mirror image (read TWs first!)

slides in with a rose in my mouth. hi.

first, some quick context: this was written for a modern AU of the Witcher TRPG game i'm in about an experience for my character that is canon in both the game itself and the AU that i keep calling The Mirror Thing™ bc i called it that in the thing and now that's just what it's called and also i don't know how else to describe it.

TWs: HEAVY self-deprecation, mental contamination (and some obsessive-compulsive thinking because I projected a 🤏 small bit during that part), a very brief mention of hypothetical skin body horror, unintentional self-injury.

uh. yeah. ok here it is :,)

The experience of catching his own eyes in the mirror is always surreal in the worst way.

Usually, Yaevinn is pretty good at avoiding his gaze, even for something that would usually require him to look at his reflection. He's trained himself to keep his eyes focused just below it. It's supposed to be something he's working on in therapy, and it is—he can at least be in the same room with the damn thing without getting the insatiable urge to punch it—but he should be further along by now. They agreed on quick glances, if possible. Just to see how it would go, at least once before their next session. The thought made Yaevinn sick to his stomach, but he had to try.

Today, however, was not the day for it.

For all of the reminders he got, Yaevinn didn't remember either of his meds last night, and it's already taking a toll on him. Frankly, he feels like shit, and he's not sure if it's because his brain decided to conjure up his worst nightmare in a while or because of some kind of physical nonsense that he can't wrap his head around. It doesn't really matter, because either way, his head feels messy in a way that he can't even think to describe.

He still has to get ready and at least pretend to be a functional human being, though, so he starts washing up. And that's when it starts—when he finishes and turns the water off and his eyes flit up and oh, no, there's his face.

Yaevinn stares at his reflection; it looks at him with the same vague disgust that he feels. Really, there's nothing wrong with it in terms of his appearance. In fact, he looks much better than the last time he saw himself, long before he moved in with Nithral. Living with his boyfriend has strongly encouraged if not forced him to start taking better care of himself, and it's showing. And he's supposed to be happy about that. On some level, he is happy about it, but it doesn't quell the horrible feeling starting to creep into his mind.

Disgusting thing. Filthy.

...did he say that out loud? It sounded like his voice, and he watched lips move, but it felt so detached from the words spoken that it makes him flinch. He feels them in his bones, pumping through his veins with his blood, poisoning it. There's a wicked part of his mind telling him that he knows what he said true, that he's tainted, that he's contaminating everyone around him, the very room he's in. There's something wrong with him. Everyone can see it. Everyone can see the scars beneath his shirt, everyone can see the torment in his eyes. Everyone can see how fucked up he is—

"Shut up," he hisses to no one in particular, not breaking eye contact as he steps away from the mirror. He can't even tell if he looks angry or afraid or hurt or all three or none of them at all. All he can feel is the need to be clean. He's already taken a shower today, but he needs another one. A hotter one. One so hot he'll be able to scrub his skin away and get rid of this impure feeling before it takes on a physical form.

What is he talking about? Why is he thinking like that?

His thoughts aren't coming together right. They're disjointed, bordering on nonsensical. The most clear thought he has is a frustrated one about how this all started because of the stupid fucking mirror.

He lets himself lean against the wall and sink to the floor, finally breaking the hold his own gaze had on him. It's not really for his own sake. He just doesn't want to break a mirror that isn't his, in a house that technically isn't his. And Nithral does not need to see him like this—or, more correctly, Yaevinn would die on the spot if Nithral saw him like this.

He whimpers and tucks his head between his knees. Nithral...he would probably be able to do something. He was the one sane person in this house, out of the two people here. There's an urge to call for him, to cry for help; there's an equally strong urge to bite his own tongue off for even thinking of doing so. Yaevinn knows Nithral would be willing to help, and that's the problem. He doesn't want to hurt him.

How would he even hurt him? By being? By existing in the same space as him like he has been for years?

Has he been hurting him this whole time? Nonono, that's not what he meant—but what if—? No, that's not—that's not true, it's not true, it's—

A knock on the door drags Yaevinn back into the real world in an instant. His head snaps up to look at the source of the sound, and the room comes back into focus. Only now does he realize he's been digging his nails into his scalp, and that it hurts. His whole body feels achey and heavy and bad and he wants to rid himself of it.

"Yaevinn?" Gods, Nithral's voice is such a relief. No matter how much Yaevinn's mind tries to tell him that he's going to taint this man, he can't ignore the warm comfort that fills his chest, pushing away the cold fear.

...he can't even find the words. Tears sting in his eyes as he ends up making a strangled little noise that sounds like it'd be a sob if he could breathe.

The door swings open in an instant, and there he is. Nithral steps into the room, leaving the door open behind him, and sits on the floor across from Yaevinn—not too close, not too far.

"Stay with me," Nithral instructs gently. "Remember to breathe. Slow."

