shattered (illumi x reader)

chapter 1- some nights i forget i exist

you're laying in bed when you hear the door open. your eyes open slowly. you're home alone and its 11 at night.

"who's there?" you smile into the dark. not many people have a key or a way inside, and it's not like you're being robbed

"it's me, calm down," as soon as a voice purges the deafening silence you know who it is.

"illumi,"

you take a breath,

why are you here?" you're fairly surprised he's here again. the tile is painfully loud as he walks towards you. it is all you can hear.

"irrelevant question,"
"and anyways, aren't you happy to see me?"

"i'm not happy about any visitors at this time of night, least of all you. it's not like i can actually see you anyway," you yawn.

your eyes narrow slightly. truth is, you'd developed a bad habit of anticapating his little visits, not that you'd tell him that. you'd been unable to keep yourself from enjoying the time he spent wandering your apartment. the way he absentmindedly shuffled through the kitchen and looked through your things. he'd open the fridge, just to stare in and close it shortly, eating nowthing. in his absence, you'd felt a kind of boredom that started in your stomach and made time pass slower than you wanted it to.
just your perception obviously, but these were bad signs.
you didn't have any extra room in your head for attachments, strong or weak or permanent or shortlived or whatever it may be. especially whatever you felt now
and especially for illumi.

"you should confess. theres no way you aren't hopelessly in love with me by now." he sighs, standing over you. you don't look at him, rolling your eyes. he has quite the theatrical side.

he always says his line with just enough irony, just enough innocence. art, and theatre by extension are subjective but you grow tired of his performances.

love wasn't what you felt for him. he simply interested you. you wanted to know him, to understand the clockwork in his eyes.

"you have a way of making me feel like some sort of experiment." you note, avoiding the topic of feelings in general. he doesn't respond, only rolls his eyes and sits down on your bed.

silence again.

he turns his head to look at you and tucks his hair behind his ear.

"hi." he says.

"hi." you say.

he's so weird.
and he looks at you, sitting ynder the covers. and you look at him. long legs crossed gracefully, chin resting in his hands. long black hair spilling over his shoulders like tar. even if he was just a stranger to you, it wouldn't take a genius to be able to understand that this is someone dangerous, someone to be scared of.

"so," you start again.

"hm?"

"why do you keep coming here," trying to sound casual. in truth you are dying to know, he is a bird, flying through your door when the clock strikes 12. he could fly wherever, but he comes to you regardless.
you are no bird. there are no clocks behind your eyes and no wings on your back. you are not the same kind of being as he is. not in a self depracating way, but in a truthful way.

you break his gaze and with it, your train of thoughts. you were hoping for a straightforward answer from him. he just raised his eyebrows in amusement and turned his head slightly. obviously an honest answer is far too much to ask for from the thespian himself.

you wish he'd break character just once, so you could know if any of it was real.

"maybe i am an experiment for you." you say to your ceiling.