With a low, absent hum in his throat, Blake studied his reflection for what had to be the hundredth time that morning.
'Even in my past life… I didn't stare at myself this much.'
It wasn't self-consciousness anymore, not in the same way it had been when he first woke up in this body.
Back then, every glance in the mirror felt like confronting a stranger that was smaller, frailer and easier to break.
Now, it was different, he was observing the changes.
"Growing… isn't really the right word," he muttered, tilting his head slightly.
Eighteen-year-olds weren't supposed to grow or anything, anyway.
Still, the differences were undeniable.
His skin had lost that sickly, pale tone. There was color there now, although subtle.
His eyes no longer carried those heavy, dark crescents beneath them, the kind that made it look like he hadn't slept properly in years.
His limbs… yeah, they seemed longer. Not by much, but enough for him to notice when he moved.
