"Get off me, then," Assad gritted out, his teeth clenched tight.
The Original looked down at him, a grin spreading across his face instead of fading. There was no hint of anger or irritation, just pure amusement, as if Assad had just cracked a joke that was genuinely funny.
"Yeah, I don't think so. I'm not taking orders from a fake like you," he replied slowly, leaning back as if he were getting comfortable.
Assad tried to move again, but his muscles protested fiercely as he pushed against the invisible force holding him down. His arms shook, his legs strained, nothing worked. It felt like his body had forgotten how to listen to him.
'Nothing's holding me. So why can't I stand? How is he even doing this?'
"You're really overthinking it. Whether I'm sitting on you or just being myself, whatever helps you sleep at night, but honestly, I don't care," he said with a lazy drawl.
"Then get off me," Assad shot back, then hesitated.
An idea flickered to life.
"Wait, let's make a deal," he added quickly.
The Original raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued now. "A deal, huh?" He tilted his head. "What kind?"
Assad paused, caught off guard by the unexpected response.
"What do you mean, what kind?" he asked, confusion creeping in.
Instead of answering, the Original lifted his hand, shaping his fingers into a gun and pointing it at Assad's forehead, then winked.
Bang.
The sound reverberated in Assad's mind, even though no shot was fired.
"That part's not your concern. Now, what are you bringing to the table?" the Original said casually.
Assad swallowed hard, his heart racing so fast it hurt. For a moment, he almost laughed at himself. He thought he was the one in control of this conversation.
But he wasn't. Still, backing down now would mean losing everything.
"Alright, here's my offer," Assad said, steadying himself.
The Original's grin sharpened. "I'm all ears."
Assad forced himself to breathe steadily. "I get to ask you one question. Just one."
The Original's eyes narrowed slightly, but he stayed silent.
"In return, you get to manifest. You can take control whenever you want, but only when my guard is down. But you can't hurt other people." Assad quickly added.
The words lingered in the air as the Original stared at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter.
"Wow, you're serious," he said, pretending to wipe away an imaginary tear.
Assad stayed silent.
The laughter faded, replaced by a chill in the atmosphere.
"Let me get this straight: you want to hand over control of your body to me based on rules you think I'll actually follow?" the Original asked.
"Yes, because you're not stupid," Assad replied.
That earned him a moment of silence.
"Go on," the Original urged.
"If you really wanted everything to burn, you wouldn't be sitting here chatting. You'd have already done it. So, you're either waiting… or you're just bored," Assad continued.
The Original's smile returned, slow and menacing.
"Careful. You're starting to sound a bit too confident," he warned.
"I'm desperate. There's a big difference," Assad shot back.
For a brief moment, the pressure on his chest intensified, squeezing the air from his lungs. Spots danced in his vision.
The Original leaned in closer, their foreheads almost touching.
"And what makes you think," he whispered, "that I won't just twist your rules?"
Assad held his gaze, fear burning fiercely in his eyes.
"Because if you do, this deal ends, and you're stuck with me slow, boring, and in control," he said, his voice trembling yet steady.
The Original fixed his gaze on him, then burst into laughter again.
"…Damn, you really are something else," he muttered.
He got to his feet, and just like that, the tension lifted. Assad gasped, rolling onto his side and coughing as his body finally started to cooperate again. The Original took a step back, hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"One question, one manifestation. Your word, not mine," he said.
Assad, finally managing to stand after catching his breath from being pinned down, nodded in response.