Jackson Jekyll had been counting cracks in the ceiling for twenty-three minutes.
Not because he wanted to.
Because it was something to *do*.
Because if he stopped counting—
he'd start thinking.
And if he started thinking—
he might spiral again.
"One hundred and forty-two… one hundred and forty-three…"
The plaster above his bed was uneven, faint lines spiderwebbing out from the light fixture. He'd memorized them months ago, but today they felt sharper somehow. Louder.
Like everything else.
He shifted, rolling onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow.
The house was too quiet.
Not peaceful quiet.
The kind that pressed in on your ears until you started imagining sounds just to fill it.
*You're pacing again, Jackie.*
Jackson squeezed his eyes shut.
"I'm not pacing," he muttered under his breath.
He absolutely had been pacing.
Back and forth.
Room to window.
Window to door.
Door to room.
Repeat.
Grounded.
Again.
And it was because of both of them this time...
Jackson sat up abruptly, running a hand through his hair.
"No, not doing this," he whispered. "Not today."
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, a little too fast, the room tilting for half a second.
The floorboards creaked under his weight as he moved to the window.
His window.
His *spot*.
Outside, the street stretched quiet and familiar.
Crooked lampposts.
Cobblestone path.
Same as always.
Normal.
Jackson rested his hands on the windowsill, shoulders slumping.
"Just… get through the evening," he told himself softly.
"Do homework. Stay quiet. Don't—"
*Don't what?*
Jackson's jaw tightened.
"Don't mess up," he finished.
Because that's what this was, right?
A mess.
Everything lately felt like one long chain reaction he couldn't stop.
The rumors.
The whispers.
The looks.
---
*FORBIDDEN FLAMES: IS JACKSON JEKYLL'S 'NORMIE' HEART BREAKING FOR THE DJ OF THE DARK?*
---
Jackson groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"Ugh, Spectra…"
Even thinking about it made his stomach twist.
*Yeah, you think a ghost can die twice or nah?*
He elected to ignore that, as tempting as it was...
Cousins.
That was the story now.
That was the *fix*.
Except it didn't feel fixed.
It felt… even worse, somehow.
Because now people were watching.
Not just DJ.
Him.
Jackson leaned his forehead against the glass.
It was cool.
Grounding.
Real.
"You've got this," he murmured.
"You just have to—"
Movement.
Jackson blinked.
He then kooked up.
Two figures were walking down the street.
Familiar ones.*
*Oh no.*
"Please don't—"
Too late.
Because it was Ghoulia.
And Draculaura.
And they were both walking straight toward his house.
Jackson's stomach dropped like he'd missed a step on a staircase.
"No, no, no—shit, why now?"
His hands tightened on the windowsill.
His pulse spiked instantly.
Too fast.
Too loud.
*Well, well. Fan club's here. Because fuck it, why not right?*
"Not helping," Jackson hissed under his breath.
He straightened quickly, pushing himself upright, forcing his shoulders back.
Act normal.
Just act normal.
The girls stepped into the yard.
Closer.
Far too close.
"Rrrgh," Ghoulia called up.
Jackson blinked, startled.
Then—automatic—
he smiled.
"Ghoulia," he said. "Hey."
His voice sounded… off.
Even to himself.
Too quiet.
Too thin.
Draculaura waved brightly. "Hi, Jackie! We were just passing by!"
Jackson let out a small breath.
"Yeah? Lucky timing I guess."
A Lie.
An obvious lie.
But he didn't have anything better.
"Come out with us!" Draculaura said, floating slightly upward already, like she might just *decide* he was coming along. "Fresh air would do you good!"
Jackson's panic spiked.
"No, no—I can't," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I'm grounded. And the house is… uh…"
His eyes flicked behind him.
The hallway.
The door.
The headphones.
The headphones that were signaturely Holt's.
"…a mess," he finished weakly.
*Smooth, Jackie. Real smooth.*
*You got a better idea?*
*... Fair enough.*
Jackson swallowed hard.
"Seriously, I'm good," he added, trying to sound convincing.
He wasn't convincing.
Even to himself.
"Rrrgh."
Ghoulia gestured toward the ground.
*We can stay here.*
Jackson hesitated.
Because part of him wanted to say no.
To shut the window.
To just disappear.
