You stare at yourself in the mirror. "I am Avery Grey." you say.

It sounds right, it looks right on your lips.

But sometimes you're not sure. Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night, names of people you've never met on your tongue, memories of people you've never been swirling in your head. And on these nights you look into the mirror and say your name again and again, trying to convince yourself that the words are true.

You are Avery Grey, and yet you are not.

And a part of you, a small and sad and foreign part remembers cold nights and hard floorboards beneath your cheek. Remembers screaming and vomiting and packing and hiding in cold alleyways.

Remembers how good it felt to take scissors to your hair.

You close your eyes and when they open you find your fingers clutching a pair of scissors.

And there's an impulse, a desire and slowly, slowly, you take a lock of your hair between your fingers and stare into the eyes of your reflection, contemplative.

And you put the scissors down.

And then you blink and you're at the cafe, pouring a customer a refill as you carry cleared plates to the kitchen.

And you stare, for a moment.

You haven't lost time like this for months but before you can lose yourself again there's a hand on your shoulder and the empty plates are being lifted from your hands and you've managed to make it into the kitchen, Mason glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. And Landry's there and you find yourself a tether. You look up at him and he smiles down at you and your brain knows he's a friend. And even after everything that's happened, even when you lose yourself, your brain knows that friends are universal.

And he's still smiling but it's looking more and more concerned as every second slips by so you force out a smile and it's weak but at least it's something. But he still looks worried and your heart twists and all your brain can muster is a soft murmur of ' Landry, Landry, why are you so nice to me?' repeating through your mind.

But even so, he's still a light in the dark, a constant that you didn't realise you needed.

The romantics in you wonder what it would be like to be normal and whole, to hold his hand and have him place soft kisses on your face. Your heart flutters but you push it down down down. He smiles at you, all soft concern and worry, and you think you're in love.

And then you blink again and you're holding his hand and his skin is warm and you imagine a life with him. The soft kind of romance that it would be oh so easy to fall into if only you were a little less broken.

You blink and you suddenly realize you're crying. It feels like it's been so long since you last cried, you'd thought yourself incapable. But you can feel it, hot drops of water sliding down you face, your chest hurting, a headache forming.

You realise, vaguely, that you're sitting on the floor, the glass pressing into your back must mean you're on the balcony and there's silence behind your quiet sobs so everyone must have gone home and you're not sure how long you've been sitting there but Landry is holding you tight and murmuring into your hair and you start to calm down as you focus on him.

And after you try to apologise, embarrassed, but he waves you off, squeezing your hand softly as you try to stammer out an excuse that doesn't let on to how lost you feel. But he just smiles, assuring you that it's fine as he ushers you up to Graves' apartment and makes you comfortable on his sofa, plying you with blankets.

And even after he leaves you feel comforted. Loving Landry feels normal. A life preserver when you're drowning in the ocean of thoughts and memories and dreams that are yours, but also are not.

You close your eyes.

I am Avery Grey, you think.

It doesn't feel entirely true but there's no false reflection in the mirror to tell you otherwise.

It's good enough for now.