Synthetic

Chapter 2

Your first moments were all-encompassing- eyes filled with smoke. You felt heavy, legs weighing you down to the floor as you toppled- not even realizing how your arms shot out to keep you up.

You could feel everything- hear everything- see everything. The grain in the wood beneath your fingers- those were your fingers, right? The way it splintered against the flesh, the harshness digging into your palms. You could make out the grain of the wood- your eyes adjusted rapidly to take in the colors and patterns. Something crackled, loud, and garbled, and your mouth opened and closed, tongue sounding out the letters and curling against the words. You were speaking. You don't remember learning that. You don't remember anything. You knew it was yours, you could feel it in your throat, and you knew the next to speak wasn't yours.

"Hi."

The synapses snapped and popped in your brain, a purely instinctual feeling as the mechanism of your pupils contracted sharply in surprise, before expanding.

Open arms, inviting. He looked warm. You could hear the blood rushing through him. Warm. He would be warm. Warm and safe.

And he was, pliant beneath you as you manhandled him to the ground, his arms coming up to grapple at you, pulling at your nerves, weighing you down. The sounds of his breathing, the rushing of his blood, the beating of his heart, all similar to your own. You were the same, you think, or at least something like him. You weren't alone. You tried tirelessly to match his breath, but everything was too much. Overwhelmingly washing over you and pulling you under-

"It's okay-" the man spoke, something frantic in his tone, and his hands were moving from you- moving away from you. Away. Why? Your breathing increased, eyes darting up in distress, "Everything's okay- give me one-"

"Where?" you asked, vocal cords modulating, a level of emotion Viktor hadn't anticipated. His hands continued to fumble behind him, his lack of an answer further worsening your erratic state as you pushed closer- wanting something, but you weren't sure what it would be. His hands finally caught on a blanket, one of the many piled high on his bed, and yanked the quilt to the ground.

"With me," he cooed, throwing the quilt over you both, "You're with me , so everything's okay."

The darkness only wedged you closer to him, the visual assault on your senses, new and delicate, having ceased. Now all that was left was the sound of his blood, of his heart, of his breath- so close and intimate with your own. Safe, something in your brain told you, as if it knew something you didn't, you're safe with him .

Here, combined together, you took note of everything- the way he held you, carefully, as if you would turn to dust in his hold. The shine of his eyes, a deep ocean of amber. The way he smelled, like oil and copper. Everything new, but instead of the onslaught of everything , like before- it was just him . He looked at you reverently, as if you were the one who'd made the world around you.

"Who are you?" you asked, the feeling of your tongue moving in your mouth finally becoming familiar. You smacked your lips against each other just to know what it felt like.

Viktor followed the bob of your throat in complete veneration, holding back the urge to cup your throat and ask you to do it again. Your eyes glowed in the dim light, like two small stars had fallen from the sky and found their way to him, a faint purple undercurrent peeking through in the form of a small ring between the pupil and the iris.

"I'm Viktor," he answered, enthralled in the shine of you, the faint purple glow where your skin thinned at your wrists and neck, around your ribs. You were so full of life , something that he couldn't have done, something entirely your own. So much so, that he found himself asking, "And who are you?"