the moon is bright enough (LUNCH CLUB) DISCONTINUED

if the blackhole could swallow you whole, would you let it?

((short A/N – just realised how annoying it might be to constantly switch between POVs, so from now on I'll switch between two people, who will be Cooper and Schlatt. Mostly because I love writing Cooper, and Schlatt is a funky little man))

Everything is hazy. Hazy and dark. Where is he?

A face blurs in and out of sight. Concerned, yet afraid. Afraid of what?

Cooper tries to concentrate. Tries to look closer. A– a dog? It looks oddly familiar; it has tan fur with a creamy underbelly and muzzle. A species he can recognise, but can't recall. He reaches out for it, but when he tries to call it over, he finds that he can't speak. He touches his hand to his throat, and it comes away slick with blood. His blood? But it doesn't hurt.

He gets to his feet and is surprised by how unsteady he is. Each step sends a dull ache up his spine, almost as though he's pressing down on a bruise. Still, he pushes on.

The dog is much further than he thought it was. He keeps moving.

A steady trickling of water catches his attention. He wonders why. Water? Was that something important? He can't quite recall. He knows he can drink it, probably. Maybe he should. He crouches down to where a small stream runs. He can see his reflection. His throat is purple and blue with tinges of green. No blood. So where did it come from? He studies his own face, pushing his hair out of his eyes. It feels like something's missing, but he doesn't know what. He furrows his brow and squints, wracking his memory, but when he tries to think back, he can't remember.

All he knows is waking up to darkness.

He lifts a hand to touch the sides of his face, still watching his reflection. His fingers trace the outline of his ear. It looks odd on him, almost like something else should be there.

He pulls his hand back and gazes at his palm. His hands look strangely naked. His nails are shorter than what he thinks they should be, and his skin is too smooth, and he digs those same nails deep into his flesh, scratching angry red lines as though that would fix things. As he does so, he watches fish swim past. Their – their what's it? The glossiness of them. How they shine.

That's what he thinks his hands should be like. His hands should be rougher, almost like –

Yet, nothing quite like –

He blinks, and the water is gone. The dog is there instead, sitting in front of him, staring at him with wide eyes.

Something about it is unnerving. Its expression raises the hair along Cooper's arms. Then he gets it: the dog has human eyes. They are undeniably human – complete with eyelashes and off-white sclera. Those eyes are almost exactly like his, only brown and soulless. He tears his gaze away, shivering. He knows the dog is still watching him, and he reaches out to try and shift it away.

His hand passes right through it.

The dog blinks, doe-eyes sad and wet, and it – it disintegrates. It fades away before his eyes until there is nothing left of it but a claw and a clump of fur.

He picks up the claw. It is black at the root and grows lighter at the tip. Then the colour shifts, and it becomes a sort of muted orange, almost brown. Curved, almost like a h– ho–

He puts it down, and reaches for the fur instead. Creamy, but strangely laid out. Each piece of fur follows a similar angle. It looks like a wing. As he goes to replace it, a single lock of fur falls from the formation and lands in the shape of a circle. Like a halo? He barely even remembers what a halo is. Wasn't it a video game, or that one Beyoncé song?

Now he calls bullshit. How come he remembers who Beyoncé is, but not what he was before he woke up?

Cooper sighs and is about to stand again when he realises just how dark it is. Its pitch black now, heavy silence blanketing everything except for his breaths.