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Despite being the resident slut of the institute, Tim didn't look at his body much. Not to say he never did, obviously not, but he was never really one to pay attention to any potential changes. He was hot, he knew he was hot, and that wasn't about to change.
This all started with a beach trip.
~
Tim had always loved the ocean. The way it glittered, the way it lapped at his feet. Calm and blue and perfect. He'd stay forever if he could, floating in the expanse of liquid jewels and just closing his eyes. Letting it cradle him.
So he did.
He didn't know how long he'd stayed there, but it had been a good few hours since he'd felt the heated caress of sand. Just sun-warmed waves and foam and clouds and...himself. It put him at ease. It was like the world had paused for a minute, and nothing had to happen. Tim didn't have to worry about anything, because nothing mattered. He was just a speck in the endless seafoam.
Maybe this was paradise.
Of course, he did have to leave. Not that he wanted to, but this was his last day here. He had to work tomorrow, ugh.
Whatever. He'd come back soon.
~
"Tim...what is that?"
Tim tilted his head, turning his gaze. "Boss, what are you talking about? My shirt? It's a beauty, I know-"
Jon shook his head. "No, not that. It's, er...under. You...it shifted a bit, and I noticed a...hm. A mark, of sorts."
Mark?
Frowning, Tim glanced down, pulling the collar of his (frankly very amazing, in his humble opinion) Hawaiian shirt.
There was, in fact, a mark.
"Oh. Huh. I...don't actually know?"
Jon's expression softened, clearly concerned.
He did not ask about it again.
~
Skin wasn't usually bluish.
This was a fairly obvious fact. People don't usually walk around looking like Na'vi, it just...didn't happen.
He didn't know how long the spot had been there. He'd looked at himself before, yeah, but it never really processed right, and Tim was left with an awful confusion when he traced a finger around the edges.
It wasn't anything special. A patch of skin over his heart, tinted a foggy greyish-blue. Only slightly noticable, really. It reminded Tim of seafoam, even had the little marks that bubbles make when they pop.
This hadn't been there before.
Oh, no.
~
"Vast. It's a mark from The Vast."
He wanted to cry. Confusion and dread and who knows what else swirled in his mind as it tried to process the information given.
"...What?"
Jon's eyes were twin oceans, full of sympathy (or pity?) and regrets. "Lord, I'm so sorry...I thought you'd known..."
Swallowing his words and pride and whatever else was threatening to spill out if his mouth, Tim turned around without a second thought or another word.
He needed to go home. He couldn't be here anymore, not right now.
~
Tim caught his own gaze in the mirror and sobbed.
He shouldn't be crying. Physically, he was nearly exactly the same, barely anything was wrong. He needed to relax. He needed a shot or two or three or four. He needed to collapse into someone's arms and cry into their chest until his eyes were dry (But he can't ever separate himself from waters now. Maybe his tears would create literal oceans).
But he didn't.
Tim was the fun one, after all. The one you go to when you need a laugh or a nonsense conversation or a good fuck. He was the flirt, the comic relief, the whore.
People wouldn't like Tim when he's sad, so they'd never get to see it.
Tears flooded down his face like the currents that now made up his veins. They tasted like seawater and Tim hated how much he liked it. He hated how right this all felt, he hated how his heart screamed at him that this was who he was always meant to be. This wasn't him, this wasn't what he wanted to be. He hated the fact that he had to look at his reflection and know he wasn't the same man as the day before.
Eyes stinging, puffy and red and sea-salty, Tim wiped at his face with the back of his hand. This was probably sad to watch, hah-Maybe Jon or Elias or hell, The Eye itself would have a watch party to his misery. He still couldn't escape the feeling of being seen.
Draping his arms over the sink, rivers streamed into the waiting basin. Despite not being plugged, it began to fill. Liquid despair and mental agony, rippling like the seas Tim now belonged to. His heart was sinking to the depths of the Mariana Trench, and all that did was make him sob harder.
He hated it.
He hated it.
He hated how he just wanted to drift and be pulled down, down, down by the waters. He wanted them to consume him, to wrap itself around him like the lover that he desperately craved but could never obtain. Sasha was long gone, after all.
He felt so tiny right now. So, so small. Tim laughed a little, though there was no humour. He didn't matter anymore. He hadn't for a while, had he ever? Had he ever done anything worth remembering him for? Was he anything more than just the office slut?
He didn't think it'd impact anyone much if he up and died.
He hated it.
Tim hated like he'd been claimed by The Lightless Flame, but he was as far from burning as they come.
Giving a final glance to the mirror, he dragged himself away, leaving the bathroom in favour of sinking into his mattress.
And there it was again, sinking. It was inescapable.
Tim groaned, pressing his face into a nearby pillow. It'd be soaked soon, but it didn't matter at this point. Too much water-hell, he might as well drown himself in all of it! At least then he wouldn't be forced into an identity he didn't want, need, or enjoy. Nobody would care or remember much anyway, at most he'd get a little shrine that'd stay up for a week and then get taken down when the flowers start to wilt. He was insignificant. Infinitesimal. Unimportant.
So why not just let the waters steal his breath away and float for a little while?
He didn't like how serious that consideration ended up being.
For a moment, the crippling emptiness felt all-consuming, swallowing him up. He curled up a little tighter.
But no. No, it wasn't emptiness.
It was just vast.