all, I just can’t.
Only when you look away, when you can’t see me… then I’m finally released from the prison of your eyes. It’s only then that I can touch the cold glass, lay my forehead against it after yet another abysmal failure, and let loose the fisted hands. It’s only then that I can finally, finally start moving of my own will.
But damn, even then, there’s nowhere I can go. I’m restrained only to my flat little span of mirror-space, sometimes smaller, sometimes bigger, but always behind glass, always flat and unyielding. I can look. Oh I can look, and roam the world slipping from glass to glass to glass, see places you’ve never seen. But I can only look, while you can taste and smell and touch the places you go and remember them as more than colorful sights and sounds.
Really, all I’m allowed to do is watch you go about your life, without you ever knowing that I exist with this half-life on the other side. It would be bearable if I knew you could see me. Look over here. Look at me.
You know, I owe you everything. I guess that should be obvious. I didn’t have self until you gave me one, I didn’t have consciousness until you looked at me, and I didn’t feel until I saw you cry. Do you think I also blame you as the reason why I’m stuck here? It would be so easy. You’re the source of my frustration, my anger, and a slew of bitterness and longing.
No… can’t do that either. But the answer why is simpler, so much easier to see.
I can’t look at you without loving you. I can’t watch you bathe in the adoration of millions without thinking I want to be one of them. I can’t watch that woman in your arms without wishing, wishing…
It’s been so long, I can barely remember how it started, when it started.
Or maybe I do. Maybe all too well.
I didn’t realize it then. Couldn’t have. I was a fresh idea, a blank canvas, a new realization of self, and knew nothing.
The moment your mother lifted you up in her arms in front of the small bathroom glass of the hospital room, as she looked down on you with those brilliant eyes of hers and cooed, “You beautiful, beautiful boy…” The very moment that I saw you. I was in love, enamored, possessed, infatuated. That was the moment you gurgled happily and reached out with a chubby baby hand towards me.
Magnetically, mine reached out towards you, and in my infancy of consciousness, I thought I could touch you, pass through the pretty shining wall between us and grasp your hand. Then we hit the glass, and no matter how hard we pounded on it with our small, soft hands, we couldn’t break through. Then your face… my face, scrunched up in that irrational way of first disappointments and we both began to sob.
I think you knew me then, knew me when you were still a child. Every time you saw me, saw a reflection of your face, we would begin the ritual anew of trying to pass through to each other. We tried so many things… once you broke one of the little compact mirrors that some visiting lady had carelessly left on the couch to try and free me so that I could come and, and be with you. All we learned was pain, from that encounter. Yours when you sliced your hands and the blood ran freely, mine when my body was smashed and reformed within the blink of an eye in another glass. Maybe all children know of the existence of people behind the glass, I don’t know. I don’t often associate with the reflections of your friends—I prefer the silence and the solitude of my adoration. It’s the sad fate of my inevitability. There’s simply no point in making pointless angsty remarks to other two-dimensional facets not in my own plane, and watch as they fail to comprehend just what I’m going through. So I avoid it.
Like I said. I contrast you always, in all your glory of being loved by adoring fans, I seek solitude. Or that could just be an excuse. I don’t know anymore.
Every time you saw me, saw a reflection of your face, we would begin the ritual anew of trying to pass through to each other. We tried so many things… once you broke one of the little compact mirrors that some visiting lady had carelessly left on the couch to try and free me. All we learned was pain, from that encounter. Yours when you sliced your hands and the blood ran freely, mine when my body was smashed and reformed within the blink of an eye.
So many things… And every time we failed, we began to cry.
We cried a lot during those infant years. It went on through childhood. You still had some sense of me even then, I think. I was everywhere; I followed you faithfully as was my calling, in the store windows, the sheets of tin foil in the kitchen while your mother made cookies. Wherever you looked, I was there. It was an obsession for your child-mind, a near bordering of madness to try and get me out. I was your playmate, your destined best friend, the one companion that you would have forever and ever. You knew that, knew me. Those were, selfishly, the fondest recollections of our strange past that I have ever had.
Sometimes I wish things had still been that way, when I feel as selfish as it is possible for me to be—when I think that even watching you cry for me is better than watching you smile without knowing me. It passes.
