Focus: Dark
Course: Sociology

Disclaimer: I don't own DNAngel.

Metallic black. His favorite color. Because even though black was the darkest of dark colors, there was still light to be found in it. The light may only be on the surface, but it still looked as if it was there; glowing with the dark. And that was enough to attract him. That was why he maintained furniture of the color. The coffee table, the dresser, the chairs, and even the legs of the bed, were all colored that shiny black.

It was in one of those very chairs that he was currently sitting. Or at least, he imagined he was sitting. It couldn't really be said that a spirit could be seen sitting in a chair, but since the corner of his host's mind that he occupied was his and his alone to manipulate, he was free to imagine whatever he wanted. Like for example, he imagined that the area was furnished with metallic black-colored furniture. And he imagined that he would walk across the room to his favorite chair in the morning, just after getting out of bed. Since he lived in a domain comprised totally of the images from one's thoughts, such was acceptable. To him, the chairs and bed and dresser all looked and felt real; they all seemed to fully exist in a physical plane. So he sat in his metallic painted, fake chair, which he pretended was real, and contemplated his current situation.

His host had come to see him earlier, wanting to talk about the two twins that they were acquainted with. It had only been some simple banter, but having his host present in his 'room' with him only made him recall the circumstances for it. While he could see his host, and his host could see him, his host could not see the imaginary furniture or the imaginary setting in which the thief chose to meet in. And just the same, the thief couldn't see what sort of place his host imagined they were in. What the boy imagines when he comes to consult the voice in his head, he will never know, for it isn't his imagination to live in. The thief's pretend room was for his mind and his mind only, making it real only to him.

In all his time - all three hundred years of it - he had thought over the matter of the 'real' world several times. 'Real' in both the sense of a physical existence, and in the sense of the accepted etiquette and practicality of society. Being 'realistic' meant both existing as a real thing, and being practical. Perhaps it was because he couldn't be 'realistic' in one sense, that he forced himself to be realistic in the second. If he couldn't be seen by the world, he would be the one to see the world. And sometimes, it was a sad world to see.

The fact was that in society, things were either always viewed as being surface deep, or they were surface deep. Neither were beneficial to a man who lived on the 'inside'. He was a person (if such a phantom existence could be referenced as such) that didn't have ulterior motivation behind his kindness, or that didn't have a superficial view of society or the people around him. (To more accurately phrase it, he didn't have a superficial view of the people around his host, seeing as he could be nowhere but in the head of a fourteen year old for the majority of the time.) He was of a good sort usually, keeping an open mind for most people; women more than men, and anything more than Hikari's.

But he still had the human mentality, and he sometimes liked things that were only surface deep. Because, if the host was insulted in an off-hand way, that would only be surface deep, right? And if it was only surface deep, the thief would have no reason to be offended. To better phrase it, such superficiality kept him safe from the harm of society's scorn. To only glance at the surface means to accept the appearance as the truth. Looking deeper may reveal secrets, but society never looked deeper into the host boy, just as the thief never looked deeper into his polish. It was simply a polish, after all; meant to hide what's beneath with a pleasing surface appearance.

But all in all, the one thing he really had to be jealous about was the fact that be society such a cruel, shallow entity or not, he still could not be a part of it. He could pretend all he wanted sometimes, but he would still be pretending alone. The rule is, after all, that in society, you're allowed to pretend, as long as you understand that no one else will pretend with you. Every human has their own view of things, and no one's is ever nearly the same. Because being realistic doesn't mean you can't pretend, it just means that you'll never forget that you're just pretending.

And this, sadly, was the very thing that often brought out another vice of his. One that he shared with the rest of humankind, and that he most definitely shared with their society. The want for more than you can have. If you don't have it, you probably want it. If you can't have it, then of course you want it.

It was the very fact that he was denied something, that he longed to have it even more. He was denied the freedom to be himself, something every other human being was permitted. His sentiments were just the same as that of any other human being, he could reason and feel just like anyone else could. And yet, he wasn't like any normal human. Because like any human, he was simply one individual in the society of millions. But unlike any normal human, he was in that society without ever really being any part of it.

Just like no soul could ever fully be a part of his imaginary, metallic painted home, he could never be a part of their reality.

AN:… meh.