It began so simply, so ordinary and commonplace that he didn’t even pause to question that he might in fact be sleeping. He sat at his desk, laying out before him a sheath of notes, small hen scratching writing with his personal kind of encryption to keep it from being too apparent what he was taking notes on, or how very in depth they could be.
It was enriching, satisfying work, almost meditative to organize facts and repeated behaviors of each person in whom he found vested interest, for better or worse.
The clock ticked in the background, a strange and hollow noise that eventually drew his interest for a moment from his notes. He saw it hanging on the door, a simple plastic thing, a black ‘rim’ with a plain white face and roman digits. He wondered for a moment how on earth he’d managed to get it into the room without some prolonged bafflement from Demy about the ‘funky letters’, and then realized he didn’t remember bringing it in at all.
Worse, after a moment he realized that he couldn’t read the clock either, he stared at it, trying hard to decipher the time because in his gut he knew it was important. He just had to know what time it was or he was going to be late. In fact, the more he thought about it the more sure he was that the clock was Demy’s and that it had been hung there by his room mate for the soul purpose of reminding him of something vitally important.

He massaged his temple as though he could pull the information forth with his ministrations and found only further confusion. Was he supposed to be somewhere? Do something? Was this school related or ‘negaverse’ related?! He couldn’t remember, he couldn’t even find a hint of it in his mind, it was more frustrating and elusive than when he had been trying to tie Scheelite and Demy together in his head as a single person and, through whatever ‘glamour’ the negaverse possessed had been unable to.

In desperation he turned back to his notes, he always wrote such things down he recalled with a profound sense of relief. He’d find everything he needed in the precious pages laid out on his desk.

But relief became a greater sense of dread than even the clock had provoked, because his notes no longer were legible, they were some alien unreadable scrawl, and worse as he watched, the letters seemed to melt and run as though the whole notebook had been soaked, triggering the water soluble ink to run to illegible smears though the pages under his fingers remained dry and crisp.
Desperately he flipped the pages as though perhaps he could outpace the destruction, and in doing so find the vital information that would unlock the secrets of the clock. Nothing rose to clarity, and what remained of the pages faded and ran almost as fast as he could turn the pages to glance at them. His heart was thundering in his chest, he was afraid without knowing why, he knew only that he should be with the certainty that children have that there is something to be afraid of there in the closet.

He jerked in his seat, pins and needles with alarm when the door burst open, slamming off the wall and breaking the clock into a spray of gears and cracked plastic, he thought for a mad moment that the ticking continued, louder and faster than before, only to realize that the sound was his own heart hammering in his ears.
Demy… no, not Demy –SCHEELITE- stood in the door way with a mockery of a grin on his face. His eyes, that same bright acid green as his civilian counterpart, but there was something so much more dangerous there, so much more threatening.

“Well?” said Scheelite, his voice a low and even purr. There were almost no intonations; it was so casual, almost friendly. Somehow that made it more threatening than had be burst in and simply started yelling.
He stood, trembling though he tried to control it. “W….well?” he stammered. He never stammered, he had defeated the issue of those nerves when he was small.

“Well…where IS it?” Scheelite waved his hand expectantly towards Zac’s chest, and without truly thinking his hand rose to brush where the lock should have hung heavy on its chain.

Gone…

His heart felt like it seized and skipped in his chest, his tongue thick in his mouth when he tried to speak, and then he knew… he KNEW, and worse he knew that Scheelite knew as the beast wearing his room mates eyes moved slowly forward, backing him up till he ran into a wall, or a cupboard, it hardly mattered. It only mattered that he was trapped.

“Did you think… I wouldn’t KNOW about that red-headed trollop?”
Scheelite asked almost sympathetic. “I mean…really, I do watch you…all the time, every night, every day…I knew the second she took it, I knew that same DAY, still, I thought you’d at least remember to get it BACK.”

“I…I didn’t…I w…” He had no idea what he was trying to say but he couldn’t find the words to even try and explain how someone, anyone could have taken that chain from him.

Scheelite held up a starseed, casually, licking his lips as he gazed at it, twisting it in his fingers. It was bright and clear, almost fiery.

Kirin… the word fell soundlessly from his lips because he knew, knew like a dagger in his gut that it was hers, and that it was ‘his fault’ she had died.

“I –told- you.” Scheelite leaned in so close he could feel his lips brushing the curve of his ear. “If I can’t have you… no one can.” He could almost feel the smile on that wicked face just from the warm breath that tickled the edge of his neck.


”Please…” he whispered, choked on the word.. “Please…. don’t” he was shaking uncontrollably because he knew, what was coming.
“ALL mine.” Scheelite whispered rubbing a knuckle casually against Zac’s chest…
“Forever… and ever… and I am…NEVER…sharing you…again.”
He kissed him then, warm and soft against the agony of the hand that buried itself in his chest seeking his very core….

Zac woke up, jerking bolt upright in bed with a strangled cry dying in his throat, sheeted in cold sweat and still shaking even with his hands balled into fists in the covers. He glanced across the room at the other bed and swallowed hard, remembering again the alleyway; the first time he had ‘Met’ Scheelite and everything that had transpired.
He would not sleep again that night, or rest easy for many to come.