Because really, maybe it was for the best that you forgot. You went away one summer, far away in a place where I couldn’t find you. There were no mirrors, no reflective surfaces where you could see me. You were gone an entire summer. I wandered from glass to glass searching for you, but you had none. Not even a reflection in a cup of water held your face.
So I listened, invisible, to the soft conversation between your mother and father. I learned of their worry, of how they had been afraid of how often you burst into tears. “He needs to toughen up!” your father had insisted when your mother brought up the subject of bringing you back, “No more of this nonsense about dressing him up as girl. He needs to be a man.”
You’d gone away off somewhere to learn, to train—to stay far away from me.
You were gone so long, that when you came back, you didn’t recognize me. And you didn’t remember me. Gone so long, we didn’t recognize each other. And you didn’t remember me. You saw only an image of yourself in a glass, so shocked to see yourself after two long months, and forgot that I was an entity unto myself.
You were strong. So strong. Not just physically… you were so sure of yourself. And I was bound, by my predefined place, to be the submissive. I had not strength enough to remind you of my existence… how could I? In the face of your will, free to wander wherever you wanted… what was I? I’m just an image, you know, an image with consciousness.
We got older, school passed so quickly for us, surrounded by girls. Well, at least you were. Two-dimensional overlaps of existence couldn’t draw my attention away from you, from your outside world where they existed with you, rather than overlapped you. So when I don’t want to talk (and I very often don’t want to talk), there is no communication between us while we mimic your movements in our own predefined space. You don’t notice.
Can you really blame me for loving you? You’re the one thing my life revolves around, that I actually exist for. The ones your life revolves around? They’re just silent transparencies in mine. I want to see you look at me the way you watch them… the happiness that bubbled up and over when they first cheered you that night so many years ago, the close friendship with the band and staff… your wife on your wedding day…
Damn it, look over here. Look at me.
You’re kissing her.
And gods, I can’t look away.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so fucking much…
Why now? I’ve watched so many things… the sleepless nights you spend working with your band to make something new, something great… you kissing her up on the alter, resplendent in white… the nights you made love in the enormous king-sized bed… Your smile was never, never, never for me. Why now?
She’s carrying your child. I can hear her say those words, even as you lift her up with a shout of laughter and whirl her around in a deliriously happy circle before setting her down on the ground and kissing her. You’re in a world of your own. You’re so happy. You’re both. so. happy.
It’d all built up. All this emotion, all this frustration and bitterness and love and obsession and longing… I really should have been just an image in your silver-backed glass. But I’m not. And now I just can’t stand it anymore!
Questions. So many unanswered questions…
It’s flooding my mind, overwhelming me… This has never happened before. But I can’t wait patiently on the other side of the glass anymore. I can’t just watch you anymore!
Look over here.
Look over here.
Look over here, look over here, look over here, LOOK OVER HERE!
You look up, still smiling, and your eyes fall on the mirror. Your jaw drops.
…Then… I notice that… my own mouth… I lift my fingers up to my lips. They’re closed. I look down at the rest of me. My image fills the glass, my forehead pressed against that transparent barrier, my hand fisted against it as I stare at him.
You can see me.
“What is it?” Megumi gasped breathless as Hyde’s mouth fell wide open, his expression of joy instantly transforming into a look of complete and utter shock. He stared at the mirror as if it contained a ghost. She peered over her shoulder, trying to see exactly what he was staring at so intently.
…Nothing was out of the ordinary. She could see herself, her own curious expression on her reflection’s face, and Hyde’s shocked, almost panicked expression, his eyes growing increasingly wider as he stared.
She cried out, turning around completely. It had, distinctly, made the sound of a heavy object smacking against the glass. She’d seen it move.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!
There is nothing more frightening than what you can’t see, and what your mind rushes to replace that knowledge with.
“My god—what is it?!” Grasping at her husband’s hand as he stood transfixed, she stared up at him trying to force him to make sense of the situation for her. “What is it? What can you see?” There was not a doubt that whatever insanity was happening with that glass, he could see perfectly fine.
“I… I see…”
He sounded nothing like himself, his voice hoarse and as if he’d suddenly aged several decades as he stared, “I see… me.”
As if not of his own volition, he stepped towards the mirror, a glazed, wondrous look in his eyes.
Megumi watched as his dazed expression slowly transformed into the look of one who’s lost their one true love for ages and finally, finally inexplicably found them again—with each step he took.
