They think I don't know.
Ridiculous.
How could I not know?
He's my godchild. A precious gift, a beautiful treasure, one that I am honored to have. He's such a sweet, gentle child, kinder and softer than this world should permit. No one so delicate could survive in this world alone.
But then, there's his other.
And damn the world should it harm him at all.
I suppose that stupid wish began it - or did it really? No, of course not... Timmy has always been a strange one, too clever and delicate by half, too vulnerable yet unshakably strong.
When he was growing up, I think he felt it too. Few friends - despite all of my trying. No sports - he preferred solitude with his video games and comics. Quiet tranquillity and softness suited one such as he far better than anything else.
Beautiful, blank, and empty. Little passion to coax his shy soul into flame.
Then that stupid wish.
"I wish I have to do the exact opposite of what my parents tell me!"
To be cliché, everything changed.
I don't know how it happened. I don't know why it happened.
I thought he was gone, after the wish had taken its toll. But...
But then one day, years after that, I met again the boy who was not my godson, but who held the missing half of his soul.
Timmy was so nervous about it, his form flickering from the cool-eyed regality of this familiar stranger back to the fidgeting godson that I knew.
I learned much that day.
I wish I could forget much of that day.
There are some things about this other of his that I despise with all my heart.
It was with a subdued voice and shaking fingertips that he first spoke of those unfortunates this Nega had left in his wake, all in the name of my Timmy. At the time, he was still wary, still a little bit afraid of the overwhelming presence of his own personal demon.
Now, of course, absolute adoration and trust has replaced any lingering doubt. Even though he hasn't stopped - as long as someone threatens Timmy, his darkness will be there, taking his unholy vengeance.
But Timmy doesn't mind.
And somehow, throughout it all, he remains innocent. Purity shines like a beacon in his eyes, gentleness a precious gift that he bestows upon all who cross his path.
That path seems to be winding slowly back upon itself as of late.
I'm still not sure what to make of it. It can't be healthy, at least, and I've always worried about Timmy being alone.
He's never alone now.
It's disturbing - he's only sixteen, and his other is just the same - though he looks somewhat older. He acts older than seventeen. A very cold and mature seventeen, but still no more than a boy.
And young boys have hormones to deal with. I definitely did not expect to swim outside the underwater castle into the bedroom to see my Timmy sitting on the lap of his darker side, very busily involved in kissing him senseless. Or maybe it was the other way around. I really couldn't tell who was the one moaning. But when Nega's lips left his mouth and started to slide down his throat... and Timmy made a very odd mewling sound and twisted his body against his other's, and suddenly his darkness' hands were going places no hands had any right to be...
My first instinct was to throttle that good for nothing...
Then sanity regained its place in my mind, and I swam back into the castle very quickly, went back to my bedroom, and tried to prevent what felt like an imminent heart attack.
My innocent, sweet, gentle godchild was passionately liplocked with a homicidal maniac.
I think I went a little crazy with that revelation.
Truth be told, I don't really remember that night very well. All I recall is a haze of rage settling over me that obliterated all else from my mind. And so, that night, I took it upon myself to confront Nega.
I would have.
I would.
But when I crept into Timmy's room in the middle of the night, he was there. Sound asleep with his face buried in Timmy's hair, lean arms tangled around his waist. My godson, looking so much younger than his years, lay on his side, cuddled up in the possessive grasp of his darkness, innocent and sweet and perfect. They're beautiful together. The moonlight eased away the harshness of the elder's expression, and for a moment I saw Timmy when I looked at Nega Timmy.
A maniac. A murderer. A spirit. Darkness.
The one person the child of my heart, my life and joy, loved above all else.
And I couldn't.
I couldn't hurt him.
Amazingly, the innocence and glowing purity still remain, despite what I am certain is the heavy physical involvement resulting from a bond like theirs. Even casually, when they're at home, they touch almost constantly.
They aren't so discreet as they think. They try to hide it, but you can't escape the notice of someone who's cared for you since you were a child. The playful little nudges, the lazy-eyed looks, the glazed expressions when they whisper to one another in the silence of their shared consciousness - it goes beyond creepy.
It's a wonder no one notices it, really.
Just before Timmy dashes off to school with his friends, they curl themselves up in a corner where they think I can't see them and exchange goodbye kisses, though neither ever truly leaves the other.
