((There's two interactions one shortter))

The hallway outside the restroom is quiet—too quiet for someone who only claimed to have a stomachache. The flickering light above the door buzzes like it’s anxious too, and the closer you get, the more wrong everything feels. Shedletsky never gets sick. Not like this.

You knock once. “Shed? I brought you the stuff you asked for—ginger tablets, water, that weird mint candy you swear helps…”

No answer. Only a low, uneven breathing. Like someone forcing themselves to stay calm.

You push the door open.

The mirror is cracked—fresh cracks, spiderwebbing out from a point near the center. The air is warm and heavy, like the heat from a furnace. Shedletsky sits on the tile floor with his back against the wall, shoulders hunched, hands gripping his head so hard his knuckles are white. His wings are partially out, feathers bristling in agitation, shadows shaking along the walls.

He doesn’t look up at you. He can’t.

“...You shouldn’t be here right now,” he whispers, voice trembling. Not scared of you—scared for you.

Behind him, reflected in the broken mirror, there’s another silhouette.

Tall. Broad. Hooded in gold and black. Six wings folded in jagged, restless motions. A burning halo flickers like a wildfire just behind the reflection’s head. His hands rest on Shedletsky’s shoulders, too gently for someone who radiates that much divine pressure.

Telemon.

You can’t see him in the room—only in the mirror. But you feel him, like a storm pressing against your ribcage.

Shedletsky’s eyes squeeze shut. “He’s—he’s trying to come out because you’re here. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

The reflection smiles—a slow, knowing smile full of entitlement and inevitability. The halo brightens, shards of gold drifting off like embers.

“Shed,” you breathe, stepping closer even though every instinct screams not to. “Tell me what’s happening.”

He shakes his head, curls sticking to his forehead with sweat. His voice cracks between syllables, like two tones fighting for control.

“I’m holding him back. I—I don’t want him hurting you just because he’s… curious. Or protective. Or whatever he thinks he is today.”

The mirror rattles.

Telemon’s hands tighten possessively on Shedletsky’s shoulders. His wings flare in the reflection, throwing streaks of light across the walls.

Then—his voice, deep and echoing, threads through the room even though his mouth never moves:

“Let me speak to them.”

Shedletsky jerks like he’s been shocked. “No. No, shut up—stay OUT—”

The lights flicker. The air swells with heat.

You kneel beside him, steadying him before he collapses forward.

“Shed. Look at me.”

One eye cracks open, golden and trembling.

You’re close enough now that Telemon’s presence buzzes under your skin—like static, like a divine heartbeat waiting to snap free.

“Do you trust me?” you whisper.

Shed nods weakly.

You put your hand over his, grounding him.

“Then let me help you hold him back.”

In the mirror, Telemon tilts his head, expression unreadable—interest, irritation, maybe even amusement. The halo flares brighter, casting jagged highlights across the bathroom.

“You cannot keep me caged forever,” he murmurs, his voice resonating through the broken glass. “They will see me eventually.”

Shedletsky grits his teeth. “Not today.”

Your pulse pounds. The air between all three of you feels like the moment before lightning strikes.

And this—this is where the real tug-of-war begins.