But the other part—
The tired part—
The part that was of both him and Holt, loathe Holt was to admit it—
Didn't want to be alone.
"…Yeah," he said finally. "That works."
So they talked.
Or at least—
Draculaura talked.
Jackson nodded along, answering when he could, forcing out small responses that felt like they belonged to someone else.
His left hand rested on the windowsill.
Fingers twitching.
Not in rhythm.
Just… restless.
Because something felt wrong.
Not outside.
Inside.
Like the air behind him had changed.
Jackson's eyes flicked over his shoulder.
Just for a second.
Nothing.
But the feeling didn't go away.
"—and then Clawd said—Jackie?"
Jackson blinked.
"Sorry, what?"
Draculaura frowned slightly.
"You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"That… zoning out thing."
Jackson forced a laugh.
"Yeah, sorry. Long day."
Understatement of the century.
His reflection caught his eye.
In the glass.
For a moment—
Everything looked normal.
Then—
It didn't.
Just slightly.
Like his reflection was a fraction of a second behind him.
Jackson frowned.
That wasn't—
"Jackie?" Draculaura said softly, floating a little higher now, closer to the window. "Are you okay?"
Jackson snapped his attention back to her.
"Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine."
Smile.
Hold it.
Just hold it—
The sound hit him like a shock.
Faint.
Distant.
Music.
No.
Jackson's entire body went rigid.
"No—no, not now—"
His eyes darted toward the hallway again.
The sound was getting louder.
He must've left it—
*Oh, we definitely did.*
"Shut up," Jackson whispered.
Draculaura's eyes widened slightly.
"Jackie…?"
Too late.
The beat kicked in.
And everything inside him—
*shifted into Holt.*
Jackson's breath hitched.
His grip on the windowsill tightened hard enough to hurt.
"No, no, no—please—"
Heat flared under his skin.
Sudden.
Sharp.
His reflection—
It *moved*.
Not with him.
No, it was faster.
Jackson's smile dropped.
Not faded.
Not softened.
It was only gone.
Fear flooded in, cold and overwhelming.
"I—"
His voice broke.
"Jackie?" Draculaura said, now right outside the window.
"I—can't—"
The world tilted.
The music pulsed louder.
His heartbeat tried to match it.
Failed.
Tried again.
Everything felt too big.
Too loud.
Too much.
His hands slipped from the windowsill.
"JACKIE—"
SLAM.
The window crashed shut.
Jackson stumbled backward, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.
"No—no—no—"
The room spun.
The music *pounded.
"Stop—stop—STOP—"
His knees hit the floor hard.
The panic hit all at once.
Not gradual.
Not building.
Crashing.
"I can't—I can't—"
His hands clawed at his head, fingers tangling in his hair
Too loud.
Too fast.
Too much—
*Relax, Jackie. I think I got this.*
"NO—"
But it was already happening.
The heat surged.
The world blurred.
Jackson gasped—
And everything went dark.
-----
Outside—
Draculaura froze.
Ghoulia didn't move.
-----
Inside—
Something, it rather SOMEBODY, hit the floor.
Hard.
And when the silence settled—
Jackson Jekyll wasn't the one getting back up.
-----
The first thing Holt Hyde noticed was the silence.
Not the *good* kind—the kind right after a beat drops and everyone's holding their breath, waiting for the next hit.
No.
This was the kind of silence that meant something had gone *very* wrong.
"…ow."
Holt groaned, pushing himself up off the floor with a wince. His right hand planted firmly against the hardwood—steady, controlled, *his*. The world tilted once, twice, then settled into place like a record finally catching its groove.
"Note to self," he muttered, rolling his shoulder, "face-planting? Not a good look, even for Jackie."
Then he heard it.
"JACKIE?!"
Holt froze.
"…Oh Ghoul damn it."
Right.
That.
The pounding came next—sharp, urgent knocks against the front door, echoing through the house.
"Jackie, open the door!" Draculaura's voice, tight with worry.
A lower sound followed—Ghoulia.
"Rrrgh! Rrrgh!"
Holt scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling slowly.
"Okay… okay, DJ, think."
He pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his jacket. The faint heat still lingering under his skin flickered at his fingertips—small, controlled. Nothing flashy. Not now.
