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It wasn't empty when Ever arrived, but to anyone not already accustomed to having their sight removed, it wasn't immediately obvious. Zyk--or was it Zeke?--wasn't making much noise at all. He wasn't even in the main room, but back further within their shared quarters, just beyond the work bench he'd been standing at when the memories, or the dream, had hit him.

Tucked back as far into a corner as his tall body would allow, the man was sitting hunched over drawn up knees, arms drawn up so dark hands rested at the back of his head. He was barefoot, upper body naked save for the jewelry he always wore, and a plethora of deep scratches littering his arms, chest, and shoulders. The deepest of the cuts slowly oozing blood, filling the room with that coppery scent.

He was shaking slightly, chest rising and falling in careful, controlled breaths.

The shattering glass resulted in a startled little scream followed almost immediately by the thump of something hard hitting a wall. Had he been less on the verge of hysteria, there would likely have been a string of curses, but that was simply beyond his current limitations. However, he was able to roll forward onto his knees to creep towards the open archway that lead to the heart of the quarters.

It shouldn't have been surprising to see Ever there, he lived there as well, or so the conflicting array or memories had shown, but that Ever, and the one currently searching through the rows of specimen jars on the shelves, seemed...different. Familiar, incredibly familiar, but just, different.

Fingertips digging at the walls, he dragged himself back to his feet. "What are you doing?" And it wasn't the easy, carefree confidence of the famine alchemist, nor the hunter, but something cracking around the edges, hoarse from overuse.

The sharpness in Ever's tone was enough to startle Zeke partially out of his internal panic. He blinked, brows creasing over his nose as he gave the other man a puzzled look, that only grew more confused by what followed.

"Put your..." The confusion was washed away by a fresh wave of horror as the dueling memories suddenly provided answers to his unspoken questions. He paled, even swayed a bit on his feet before leaning more heavily against the archway he was still standing in. "Jesus Christ." It came out in a rush, all the air leaving him all at once, and he didn't put up much of a fight to stay upright when his head started to swim.

He felt nauseous.

"This ******** up." Which was a terrible understatement. "So ******** up." The hysteria was creeping back.

His skin itched along one arm, tickling, and he jerked it to the side, sending the beetle smacking into the fall wall with a another fractured little keen.

Dark nails ad bite a few new angry scratches in his arm, and his breathing had gone ragged again. Everything was wrong.

He wasn't exactly a good person, he knew that, but at his worst he had never before come even remotely close to the sorts of things that were circling through his head. And never, never would he have ever done anything Ever. This was well beyond a bit of rough slap and tickle, this was psychopathy at it's most deranged.

He was shaking again, but he looked back up at the tone of Ever's voice. Got to his feet again through sheer determination. "Ever, stop." He didn't quite recognize the sound of his own voice anymore.

Everything was moving just a little too quickly, and not at all in any sort of direction that made sense. It left Zeke feeling uncomfortably helpless in the situation, but sense he was in the middle of his own existential crisis, that was really the least of his worries.

Ironically, a bit of good came from Ever's mounting anxiety, and that was Zeke's natural drive to defuse whatever was going on to cause it. It slowed the trembling in his own arms, helped him back to his feet, and propelled him across the room, just in time to jerk a foot back from the shattering jar Ever smashed against the floor.

"Ever stop, you're going to cut your feet." He reached for him, curling fingers into the loose fabric of the lab coat to keep the other man from jerking away from effectively. He still didn't sound normal, still hoarse and on the edge, but it was better. "I don't care about whatever the ******** is in those things, just stop. I'll help you."

Zeke's immediate reaction to having his wrist grabbed was to try to jerk it free, but here, as with in their normal lives, Ever had the upper hand. No matter how much they pretended otherwise. He had to force himself not to pull against that too-tight grip, to wait for the other man to decide what he was going to do, but he couldn't relax his arm either.

When ever let go, slowly, and shoved the hand away, it took more control than he wanted to admit to keep from rubbing where long fingers had held him.

The request, initially, was met with silence. Zeke didn't know what good would come of finding...what Ever was looking for, but with the way the blonde was behaving, he didn't think that logic would be well received--that he himself was actually thinking this clearly was a miracle in itself, after the break down he'd had before the other man had come in to search the shelves.

So, drawing in a careful breath and holding it, Zeke did what Ever wanted. He found the jar--paling once again--and reached out to lay the tips of his fingers against Ever's arm. "J'essaie de vous aider ici." He'd wait for A ahnd to come up to claim the jar before pressing it against his palm.

Zeke released a slow, almost relieved breath when Ever didn't jerk away from him. The jerky, mechanical movements weren't a great deal better, but the loose curl of his fingers around that pale arm was something, at least. For himself, as well. Taking comfort as well as giving. Well, that was the intent.

"Faites un souffle." His free hand came up, touch light against Ever's other arm. He wanted to get him away from all the broken glass before he cut up the bottom of his feet.