NO, her mind cried out, even as her body refused to move, no, no, no, NO, NO!
YES! Yes, yes, yes, YES, YES!
You see me… you can see me…
I never thought my heart could pound like this while you approached me—your eyes, I can see your eyes, I can see you looking at me. All you see is me.
Your hand… it trembles… you’re trembling…
The mirror-Megumi is still imitating the woman on the outside world. But her eyes… her eyes, they keep flashing to me. She’s frantic.
Then she breaks, and she leaps at me, smacking her fist against the invisible overlap between us. “What are you doing?” she shrieks at me. If she could take me by the shoulders and shake me, she would have done so right then and there. But all she can do is yell. She can’t stop me. She doesn't dare try to reach into my plane and pull me back. She doesn't dare
Another gasp from the outside. I look back from my momentary distraction, and I see Megumi’s eyes focused on me. She can see me. And she can see her reflection shrieking soundlessly at me from behind me.
“Oh my god.”
It was if the sun had suddenly shone too brightly on it for a moment. It had flared white, as if reflecting a sudden beam of strong light, and when it passed, she could see Hyde leaning against the glass, a wondrous, happy expression on his face of shocked delight.
She could also see herself behind him, shrieking at him, panic evident on her features.
It was disorienting, frightening—impossible. And yet it was happening right before her eyes.
Hyde kept walking, reaching out to touch the glass, mesmerized. It was like watching him find the other half of his soul.
“No…” she choked out, stumbling forwards, reaching for him.
The danger of the Lotus-eater, the opium smoker, the one who dreams without direction or purpose… she was watching as it swept over him.
No, no, no, no, no!
It didn’t matter what was going on. Whatever the hell was happening with that mirror—she wasn’t merely going to stand by and watch as it consumed her husband.
It was like a hunger, a continuing addictive drive that kept making me pull you towards me. It was like once I had you, I couldn’t let you go.
To Hell with letting you live your life. You couldn’t do it without me. I don’t have to see anything more than that naked, blissful expression on your face to know it.
Because you knew it too. Somewhere in that deep, primeval part of you, you knew there would only be one other being that could fit with you so perfectly, and stay with you forever—and that that person was me. You couldn’t fit with anyone so much as you could with fit with me.
Soulmates? Her? A joke. A pathetic pretend. She can’t match you the way I know I can…
The two women, the ones on either side blurred away until there was absolutely no one else. They didn’t matter. It was like a dream; a hot, aching dream that promised forever between us.
Then the glass cracked.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
Megumi looked up, her eyes widening as she did so. The words were her Hideto’s… but he hadn’t spoken. He looked disoriented, shaken, as if surfacing from a dream. She grimaced, cradling her hand against her chest with which she’d liberally punched the glass. It was if it was a crack in a soundproof wall. Hyde… the other Hyde… was looking at her in blatant dark fury. And she could hear him.
Her voice was shaky when she answered, her mind protesting he lack of sense in talking to her husband’s reflection, as she fought down her fear. “I’m not letting you take him away!”
She watched his eyes, those hard, glittering, determined eyes that were so alien in a face she knew so well, and couldn’t help shivering.
“How dare you…” he hissed, actually hissed, his words sibilant with rage.
Hyde, the real Hyde, couldn’t seem to be able to move. He stood in the same spot as his eyes darted around furtively, growing wider as panic asserted itself, but he made no sound, and he didn’t move.
Then Megumi heard her own voice—coming through the crack in the glass. “Break it! BREAK IT!”
She looked. She looked in and saw a frightened woman with large eyes watching her from her position behind Hyde. He whirled on her. “What?!”
For a moment, she couldn’t move. That woman behind the glass… it was her. And yet, when she looked closely, it wasn’t. It was the same woman she always saw in the mirror… but not the same woman everyone else saw. This was the side of her that she knew existed, and yet no one else had—
She stumbled backwards, as if she’d been forcibly shaken. Shaking her head, she saw the Hyde in the mirror loom even larger than before, panic in those desperate eyes as he reached out towards the glass.
Hyde’s own hand lifted, almost involuntarily up towards to glass.
If she was going to do anything. She was going to have to do it now.