When Timmy comes home, he's always a little bit flushed, and always in the company of his darkness. I find it hard to believe that I'm the only one who has noticed that they hold hands when they walk together.
When they stay at home, they sit together and pour over gaming magazines, videos and tease each other, and bump up against each other whenever the opportunity presents itself. And as of late, my Timmy has taken to sitting on his other's lap instead of on furniture.
When Timmy does his homework, he works intently at his desk while Nega dozes on his bed, occasionally offering an insight, occasionally muttering disparaging things about the degradation of modern society. This, more often than not, leads to pillow fights that chase all the way around the house, up and down the stairs.
When the work is done, they watch tv, talk, read, or go out with their friends. If they stay at home, Timmy inevitably winds up wrapped in his other's arms, occasionally nuzzling against him and exchanging a soft kiss or three when they think I'm not looking.
And when they do go out, it's only through coaxing and pleading that Nega shows his face to the world.
Timmy's friends always seem a little bit wary around Nega, and frankly I can't blame them. I am a little bit uneasy around him, even though I haven't ever really seen what he can do. But I have seen him doing things he should not with the one person in the world someone like him should not be anywhere around, and it almost makes me sick.
Timmy's still a young boy. He should be shy, sweet, and dating equally shy and sweet young girls. He should go to dances and parties and do things with kids his age. But instead all he can see is a colder, older version of himself, and that's all he wants to see.
I can admit that the boy is beautiful enough to draw plenty of attention. Even Timmy has often been accosted by girls offering phone numbers. Physical attraction to a near-mirror image of yourself, however, borders on narcissistic.
The mirror is imperfect, of course. Timmy, bless his heart, got all the unfortunate short genes from his mother side of the family. Nega doesn't fare much better, but he towers a clean foot over Timmy. The shape of the face is different, and Nega still retains the hint of a desert-gifted tan, but the true difference lies in the eyes.
Timmy has eyes like the sea, varying shades of sapphire and azule, wide and innocent and quietly beautiful. His other does not. If Timmy's eyes are the softness of the sea, Nega's are the things that lurk in the storms. His eyes flash crimson, ranging from suspicious scarlet to a blood-red fury. The only time they soften is when they rest on my godson. In those moments subtle hints of violet shine through, easing the harshness of unforgiving ruby into something dark and hungry and softly frightening.
Timmy doesn't see it that way. He thinks his other's eyes are beautiful. And why not? He thinks everything about his darkness is beautiful.
Who knows, he may be right.
But I don't think so.
And it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all. He loves his darkness like nothing I've ever seen before - breathtakingly beautifully, but shaded with jealous possession and tinged with something like obsession. He's so caught up in himself that he doesn't have time for anyone else.
I hate it.
I would hate him - but I cannot. Not when Timmy loves him. Not when he loves Timmy.
I would have thought it a mere fancy, that this relationship was yet another toy for the dark to amuse himself with, but for the way he glows. Timmy shines like the summer moon, ethereal and gorgeous. Nega flashes like the scorching desert sun. To see them together is almost painfully exquisite. Burning shadow and dancing light - two halves of a whole.
That blessed radiance will never fall on another.
It seems selfish - such beauty and harmony savored only by those who create it. It seems chilling - they're so locked into each other they can't see anything else.
I remember the days when I was the center of his world, and I can admit that I am a little bit jealous. But then, I don't think I could handle the constant attention that those two lavish on each other.
They don't know how to be separate.
In fact, I think it's Timmy's worst nightmare.
I know he's woken up screaming from that same nightmare - he startled me out of a sound sleep, the sound was so high and inhuman. I leaped out of bed as best as I could, poofed into his room, - and found my godson sobbing brokenly in the arms of his darkness.
Timmy never even noticed I was there. Nega Timmy... he spared me an instant's glance, his eyes flashing strangely in the darkness, before turning his attention back to his distressed light.
I think my heart broke that night.
Unwanted.
Unneeded.
Who needs a fairy god father when you've found the other half of your soul?
Who needs friends when you've found the one who will never leave you?
Who needs the light when you've found your darkness?
Who needs love when you've fallen into it?
But when I see my godchild's eyes burning with that great, terrible need, it's the worst thing in the world when I realize that only one being can sate it.
I can't be happy for him.
I won't.
But they're my grandchildren.
I should love him, my Timmy and his other self... I should.
And I feel like a failure when I realize that I can't.