what's in a name?
To say waking up on Sunday had been like every other Sunday would be a reach. It had been more like waking from a weekend bender during a short term leave back when he was in his early twenties. That was to say his head was killing him and he felt like he was seeing triple. Normal people saw double, but right now he was seeing triple and that had him only slightly confused. Because really, the way his head was pounding and the double vision just made him question how much he drank the night before. Except he hadn't had anything, not even his usual Saturday beer. Well that's not normal. Maybe he was dying, this was it. This was how it ended, waking up on a Sunday morning, will a massive headache and nothing to show for it. Okay, maybe he was being dramatic, not something that was normally how he rolled but he could be today.
Well, Monday wasn't much better. So instead of spending the day mostly in bed like he had Sunday, he called out of work and forced himself to get up and get moving. He needed to figure out what was slowly killing him. Kyro looked at him like he was being an idiot when he voiced the thought outloud, which meant he was because only a dog could look at you like that. It felt like walking through a web, like the sticky feeling of cobwebs on his skin as he tried to focus. He wanted to shake it off, to brush it away, but when he touched his arms with his finger tips they weren't there. It wasn't real, a memory of a feeling. It was like coming up for air for the first time after plunging into a pool from a high dive, that first breath that made your body remember it wasn't going to suffocate. Like opening the curtians after being in the dark for so long. Being able to see when nothing but darkness had clouded your vision.
He got out of a shower, hoping to clear his head and wash away the feeling of everything that felt like it was coating him. He wiped away the fog on the mirror, looking at himself. A tanned hand touched a tanned face, blue eyes focusing in the mirror. A head tilt first left then right, fingers touching hair, fingers touching lips. Everything was real, the body, the movements. It was different, harder to orient when it wasn't a plan. He saw himself, part of him knew it was him and the other part felt like it was alien. The thought alone sent humor through his mind which made no real sense. He pressed his palms into the counter top, looking over the face that looked back.
"This isn't my earth," he spoke, the voice wasn't the voice he normally had. He could feel it wasn't his earth. This wasn't the world he was from. That thought alone was a strange one to have. Of course this was his earth, what other earth was there to be? But the thought remained, this wasn't his home. He wasn't from here. How was he not from here? He was born here.
He turned in the mirror, the light from the window bouncing off his body. He took it all in, everything that was similar and different. He knew this wasn't his form, he was barrowing it. He had no desire to do anything to harm the host. He could feel the relief the man he was sharing felt at that. "I'm Clark, who are you?" he asked the relfection of the man in the mirror. It was strange, he could feel the strangeness of it. Granted it wasn't the strangest thing he'd ever been apart of. But it might be for the man he was looking at.
"Kent," the voice from the same mouth answered. Which again was a bit puzzling. "I'm sorry," was the response from the new inhabitant. Because he was sorry, sorrier than he could explain. This was not something that should be, and yet it was. But as he stood there, accessing the memories of the body he was in, he realized a lot of this was going around them. People knew of superheros, people knew that the world he was from was real. "Who is here?" he asked his host, but the man didn't seem to know who all was here, or who everyone was. People who were out, people who weren't. He kept to his life, his job, and didn't pay a lot of mind to the rest. Now he needed to. Because now, he was apart of it.