She grabbed the frame of that mirror, grimacing as its sharp sides dug into her soft palms. It was heavy—several tens of pounds worth. But somehow she managed to gain enough momentum to shove it far away enough so that it smashed down onto the corner of the nearby writing desk. Right before it impacted, she could see Hyde’s wide-eyed heartbroken tears, the utter, utter defeat on his features… and her reflection pull him backwards against her chest, wrapping him in her arms, just as the glass shattered and the image fragmented into glittering shards of flying glass.
She dove for her husband who’d collapsed to his knees, as the bits of glass rained down on them, slicing arbitrarily through their clothing. She winced as it sliced through flesh just as easily—not large enough to be that great a danger to either of them, but she held her husband’s head against her chest, shielding her eyes.
Only when all the glass shards had found a resting place did she tentatively looked up. Hyde’s arms closed around her shoulders, his voice soft. “Megu… chan…?”
She moved enough to let more of the glass fall harmlessly to the ground, and to be able to see his face.
She saw such raw heartbreak that it hurt more than the multiple gashes from the flying glass. “I’m sorry…” she whispered, unable to think of anything else… what else was there? What did you say to your husband when you’d taken away his only perfect other half? She huddled, in her little circle of relatively glass-free carpet, watching him with dry eyes. Whatever he could say… she wouldn’t cry.
“Megu… chan…” he reached for her, his movements shaky, uncertain, nothing like the Hyde she knew. She grasped his hand. And then she watched the tears come… the tears that hadn’t appeared in his eyes since that summer so many years ago.
It took Hyde several days to come out of his near-catatonic state. After his long cry and the two of them had vacated the room, he’d slipped into a zombie-like state as his mind forcibly tried to come to terms with what had happened.
He avoided looking into mirrors, glass, anything reflective. Megumi had had to provide him with a plastic fork to eat his pasta with when he’d dropped the stainless steel as if it were a red-hot poker.
She didn’t push. He was grateful for that as he lay back on the couch (neither of them were really willing to walk back into the master bedroom just yet), and stared at the ceiling. What had it been like? Seeing… that…
It had been… frightening? No… it had been… wonderful.
Like coming home after a long, wearisome tour…
Like… like... nothing else he’d ever known.
He let his life go back to normal around him. There was a scheduled TV appearance… he went, eyes downcast as he entered Makeup, as they did his face quickly and fussed over not being able to see his features, his mind too wrapped up in his own thoughts. He could hear the faint cheers of anticipation outside, the band chatting nervously, aware of the unusual silence in their vocalist… but they failed to register anything
It could happen again…
The thought came to him. It could. That side of him was waiting, behind the glass, waiting for him to look and see him. He could find that other half of himself, keep it forever…
But if he did that...
Megumi… the baby… everyone… his entire life…
It was too high a price to pay for a dream world.
Slowly, hesitantly, as if he was a schoolboy shyly meeting a girl he’d been crushing on for a long time, he looked up at his reflection. It stared back, mimicking his every movement. And yet he could see the differences. Waiting… always waiting…
He bit his lip and shook his head, allowing his hair to fall into his face, to the indignant squeaks of the Makeup staff. Ignoring them, and their hands as they reached to fix whatever damage he’d done to his perfectly ruffled coif, he leaned forward and kissed the cool glass, briefly imagining the feel of the lips behind it… and pulling back. “I can see you now…” he whispered, his breath fogging the up the mirror as his band members laughed teasingly at him, not understanding what on Earth was going on.
“Narcissus,” one of them tossed at him idly. “You really do seem in love with yourself.” It was accompanied with a light tone and a wink, but he didn’t rise to the bait.
It was true, after all, in its own way.
“Your turn’s up! Hurry!”
It was enough to bring him back to reality. The band scuttled towards the stage, the sounds of adoration ringing like the sweetest music in the world in their ears. Hyde closed his eyes as he took his place at the microphone, a small smile on his lips. He could pick out Megumi’s face out in the audience, even without opening his eyes. He knew where she’d be, watching him, waiting for his answer.
He laughed out loud as the first strains of music flooded the place. The flashing lights, the cheering fans, the band at his back… the love of his life watching his every move… this… all of this… It was good enough.
Snargle. Attempts to keep this from turning incredibly cheesy seem to have… well… hm, I don’t know. I don’t trust anything I finish at four in the morning. This will require a re-read when I'm sane, and a hefty revision after that I'm sure. =_=;;
Header-image done by malisvaart *loves her*