Who: Harry Lockhart, Spike What: Harry can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore. Good thing Spike isn't easily breakable. Where: Spike’s apartment at Greaves complex When: Tuesday night, February 4, 2014 Warnings: Language, violence and blood, Harry’s lack of sanity Status: Closed, ongoing (cut text lyrics from Walking Disaster by Sum 41)
Harry cursed under his breath; his invisibility was going haywire again. He couldn’t maintain it as well as he used to, anymore. Sitting on Spike’s floor at the end of his couch, he didn’t need to be invisible, but he kept blinking in and out of sight. He didn’t think he needed to be invisible, at any rate. Not if Spike was right, if this was real. It was too hard for Harry to tell the difference. Trying to just gave him a headache.
He used to be so good at this, good at taking a hit and not letting it stop him. Roll with the punches and make do with what you’ve been given. Get shot, keep running. Get beaten and get back up. But this…
His hand disappeared on his knee, then reappeared. Then the whole couch disappeared. His frown deepened and he closed his eyes in concentration. “Stop flickering,” he muttered to himself. When he opened his eyes the couch was back again. One small victory, at least.