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The Host stares at his reflection in the mirror and traces his imperfections on the mirror - it’s once smooth surface now cracked and uneven at where his eyes would be, twisting the image of them – if he stands straight. Now he slouches, so the cracks are where his forehead would be.
His hands press against the sink, pushing his weight on it. He stares at every inch of his face, marred beyond recognition– his shadow half and his right eye cloudy white, having lost its red long ago {not that long, if you think about it}; his hands also covered with white lines, some new, some old, some just scabbing over–in a way only he could understand it was broken {minus a certain someone, but he didn't want to think about that right now}. He doesn’t know what he used to look like before.
It was a curse, yet a blessing. The same scars that tortured him and tainted his life also served as a reminder - he would never die so long the Whole was still alive.
But perhaps it was better to have mortality instead.
The Host frowns at the scars that make his lips curl with contempt. Those horrid scars that ruin every single day of his life.
Those disgusting scars which remind him of the things he desperately wants to forget.
Do you regret it? The voice echoes in his head, and he angrily swats it away. His attention focuses back to the contorted reflection for a moment again, temporarily forgetting the words that stain his thoughts on a daily basis.
He looks at his black unruly, matted hair - Mind has always tsked at the sight of his disobedient hair - that flows down his shoulders, the fried ends of his hair ending there. It was pretty in its own way, even though the damaged ends remind Soul of him , and they only added to his ghastly, unsettling appearance. It made him feel okay, for once. He liked the messiness of it, the chaos and freedom of choice. He chose to be this way. Not Heart, or Mind, or even Whole.
Not anyone else.
It also helped him separate herself from the past he despised.
Now, as he pauses, hand still on the mirror, another voice speaks.
Do you miss him?
Soul clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on the ceramic sink, willing the voice to shut up. Even as he does so, he can’t help but think, do I miss him?
Surely, he did. No matter how much he tried to delude himself, the Host knew better.
I loved him. He was a friend, he concedes, just like before, just like the past.
‘Was’ because of the fact that he isn’t his friend anymore, but also because he isn’t present any more {if you thought about it, technically he is present, but obviously, he hasn't seen him in a while}.
All because of his wrongdoings. They weren’t by accident, but sometimes, on days like this, the Host ponders if things could’ve gone differently. Then he wouldn’t have had to hurt him. Then they would still be living together in the house peacefully and -
Soul shakes his head in exasperation and sadness.
No, that wouldn’t have been possible. The universe isn’t kind.
Nothing is kind, really. Whatever being that humanity created that doesn’t really exist - karma, death, time - none of them are kind.
They are all bitches, in fact. Cursing him with this.
This… thing . Twin. Brother. Tainted from the start, too impulsive for his own good, and unable to change despite the ungodly amount of loops he's gone through.
In a fit of anger, the Host clenches his hand on the mirror into a fist and rears back, punching the mirror. It cracks more, sending tiny glass shards flying onto the wet floor and sink, and bloodying his knuckles. He hisses in pain, and grimaces. Despite the familiar action and pain, it hasn’t gotten any easier. He grabs onto his knuckles with the other hand, blowing chilly air into it, and stares at the new crack he made in the mirror.
It is cracked at where his heart would be, if he stands up straight, and he stares at the mirror. As he stares, the newfound realisation seeps in, like how the drops of wet blood seep into the wooden boards of the bathroom floor.
No. He was wrong . His twin isn’t the only one with terrible impulsivity, isn’t the only one that committed crimes and sins.
No.
Soul was just like his brother.
His fists clench once more, the mere thought of it making bile rise up his throat.
A disgusting, terrible fact.
But still a fact.
They were linked by blood, by vessel, heck even by soul. They were parts of a Whole.
Together.
(forever)
How many people could say they had a sibling related to themselves in so many ways? How many could say they shared such a close bond with their sibling, so much so that they share a vessel?
And what did he do with this brother? The one he supposedly cherished?
He mangled him .
He took everything they had, for granted, and marred it alongside him.
And now, after the deed had been done?
Soul misses the very things he destroyed.
The Host gasps for air {he must’ve forgotten to breathe}, leaning against the sink once more. The voices in his head taunt him, calling him names. Blood trickles from his fist to the sink. He waits, for what, he doesn’t know.
Because nothing comes. He still stares into the sink, unmoving, eyes wide and hands shaking. His grip against the sink is slick with sweat. In the back of his mind, Soul remembers this moment happening before. Nothing else happens.
Nothing (comes after death).
All he can really do, is regret and regret, after his wrongdoings.
After loops have passed.
Soul still wishes things would have gone differently, even though a few weeks prior, he would’ve gladly slashed him into bits. {anyway, he’d done that already. Back to square one, as they say)
Maybe it was a lesson he needed to learn that day.
Be careful of what you wish for.
Why?
Because you only miss something once it’s gone.
Once it’s dissipated into the air, reduced to atoms.
Once you realise you took it for granted.
Just like him .
Him…
The Host numbly looks up again, staring into the cracks he made, distorting his features, searching for a peace he could not find, a resolution denied by his own bloody hands. And in his reflection Soul tries to see, to find something, anything that could explain such a train of unfortunate events.
All he finds is a monster.
So disgusting yet so familiar. Soul knows this monster. Seen it, heard it, felt it. He’s met it many times before this. Yet he still lives through the same train of thought, over and over again.
Guess some things stay the same.