"Situation: bad," he muttered, pacing once. "Audience: concerned. Secret: still intact—barely."
*If that.*
His gaze flicked toward the hallway.
Toward the door.
Toward the girls on the other side of it.
"…They heard that," he said flatly.
Of course they did.
He dropped like a sack of bricks.
Not exactly subtle.
"Jackie!" Draculaura again, louder now. "Please open the door!"
Holt winced.
"Yeah, no, that's not happening." He murmered to Jackie and himself.
He stopped pacing.
Stilled.
Then—
He grinned.
"Oh!"
His fingers snapped once, a tiny flicker of flame dancing between them before he extinguished it instantly.
"Same body," he said, tilting his head. "Same vocal cords."
His grin widened.
"Which means…"
Another knock.
Harder this time.
"JACKSON!"
Holt cleared his throat.
Once.
Twice.
Then, carefully—
He shifted.
Not physically.
Not like before.
This was subtler.
A performance.
He relaxed his shoulders, letting the tension drain out of them. His usual swagger softened, posture curling inward just slightly.
His voice, when he spoke—
was quieter.
Higher.
Unsteady.
"I—I'm okay!"
Silence.
Then—
"…Jackie?" Draculaura's voice, softer now, but no less worried or confused.
Holt leaned against the wall, eyes flicking toward the door.
"Yeah, uh—sorry," he called, forcing a slight stutter into the words. "I just—tripped. I'm fine."
A pause.
Ghoulia groaned, sharp and questioning.
Holt winced internally.
"Yeah, I know, I know—real smooth," he muttered under his breath.
Then louder, in his best immittation of Jackie—
"I just—uh—lost my balance. It's nothing."
He paced once, quietly, keeping his footsteps light.
"Jackie," Draculaura said carefully, "that didn't sound like nothing…"
Holt rubbed the back of his neck.
Okay.
Time to commit.
"Look, I'm okay, I promise," he said, injecting just enough breathlessness to make it believable. "Just—give me a minute, alright? I'm kinda… cleaning up."
Not a lie.
Technically.
Ghoulia groaned again—lower this time.
Skeptical.
Holt exhaled slowly through his nose.
"C'mon, Z-girl," he murmured quietly, even by Jackie's standards. "Don't go full detective on me now…"
Because if anyone *would*—
It'd be her.
There was a pause outside.
A long one.
Then—
"…Okay," Draculaura said, though she didn't sound convinced. "But if you're not out here in, like, five minutes, I'm coming back with Clawd. And maybe Deuce. And possibly a battering ram if we need to."
Holt huffed a quiet laugh despite himself.
"Yeah, noted," he called back, still in Jackson's voice. "No battering ram necessary."
Another pause.
Then footsteps.
Soft.
Reluctant.
Fading.
Silence settled over the house again.
Holt stayed where he was for a few seconds longer, listening.
Just in case.
Nothing.
"…Okay."
He straightened, shoulders rolling back into place as the act dropped instantly.
His posture shifted.
Confidence snapping back like a switch flipped on.
"Crisis averted," he muttered, rubbing his hands together.
But the grin didn't last.
Because the quiet came back.
And this time—
He noticed it.
Really noticed it.
"…Dang."
He looked around the room.
At the scuffed floor.
The closed window.
The faint echo of what just happened still hanging in the air.
"Jackie," he said quietly, voice losing its edge just slightly, "you really know how to pick your moments, huh?"
No answer.
Holt shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels.
"They're worried, us know," he added, glancing toward the door. "Like, *actually* worried."
Silence.
He clicked his tongue.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Not exactly your favorite spotlight."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Still," he muttered, softer now, "kinda nice, though."
Another beat of silence.
Then—
Holt shook his head sharply, snapping back to himself.
"Alright, DJ Hyde," he said, clapping his hands once. "Game plan."
He started pacing again.
Faster this time.
"Step one: don't get caught."
"Step two: don't let Jackie spiral harder than he already is."
"Step three…" He paused.
"…figure out how the heck we're gonna keep this whole 'cousin' thing from blowing up in our faces before Halloween."
He smirked slightly.
"Easy, right?"
-----
Outside, somewhere down the street, a zombie groaned.
Long.
Drawn out.
Holt glanced toward the window.
"Yeah," he muttered.
"It'll be a piece of FUCKING cake."