Shake it off

Ethan walked off set, but something about the way he moved felt… wrong. Not off like, oh, I didn't get enough sleep last night, but off in the way that made his skin feel too tight over his bones, like his limbs weren't quite his own. His head throbbed. His chest ached. The lights overhead were way too bright, stabbing into his eyes like tiny needles, but his brain felt dark—thick, sluggish, full of some kind of fog he couldn't shake.

He needed air. Or space. Or—something.

But the second he looked up, he realized no one was even making eye contact with him. The crew moved around him like he wasn't there. Not in a mean way. Just… like he wasn't even a person in the room anymore. Just a piece of the set, part of the background.

Michael called for the next scene without so much as a glance in Ethan's direction.

Okay. That was fine. It was fine. He didn't need Michael to say anything to him. Didn't need anyone to. He could just walk out, shake this off, go home, sleep, fix himself—

His phone buzzed.

Ethan flinched so hard his fingers almost dropped the thing.

He exhaled sharply and dragged his hand down his face before glancing at the screen. Riley.

Right. He'd forgotten about Riley. About the party. About normal things that normal people were doing right now, like going out and having fun instead of standing in the middle of a soundstage feeling like their brain had been hijacked by someone else's personality.

He hesitated. He could ignore it. Could just let it ring. But Riley would call again. And again. And—

He swiped to answer before he could talk himself out of it. "Yeah?"

"You done yet?" Riley sounded casual, like this was just a normal conversation. Like Ethan wasn't currently trying to remember how to breathe. "Party's starting to pick up."

A party. A place with people. With music and drinking and talking and—God.

The idea of walking into a crowded space, smiling, pretending like he wasn't falling apart at the seams—

No. No way.

But he didn't answer right away.

Riley must've picked up on that, because there was a pause. "You good?"

The words hit Ethan square in the chest. You good?

A stupid question. A normal question. But it made his throat close up for half a second.

"I'm just tired," he said, voice too flat, too empty.

Riley made a doubtful noise. "Uh-huh."

Ethan rubbed his temple. "What?"

"Dude, you sound like shit."

Ethan let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Thanks."

"I mean it," Riley pressed. "You don't sound tired, you sound—" A beat. "I dunno. Off. Like, I know the filming's intense, but you're acting like you just saw a ghost."

Ghost? No. Worse. He felt like he was one.

He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "I'm fine."

Another pause.

Riley wasn't buying it.

"C'mon," Riley tried again, lighter this time. "It's just a party, man. Nothing crazy. You show up, have a drink, laugh at some stupid jokes, maybe find someone to take home—"

Ethan barely heard him.

His gaze had caught on something—a mirror, propped up on set. He hadn't even realized he was standing in front of it.

His reflection stared back at him.

And something about it was wrong.

The way he was standing. The way his shoulders slumped. The look in his eyes—

Blank. Hollow. Empty.

Like someone else entirely.

Like Seth.

His breath hitched. His stomach turned.

It was him. It was him. But it wasn't.

He forced himself to blink. To move. Something. Anything.

But his reflection barely reacted.

"Ethan?"

He startled so badly he almost dropped his phone.

"Jesus," Riley muttered. "What the hell was that?"

"Nothing." Ethan's voice was hoarse. "I—I just…" He trailed off, pressing his fingers to his forehead. He couldn't think. He couldn't think.

Riley sighed. "Look, if you're not coming, just say so. But don't lie about it, man. You sound wrecked."

Ethan opened his mouth, closed it again.

He wanted to say something. He really did. But how was he supposed to explain any of this? That sometimes it felt like Seth wasn't just a character, wasn't just some guy he played? That sometimes he got stuck—like Seth was still in him, still breathing down his neck, still pulling at his thoughts? That sometimes he didn't even know where he ended and the role began?

Riley wouldn't get it.

Nobody would.

"I'll be fine," Ethan said instead, quieter now.

Riley exhaled like he didn't believe him, but he didn't push. "Alright, man. Just… don't freak yourself out, okay?"

Ethan let out a soft, shaky breath. "Yeah."

The call ended.

Silence settled around him again.

He was still standing there, still staring into the mirror.

His own face still looked unfamiliar.

Too blank. Too empty.

Too much like him.

Ethan swallowed, his mouth dry. He needed to snap out of it. He needed to feel like himself again, to be himself again, but he didn't know how. His skin still felt wrong. His body still felt borrowed.

His fingers twitched at his side.

He exhaled sharply, shutting his eyes. There has to be a way to fix this.

He hesitated—then, barely above a whisper, he thought, System. Is there anything I can take to make this go away?

For a second, there was nothing. Just silence.

Then, the system chimed. A soft, mechanical hum in his brain. Not quite a voice, not quite a feeling. Just there.

[Warning: It is better to overcome this yourself.]

Ethan clenched his jaw.

God, that was not what he wanted to hear right now.

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. He could still feel it—Seth's presence, lingering in his skin, pressing down on him like a second shadow. Like something wrapped around his bones, waiting, waiting, waiting.

It wasn't real. It wasn't.

But it felt real.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

His pulse hammered in his ears.

He wanted to believe he could fix this. That he could just shake it off and move on.

But right now? Right now, it felt impossible.

And that terrified him.