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Aleksy set the razor down and wiped his face, ran the backs of his knuckles over his cheeks to check for any stubble. Nothing, he thought, but he'd have to risk it. He didn't know how long he'd been gone, only that he had been, and there was no reflection in the mirror anymore. Nor in the windows, or in the stainless steel surface of the refrigerator. He was just... gone.

He'd eaten, he'd drunk more water than he knew what to do with, so much it no longer tasted like anything except nausea. He still starved, guts wrenching themselves into knots, was still dizzy, still so tired. He crouched down next to the couch and rested his head against the arm of it.

There was a knock on the door, a smart rapping. Jeremiah, then. "It's open," he called. His voice was hoarse from the screaming of the past three days. It hurt to speak.

Jeremiah. Aleksy couldn't even get up, and he stayed put while Jeremiah scanned the room. He watched, black eyes stark against his oddly-pale face. "I had... such an awful dream," he said, lapsing into Russian halfway through and trusting Jeremiah to keep up. "Only I don't think it was a dream, now..."

It wasn't a dream, he thought, and that stilled his trembling for a moment before it redoubled. Aleksy reached up to grab Jeremiah's wrist and held it tightly within the circle of his fingers. The hunger abated, the writhing in his stomach stopped, and he felt oddly like--like--

He didn't know. He felt a little better, so he let Jeremiah go. "I was in a house of mirrors and my reflection was... gone, and now I'm gone from mirrors, too. Mercer, what the ******** happened to me?"

Aleksy shook his head, very, very slowly, and closed his eyes. "I don't know," he said. "I touched a mirror, and then there was nothing but mirrors, because all I could see was the reflections. I couldn't see anything. And now it's all... different. I don't know what to do.

"Someone..." himself, he knew his own voice, but it'd been as before the testosterone, before it had dropped "...asked me what I wanted, and... I think I died."

Aleksy looked at Jeremiah. Then, shuddering, looked away. "Yes," he said, and he offered no further explanation, nothing to elucidate. He squeezed his hands into small, tight fists, tendons in his wrist popping into high relief. "I... I told you. I think I died." And then... un-died. "I was so thirsty," he said, "and so tired. I couldn't sleep. There were too many reflections and they were all me, and I had no energy to be afraid, and she said."

He couldn't bring himself to share that, it would be too great a transgression to tell anyone what the wraith girl had told him in confidence.

"No matter how much I eat, it doesn't fill me," he said. "I'm so ******** hungry."

Aleksy's fingers were still rigid as they were peeled open, but it was Jeremiah and so Aleksy let it happen, running a thumb over the back of Jeremiah's hand. He was so concerned, so worried. Aleksy didn't know what to do with that, even after six years as Jeremiah's friend, he just kind of. Went with it.

But fangs? He ran his tongue over his teeth and flinched when he cut himself on the <******** fangs that had replaced his incisors. "What ********," Aleksy said, and now that he'd noticed them he felt hyperaware of how large they were in his mouth compared to what he was used to. Without willing it, his breathing picked up--was that vestigial as a pulse now? was he really dead? did he need air?--and he curled around himself, knees coming up to his chest gracelessly. "******** ******** ******** ********!"

What the ******** had happened to him?

"It's better since you're here," said Aleksy, which... was odd, wasn't it? He kept his knees tucked tight to his chest and his head on Jeremiah's shoulder. He wasn't going to panic, he was calm. He was going to be fine, because he had people to look after him, to help him. Aleksy focused on that, on the comfort of having Jeremiah there, hand-in-hand, and the ache in his stomach eased again. An odd little bubble of an idea occurred to Aleksy, and he froze, stiffening in place.

He said, "Jeremiah?" And that was ******** odd, wasn't it, Jeremiah, not Mercer.

He let go. He scooted away. It was just a coincidence. It had to be just a coincidence. Aleksy really, really needed it to be a coincidence, because if it wasn't, then... then Aleksy would just have to... not. But he was so ******** ********," he said, pressing his hands to the sides of his head. "I think I'm a ******** vampire."