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It was in the dead of night Jekyll found himself standing in front of his mirror, gazing at his appearance and into the depth of darkness in his soul. How long has it been since he divested himself from the restraint by his ideals? Since true happiness filled him to the brim?
He closed his eyes. Hyde would be waiting down there by now.
Jekyll lifts open his eyelids. It certainly has been a while since he entered their shared realm, and there he saw his other half, his grin still present on his lips as he turned to face his creator.
Maybe he already knew Jekyll’s intention of coming here, because Hyde had already held out his hand and invited him to a waltz.
They share a pas de deux in their shared mental realm: where the line between Hyde’s vice and Jekyll’s virtue blurs in the air. The pair move gracefully yet with fervent anticipation, each step moving with calculated and deliberate intent. Their dance unfolds like a wordless conversation, Hyde’s strong grip on his creator’s waist was the only reminder of the other’s promise — to let him take over and cause destruction in his wake.
The air is still in the reconstructed version of their dark ballroom, where shadows dance under the gleaming moonlight above, and dim light that shines on them comes from the blue stained glass at the center of the ceiling. The biting cold chilled their skin, yet neither cared because of how focused they were on each other. There was no music to accompany the duet, for there was no one but them in the space of their own.
They move in fluid elegance, slipping closer and farther from one another. The choreography of their shared dance was etched into their minds, executed professionally even for someone like Hyde.
As the dance reached its climax, their heart beats as one. Hyde snakes his free arm into the safe compartment of Jekyll’s pocket, reaching for the concoction that was evidence of his creator’s agreement to let him take control for the night. He lifts his hand up for Jekyll to see the emerald liquid glistening dangerously under the glass.
Jekyll’s gaze did not waver, his breathing hitched from intimate touches. The creation leans in close, tipping the vial against Jekyll’s lips.
Jekyll paused for a moment, uncertain.
If he had accepted the forbidden pleasures Hyde had tempted him to taste, he would wake next morning with humiliation of indulging the sins that wrought ruin upon his reputation, chained once again by the sins he could neither control nor deny.
Yet in his heart he couldn’t find himself to refuse.
A heartbeat passed, and Hyde’s grin became wider when he saw his creator accept the concoction obediently. Slowly but surely, Hyde watched the liquid disappear into Jekyll’s lips. He threw the glass over his shoulder, unconcerned whether his creator would be fuming with rage.
Impatiently, he latched onto the skin of Jekyll’s throat, his own lips tracing burning trails and kissing up to his creator’s jaw while his fingers raked on the scalp. Hyde let out a groan on the skin, sending electric shivers down Jekyll’s spine.
It was intoxicating.
Hyde’s hand skimmed around the other’s scalp, then hesitated at the hair tie binding the half messy ponytail, threatening to yank it off.
No words were exchanged. Jekyll yielded into Hyde’s embrace then lowered his head into the other’s smaller shoulder, his eyes shut with somewhat nervousness as the other gleefully let the soft blond hair fall.
As the ray of the first sunlight of dawn seared through the night sky, Hyde needed no more to tell him to leave the mortal realm and retreat into his and Jekyll’s shared consciousness. He was a creature of the night; and during the day where light reigns holds no place for someone like him.
Hyde slithered into Jekyll’s office like a shadow through the glass windows, and moved silently as to not grab the attention of the servants on the first floor. He stumbled clumsily towards the full-length mirror, where Jekyll is able to see him. With a deep breath he lets his eyes fall shut and meets his other half back at their ballroom realm.
He finds himself falling, but dares not make a sound and finally lands onto the dark polished floor. His eyes wander until he is greeted by a familiar voice piercing through the heavy atmosphere, calling out his name.
Hyde turns back and meets his dear creator, arms crossed and body slanted to show the impatience of waiting for his creation. The redhead was smiling (likely from the ecstasy of the night) and then waltzes to where his creator is.
In response, Jekyll couldn’t help but smirk and extend a hand, waiting for Hyde to accept it, to which he does, and pulls him into another dance. Only this time, it is Jekyll who’s taking the lead.
With one hand holding onto Hyde’s waist, the other intertwined with his, they dance with poise, in a way Hyde can feel the burning passionate sensation on his hand and waist radiating from his creator. It wasn’t dominance, rather an expression of gratitude for letting him taste sin in return.
They were of ethereal grace, effortlessly floating on the dance floor. And there was a gentle melody playing in the ballroom, but he couldn't point out where. Their bodies moved closer, as though they were one again, but their consciousness remained separated like two different people in their shared realm.
As Jekyll leans towards, Hyde bends backwards, his head leaning back, trusting that Jekyll’s hand will always be there to catch if he falls. His bangs fall from his forehead, revealing more of the visage of a younger, deranged version of Jekyll.
And Jekyll couldn’t quite hide the amused glint in his eyes.
Hyde eyed his creator’s free hand move its way towards his chest, his throat then finally his lips. The smile widened as he relished the loving touch all over his body.
Maybe satiating in sin wasn’t so bad after all.
With a gentle brush on the lower lips, Jekyll tugged the jaw open with little force then swiftly found the second concoction in his pocket.
Hyde did not resist, instead he greedily downed the green liquid, but letting some trickle down his lips. Jekyll, showing no annoyance towards his other half’s shameless demeanor, was inclined to lick some off his jaw and return the liquid back into those sinful lips. He sealed the gap between them and slowly it turned into an intense kiss; their tongue wrestled with ardour, letting Jekyll taste the bitter concoction on Hyde's tongue.
Gripping onto Jekyll’s free arm, they pulled away as Hyde found his way towards the hair tie that has been abandoned since evening. He took hold of his creator’s hair and helped tie it into the same half ponytail. His hands danced its way towards Jekyll’s cheeks, cupping them into his hands and bringing their foreheads together.
So the call of the next morning arrives: the dawn’s light radiating through the curtains of Jekyll’s room, the piercing light besieges his senses. Awoke from his restless slumber, he glimpsed at the mirror next to his bed, gazing at his reflection, then started to get dressed for the day.
But behind him the shadow of his reflection distorted into something inhumane, the black fog dissipating then revealing his other half’s striking amber eyes.
“Henry... will you let me out again tonight?”