Title: Mirror.
By: Kaara.
Rating: PG13.
Genre: Angst.
Disclaimer: I do not own SD. However, Mitchy is forever mine! Nyahahahahaha!
Pairing: MitRu… sort of.
Dedicated to Night Strider, because you simply rock my world, to Hisashi Loves Yelen, because you are an awesome writer, to MicchiKo, for being who you are, to Hagane, who never seems to update her incredible fanfics and to other MitRu writers and fans out there. You know you are great stuff, guys!
I was dead and got resurrected just now. It had been HELL for the last few weeks and I couldn't update anything because first, I had a terrible cold that completely wrecked my entire system. Then I got better, only to have an accident and got myself hospitalised. I'm writing this from the hospital bed, using Neko-chan's laptop. I'll ask her to post this later.
Enough of me and my bad luck, on to the fic!
Mirror
Mitsui hated mirrors.
They reflected nothing but lies to him.
In his reflection, he was smiling widely.
In his reflection, he was perfectly calm.
In his reflection, he was the Hisashi Mitsui.
… Nothing but a pack of bullshitting lies.
His fist landed heavily on the mirror, creating thousands of rough lines that twisted and coiled across the smooth surface from the impact. Thick crimson liquid trailed languidly down from numerous spots where tiny shards of jagged glass had stubbornly imbedded themselves into his flesh, painting the cracked mirror into a portrait of morbid perfection. Mitsui didn't feel the pain anymore, nor did he pay much attention to the growing patch of red on the sleeve of his immaculate white shirt. He was staring into the mirror.
His reflection smiled back at him.
(-)
The ball went sailing through the net; an accurate and clean shot.
Twenty…
Twenty one…
Someone had clapped and said something, but Mitsui was not listening.
He never listened anymore.
Twenty two…
Twenty three… Twenty four…
He was a fake; he knew that. His bones, sinews, blood, skin… they were all fake. His smiles and laughter were fake. His confidence was also a fake. Everything about Hisashi Mitsui was a cleverly constructed fake, right to every last drop of fake sweat. Glancing down at his bandaged fake hand, his fake lips curved into a fake smile.
He bent his fake knee and strained his fake muscles.
Twenty five…His perfect three-pointers was also a fake.
(-)
Basketball made him remember, and forget. It made him remember the past and forget the present. A contradiction that ruled his fake life but he never bothered to understand why. Or how. Understanding was something he had stopped doing a long time ago. It would've taken too much of his fake effort and concern.
If only he could forget the past and remember the present…
But tomorrow, he would always think, today will be the past. And I will remember today.
He never did, though. His past halted to a stop when he won the MVP title.
And he would forget today.
At the end of the day, his reflection always smiled back at him.
(-)
Mitsui dribbled swiftly past a defender, vaguely hearing someone yelling to his left. He glanced up and saw that Akagi was trying to break away from two first year students that were guarding him, that Miyagi was clear at the end of the court and that Sakuragi had somehow slipped past Kogure and was heading towards him. He noticed a lot of things at all at once, the exchanges of wary glances and squeaks of exhausted rubber soles against polished floor. It happened in a matter of seconds but he noticed them all just the same.
His fake ears picked up the soft, almost inaudible sound of breathing in front of him.
He looked straight ahead.
Rukawa.
Envy was something he had felt towards Rukawa, coursing inside his fake veins like an untraceable toxin and poisoning his fake mind to the very brink of lunacy. He had envied everything about the raven-haired first year before him since the first time he laid his fake eyes upon Rukawa; pale skin, cold blue eyes, tousled hair, his annoying silence…
To Mitsui, Rukawa was real.
He envied reality.
Because he was a fake.
(-)
Sometimes, he wondered what it would feel like to be real again. He found himself trapped inside the cycle, living his fake life with as much fake enthusiasm that he could possibly stand. He was a fake hypocrite, a fake narcisstic. Pretence was his endearing sin. He even shed fake tears in front of Anzai-sensei, sobbing his fake regret with such fake emotion that he almost believed that it was real. But he knew it wasn't.
Reality was so much different.
So he reached out his fake fingers and touched Rukawa like he had wanted to.
(-)
Love was an object of trade. Lust was an excuse. He stared at the flushed face beneath him, the open white shirt an unbuttoned, teasing invitation and the unzipped pants lingered over in a shameless array that somehow nauseated him, made him sick. Shaking away the wave of nausea, he bent forward and scattered fervent kisses along the tilted angle of Rukawa's jaw. He nipped sharply at the pale neck, relishing the uncontained moan that he drew forth as his fake tongue sucked on the throbbing pulse.
There was an aesthetic value about all this but it was lost to him, consumed by his own obsession towards unreality.
When it was over, and when they lie side by side inside the darkening room, he would wonder if it was real. If it was real enough to be real. Rukawa never questioned him for what he had done, for what they had done that night. It was an unspoken contract that he had offered and Rukawa had accepted. It was a commodity between them. He didn't feel any different from his old fake self after all and he wondered if he had been wrong. He suddenly felt afraid, and the foreign shadows inside the room that was not his intimidated him. He shifted slightly, only to stare straight into a pair of clear blue eyes, devoid of their patented coldness. Rukawa wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a warm embrace that lasted the whole night. He slept well that night.
(-)
He stood silently in front of the mirror.
His reflection was smiling at him.
But for once, he didn't mind it at all.
The mirror had finally reflected reality.
His reality.
END
Well, that was… uncalled for.
Reviews appreciated.
Kaara