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dont_feel_itThere's no ring on his finger when he wakes up this morning.
No new one, anyway. And no answer telling him how wrong or right he is about the one he can see in the mirror, glinting against his chest, as he washes his face free of sleep.
(He'd promised to be careful with it. He hasn't even taken it off since.)
Nothing else. No letter. No dream offering some explanation of who he is. Nothing at all, as he's reaching for a towel to dry his face, a few smudges of lather betraying the spots he'd missed with his razorblade.
(Not being able to feel makes for a harrowing shaving experience.)
Wondering if he'll ever begin to remember himself, until it's cut short by a glimpse of something on his arm.
Making him frown. Turn his forearm to see. Stare until he has to run the pad of his other thumb over it, thoughts jamming to a halt. Because this.
This tattoo. Dark against his skin. Looking as though it has been there forever.
He's seen it before.
No new one, anyway. And no answer telling him how wrong or right he is about the one he can see in the mirror, glinting against his chest, as he washes his face free of sleep.
(He'd promised to be careful with it. He hasn't even taken it off since.)
Nothing else. No letter. No dream offering some explanation of who he is. Nothing at all, as he's reaching for a towel to dry his face, a few smudges of lather betraying the spots he'd missed with his razorblade.
(Not being able to feel makes for a harrowing shaving experience.)
Wondering if he'll ever begin to remember himself, until it's cut short by a glimpse of something on his arm.
Making him frown. Turn his forearm to see. Stare until he has to run the pad of his other thumb over it, thoughts jamming to a halt. Because this.
This tattoo. Dark against his skin. Looking as though it has been there forever.
He's seen it before.
