SYNC\\ Possession

Possession never begins with force

What enters through trust rarely asks for permission.

Chapter XLVII. Possession

We walk out together.
After dinner, everything feels simpler than it is.

We laugh. We talk about something light, something good, almost mundane. About who said what. Who looked how. Who fell silent at the right moment. I catch myself thinking that I haven’t felt this light in a long time. Not attentive. Not gathered. Just — content.

Rustlea walks beside me, a little faster than usual. Sometimes her shoulder brushes mine. Not on purpose. Or on purpose, but without meaning. I say something stupid and she laughs. I like that laugh. It doesn’t call. Doesn’t test. It simply exists.

We climb the stairs. I notice my steps have grown shorter. Not because I’m tired — because I don’t want to hurry. As if walking more slowly might make the evening last.

You were very precise today, she says.

I was just listening, I reply.

That is precision.

We stop on my level. The light here is a little brighter than below. Almost familiar already. I turn towards her.

Thank you for today.

She nods. Not as a response to gratitude — as a statement.

Get some rest.

She turns and walks further down the stairs. I watch her a little longer than necessary. Then I open the door.

It is quiet inside.

I take off the outer layer carefully, as if I might still need it. I lie down without switching anything on. My body feels pleasantly heavy. My thoughts are even, without hooks. I think about the dome. About the sky. About how easy it was not to say too much.

I smile.

I close my eyes.

Almost immediately I hear footsteps.

At first I don’t understand whether they are my thoughts or reality. Then — the sound of a door. Not mine. Then a knock. Uncertain. Once. Then again.

I get up.

She is standing in the corridor. In her hands — something long, wrapped in thick fabric.

Sorry, she says.
I couldn’t not bring it.

What?

She smiles. Slightly different than before. Not softer — warmer. As if something has already been decided.

Look what I found for you.

She unwraps the fabric.

A watch. Large. Heavy. Mechanical. I understand immediately — this is not just an object. It looks like it doesn’t care what time it belongs to. A black dial. White markers. A worn case you don’t want to clean. A long leather loop strap.

IWC, she says.
Pilot’s watch. A museum piece.

I take it in my hands. It is warm. Not from her palms — on its own. I feel the weight. And resistance.

You don’t wear it on the wrist, she continues.
A little higher. Over the sleeve.
That’s how pilots wore them.
So they could see the time without breaking focus.

She looks at me attentively.

It suits you. You have a pilot’s suit.

A pause.

But you need to wind it every day.
At the same time.
Fully.

I laugh. Slightly confused.

That’s too much.

No, she says.
It’s on time.

I put the watch on. It settles unexpectedly precisely. As if it knew where it belonged. I fasten the strap awkwardly, the extra tail sticking upward. I smile to myself at that.

Thank you, I say.

I hug her. Carefully at first. Then closer. I feel her breathing, its rhythm. She doesn’t pull away. I kiss her — not sharply, not to check anything. Simply because I’m grateful. Because it feels good.

The kiss doesn’t end.

It changes. Becomes deeper. Slower. We are no longer standing. The bed turns out to be nearby, as if it had always been where it needed to be.

I feel arousal — clean, strong, undispersed. Too strong. I don’t notice immediately that something inside has shifted. The resonance that usually responds suddenly becomes dull. It doesn’t disappear — it steps aside, as if making room.

I don’t pay attention to it.
She is on top. Her movements are precise, but not mechanical. Sometimes she closes her eyes. Sometimes she opens them too sharply. I think it is pleasure. But in the pauses between movements I feel something else.

A vibration.

Unfamiliar. Not from the body. Not from her. A warmth that doesn’t spread, but accumulates. As if something is gathering inside me that has no exit.

The warmth reaches its limit — and something inside ruptures.

Not with pain.
With absence.

Her eyes roll back. Then return. Then again. At some point she freezes. Completely. Without movement. As if she has been switched off.

Are you alright? I ask.

She doesn’t answer. Or answers later than she should.

And in one moment the vibration shifts sharply. It doesn’t intensify — it changes direction. I feel myself being thrown out. Not upward. Not sideways.

Out of myself.

I realise this a second before I lose consciousness.

I am sitting in a room.
Unfamiliar. Old. In another time.

In front of me is a computer. Large. Ancient. The screen flickers. I don’t understand what is on it, but I know I worked at it. For a long time.

I stand up.

The exit is where it should be. I go out. Under the building there is a motorcycle. Heavy. Real. I get on and ride.

The city ends quickly. The road is even. Then — a field. I leave the motorcycle and continue on foot. The grass is dry, rustling under my steps.

The forest begins abruptly. Inside it is darker than outside. I go deeper and deeper. Then — down. The descent is steeper than it looks.

And then he steps out towards me.

Dreamer.

He is older. Slightly taller. The same gaze.

He says nothing, but looks, indicating that I should follow.

He walks ahead. Doesn’t turn around. I follow. We come out into a clearing.

In the centre — a tree.

Enormous.

He points again with his eyes.

I blink. He disappears. He doesn’t leave. He simply is no longer there.

I look at the tree and feel myself growing smaller. Not in body — in scale. The bark becomes textured like a wall. The pores — like entrances.

At the base — bones. Skulls. Many.

I lift my gaze.

Bodies hang from the branches. Men. Those on the trunk have spears in their chests. There are many of them. Too many. The tree is hung with them like knots.

I look higher. In the crown — more bodies. Old. Ancient. Hanging upside down. Time does not flow here.

And I begin to recognise faces.
Those I have met.
Through the bones.
By the features.

I see one who looks like me. Then others. Other versions. The entire tree is almost completely filled with them. Almost no empty space. An endless number of bodies goes upward as far as my sight reaches.

I feel a kiss.

Warm. Real.

Where did you go? I hear.
I lost you.

I come back.

Abruptly. Too abruptly.

She is looking at me. Her face close. Her breathing uneven. Anxiety in her eyes.

You were… not here, she says.

I stay silent. My heart is beating unevenly. The watch on my sleeve is ticking. Too loudly.

I feel that something has happened. Not between us.

With me.

She touches my face.

You came back, she says.

I nod.

But I am not sure that it is true.