Daniel gasped awake, his breath ragged and shallow, his body trembling as though pulled from the depths of something far darker than sleep. Sweat drenched him, slick against his fevered skin. He blinked into the suffocating blackness, eyes wild, his chest heaving. Everything around him seemed to pulse with a sickening red glow. His hands were covered—sticky, wet. His face throbbed with an unbearable heat, and a sharp, metallic tang filled his nostrils. Blood. His blood. It was everywhere. He looked down—his legs, his chest—it smeared everything, as though his body had become a canvas for some horrific, unseen force.
He reached out, desperate for something real, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might shatter his ribcage. His fingers met warmth, the solid form of another human, and then Alex’s familiar voice broke through the chaos. “I’m here, D. I’m right here.” He was out of breath, like he had been running, struggling.
Alex’s arms were tight around him, but even Alex felt wrong—foreign in the midst of Daniel’s terror. His briefs were soaked with sweat and blood, sticking to his skin. Daniel shuddered at the sticky sensation, bile rising in his throat. His mind raced. What had happened? Why couldn’t he remember?
“What’s going on?” His voice was hoarse, fractured, as though dragged up from some cavern deep inside him. “I—Alex, I don’t know what’s happening…”
Alex’s voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling but steady enough to keep Daniel grounded. “You had an episode again. You’re okay now, but—” he swallowed hard, “but we need to get you cleaned up.”
Daniel’s head was spinning. The rain battered the windows like fists pounding against his skull, loud and unrelenting, and it felt like the storm was inside him, too, a hurricane tearing through his body, his mind. “Whose blood is this? Did I hurt you?” He was shaking uncontrollably, the words spilling out in a terrified sob.
Alex tightened his grip. “No, D, no. You didn’t hurt me. It’s your blood. You must’ve…you cut yourself on the mirror again.”
The mirror. The shards. The glass that always waited for him in the dark. Daniel’s breath tethered as the memory—hazy and dreamlike—clawed its way into the present. The mirror. He always found it. He always destroyed it. And now he was awake—bleeding, broken—and it wasn’t a dream.
“Fuck, Alex, this can’t be happening again,” Daniel whispered, his voice a broken thread.
Alex stirred beside him, shifting to stand. “I just need to check you, baby. You’re bleeding badly.” His voice was shaking now, betraying the calm he tried so desperately to hold onto. “I need to turn on the light, okay? Stay with me. Remember what you need to do—it’s going to be alright.”
The darkness suffocated them, and in the midst of it, Alex fumbled for the light, his blood-slick fingers slipping on the dimmer switch. “Shit,” he muttered. “Just a second.”
The light clicked on, and the world exploded into a nightmarish kaleidoscope. The room—once their sanctuary—had transformed into a violent, chaotic mess. Blood sprayed the walls in wild streaks, casting grotesque reflections in the shattered mirror. The jagged shards caught the light, bouncing it in wild, dizzying angles, a distorted disco of horror. Daniel’s heart lurched at the sight of himself, his face smeared with blood, his forehead split open like some grotesque mask, dripping crimson. His arms looked slashed, cuts running along his skin, and his right foot was coated in a sheen of red from the glass embedded in it.
“I’m bleeding,” Daniel gasped, eyes wide with terror as his voice cracked, “Alex…the glass…you stepped in the glass…”
But Alex was already crouching down beside him, scanning him, assessing the damage like he had done this before, like he knew what to expect. “It’s okay. I’m fine. It’s just a scrape,” he said, the words steady, but his voice shook like a man teetering on the edge. “But you—we need to get you to the hospital. This cut on your head…D, it’s deep. But please, stay calm, I’ll help you.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand,” Daniel whimpered, reaching up and touching the gash on his forehead. His fingers came away slick with blood, and he recoiled as the pain surged through him. “What did I do?”
“You’re going to be okay,” Alex’s voice broke now, despite his best efforts to stay composed, and it was in that tremor that Daniel knew just how afraid Alex was. There was nothing calm about this.
Suddenly, the doorbell cut through the room like a knife, shrill and unexpected. Daniel flinched violently, his body jolting as if struck. “Who…who’s that? It’s…it’s the middle of the night, isn’t it?”
Before Alex could answer, the door creaked open, and through the haze of fear and confusion, Daniel saw Anne and Joost—neighbours, friends—standing in the bedroom doorway. They looked horrified, eyes wide as they took in the scene.
“We heard…we heard the screaming,” Anne’s voice was thin, fragile, as though she could barely bring herself to speak. “The breaking…we knew something was wrong. Oh God, look at him…”
Alex straightened, taking control, his fear masked beneath his urgency. “I need help. I’m taking him to the hospital. There’s too much glass. He’s hurt.”
Daniel sat motionless, the weight of the situation pressing down on him, his body trembling, his mind reeling. He couldn’t piece it together. The rain still pounded outside, the storm raging on, but the real storm was inside—deep inside him, tearing everything apart.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice so low it barely escaped his lips. But no one heard him. They were too busy trying to save him from himself.