The breathing is always the hardest part, but it tends to be the most helpful. It takes a little while for Yaevinn to match Nithral's paced breaths as he takes them, and a few of his own breaths stutter on the inhale, or shudder on the exhale. Slowly but surely, though, he settles into the pattern. It feels easy now.

"Good." Nithral takes Yaevinn's hand the moment he feels it fumble to grab his own. "I'm here. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"...I know," Yaevinn whispers, even though he doesn't know. He just believes it with all his heart, and that's close enough to certainty that it's comforting.

Nithral squeezes his hand. "You're going to be okay."

"I know." This, he's certain of.

"You're safe. I've got you."

Yaevinn can't even respond to this with words. The tears he's been holding back roll down his cheeks, and he falls against Nithral, resting his head on his shoulder and weakly raising his arms to hold him close. After a quiet confirmation, Nithral's arms are around him, pulling him closer, his hand rubbing comforting circles into his back.

"I've got you," Nithral repeats, and Yaevinn chokes out a sob and hugs him tighter. "I've got you, you're safe, I've got you..."

Nithral strokes Yaevinn's hair and goes quiet, lets him cry. Save for a few painful gasps and occasional sobs, it's surprisingly quiet. There's no sense of seeking catharsis, just of unresolved emotions that could only be expressed like this.

Neither of them know how long it takes, but Yaevinn is the first to pull away. He swipes at his tears. "...sorry."

"Don't you dare," Nithral responds instantly, furrowing his brow. "What do you have to apologize for?"

The part of Yaevinn's brain that had been dead set on telling him that his very presence was something he owed Nithral for burdening him with is silent. "...I...I don't know..." He sniffles. "I just...it's so early and I...I didn't mean to..."

"Yaevinn, I'm not going to sit here and let you apologize because you had a panic attack."

"I...sorry...I mean—" Yaevinn holds his head in his hand and sighs hard. "I...I just...it was stupid. It was the thrice-damned...mirror thing."

Now Nithral is fully frowning. It doesn't look intentional—his concern is starting to break through the deadpan. "The 'mirror thing' is not stupid, as you explained it to me."

"It shouldn't be making me spiral like that, Nithral."

"You're working on it. Being hard on yourself isn't going to do anything." Nithral pauses for a moment, casting his gaze downward pensively. "...besides, you achieved your goal. You looked. And that in itself is something to be proud of."

Yaevinn fully short-circuits at that. He...he did achieve his goal. It ended with pretty much the worst-case scenario, but it was something. He hadn't seen himself in a mirror since before he started therapy, and even though it wasn't for the right reason, he didn't shatter it.

Instead of saying any of that, Yaevinn lets out a self-deprecating laugh. "...next time I should probably do it when I've actually taken my nighttime meds, I think..."

Nithral looks like he's got Well, that explains a lot on the tip of his tongue, but if he does, he doesn't say it. Instead, he tilts his head. "You were coming out of a nightmare."

"...a pretty bad one." Yaevinn nods. "I kind of...already wasn't in the best place. But I'm still...I'm still kinda scared to do it again. Even if I think I'm ready. I...I don't like what came over me. I don't like how I could feel whatever that was under my skin."

"Would it..." Nithral clears his throat. "Would it help if I was present next time?"

Oh, gods. "I don't...know." Yaevinn pulls his knees closer to his chest, turning his head in a way that hides his face with his hair. "I don't know. Maybe, but I...that made me feel guilty for breathing the same bloody air as you at its worst. I don't know what I'd do if you were there when I..."

Nithral nods, slow and solemn. "Understood. I don't have to be in the room, then. But know that you can call to me if you need me." His voice drops to a whisper, and he also covers his face, masking it by pushing up his glasses. "...I'd...hate for something to happen to you. If I ever can't be here. So please...if you feel like you need me, call me. And I'll do what I can."

Yaevinn's heart swells in his chest, and he bites his lower lip to keep it from trembling. The wicked part of him creeps in, whispers that Nithral is daft for keeping him here, that he should drop Yaevinn the second he gets the chance.

"...thank you." And that part goes silent again.

"Of course." Still holding Yaevinn's hand, Nithral stands and guides his partner to his feet. "Now, let's just focus on getting you through the rest of the day safely, yes?"

"Mhm." Yaevinn wipes away a few residual tears and smiles softly. "Yeah. Okay."

With that, they go downstairs together. None of the normal morning banter happens, which would usually be a bit unsettling, but right now Yaevinn is fine with it. Nithral's presence is enough—more than enough, even. Despite how much his mind likes to guilt him for feeling this way, he's always enjoyed just...existing alongside him in the same room. It's a small joy, and one that he's not going to give up because his mind wants to be mean about it.

Right. Yaevinn takes a deep breath. All he has to do is make it through the day. Just get to the other side.

At the very least, he can do that.