***
The bright lights of the emergency room felt harsh, too real for the dazed blur Daniel was trapped in. The sterile scent mixed with the low hum of distant machinery, and he could barely make out the figures moving around him. Doctors, nurses—they blurred together like shapes behind frosted glass. Their voices, though soft, pierced through his haze in sharp fragments. He couldn’t understand half of what they said—maybe he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe none of it was real.
Alex was there, though. Steady, distressed yet, composed. He stood by Daniel’s side, his hand resting on Daniel’s arm, the only thing grounding him in this surreal moment. Alex spoke when Daniel couldn’t. His words—gentle but firm—carried weight, and he navigated through the mess of instructions, signing forms Daniel wouldn’t even know where to begin with.
And yet, Daniel couldn’t meet Alex’s eyes. Not now. The shame, the fear—they drowned him in a silence far louder than any of the chaos around him. His body ached, bandaged and numb. But even through the haze of exhaustion, he felt it—the cold heaviness that clung to his chest, more oppressive than the tight bandages wrapping his injuries. The same weight that always returned, that never truly left him. It didn’t matter how much they patched him up here; he knew it was only a matter of time before that darkness settled back in, like a familiar guest refusing to leave.
The hours passed in fragments, indistinct and hollow. Somewhere between the haze and the bandages, they were cleared to go home. The questions that could have come—the ones Alex had feared—never fully surfaced. The records spoke for themselves, old scars written into reports. But beneath the silence, a plan was already in motion. Protocol. There always was.
By the time they reached their town house, the air felt suffocatingly still. The lights were dim, but the space was spotless—too spotless. The evidence of everything that had happened was already gone, erased by careful hands. Anne and Joost. Of course. They didn’t need to ask for a key; they’d always had one. Best friends who had known Alex and Daniel long before this mess of separations and reconciliations. Always there, always cleaning up what they didn’t have to.
The apartment felt too quiet, too perfect. It unnerved Daniel, the cleanliness of it all. He lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, his body stiff and aching. His fingers traced the bandages absently, the dull pain barely registering through the fog in his mind.
Alex stood in the hallway for a moment, his eyes flicking toward the large mirror that hung near the entrance. He let out a long breath, his hand hovering near the edge of the frame as if deciding whether to pull it down.
“Maybe we should take them down again,” Alex murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough for Daniel to hear. “The big, dangerous ones—like before.”
Daniel’s eyes barely lifted, a slow shake of his head following. “It wouldn’t matter, Alex. It’s not just the mirrors,” he said, his voice raw, each word dragging with exhaustion. “Even without them, there’s always something else. Windows… steel… knives…” He paused, his gaze distant, haunted. “I’ll always find something.”
Alex closed his eyes, his fingers rubbing his temples in quiet frustration. “I know. I just… I want to help. I don’t know what to do.”
A silence settled between them, thick with unsaid things. Daniel's hand reached out, resting on Alex’s knee, but his eyes remained fixed on the floor. “There’s nothing to do. You’ve done enough. It’s all in here,” he whispered, tapping the side of his temple lightly, a small, resigned gesture.
Alex’s hand covered Daniel’s gently, but the words, the heaviness, still lingered. The darkness hadn’t left, and they both knew it. The shadows that clung to Daniel weren’t ones you could chase away with light or kindness alone. But Alex stayed. He always stayed.
The silence stretched between them, thick but not uncomfortable. In the quiet, there was an unspoken understanding—a fragile peace that hung by the thinnest thread. Daniel wasn’t alone, not this time. And somehow, that was enough.
“I’m staying with you tonight, D. We both need to rest, and I’m not taking no for an answer.” Alex’s voice was firm, but beneath it, Daniel heard the same exhaustion that dragged at his own bones. He didn’t argue. He couldn’t. He knew Alex wouldn’t sleep, not really. He never did after nights like this. But that wasn’t the point. Daniel needed to sleep, and Alex knew that. He always did.
“Thanks, Alex. For everything.” The words felt hollow in comparison to the weight of the moment, but it was all Daniel could manage as they crawled into bed, pulling the heavy duvet over them. They held each other in a loose embrace—not lovers tonight, but something closer to family. An unbreakable bond, forged not in desire, but in survival.
The fear still clung to them both, thick and suffocating, but there was nothing to do except keep going. Daniel felt the aftershocks hitting him in waves, his body succumbing to the inevitable crash that always followed. He could barely keep his eyes open, the toll of it all dragging him under. “I hope you can sleep too,” he mumbled, his voice slurring as sleep tightened its grip on him.
Alex pulled him closer, his arms a steady anchor as Daniel finally let go, his body giving in to the overwhelming fatigue. And as the world slipped away, the last thing Daniel felt was the quiet strength of Alex’s embrace, holding him together as the night took him.
