Note from the Author: My prompt was watching a boy I love taking off his make-up.

0

My favorite moments, the ones that make my life truly special, came twice a week – Friday and Saturday, as the clock's ticking brings us close to midnight.

These evenings I wear a medley of black and pink, or red, or green, depending upon the venue, and what Arashi is wearing. He never asks me to change how I dress, and I don't ever change it much. My skirts are still full, and my shoes still click when I walk. My hair shines as vibrantly as ever.

But, I don't want to be the girl that looks out of place, mostly because I don't want the punk rock kids to think badly of Arashi. He is a god of punk, or at least an angel, or a nymph. His life revolves around his guitar, and I will not allow myself to hold him back, to let them judge him because I don't belong. So, I try to belong.

But, I am always relieved when I can loose the multi-colored extensions from my head, letting my own hair cushion me as I kick out of my shoes and wiggle from my clothes, sighing into the relaxation of Arashi's blankets.

These are my favorite moments. My feet kicking through the air, bare and free, and my chin resting in the cup of my hand, I watch Arashi seize to be a punk kid. I am the only one who gets to see his tough pretense drop, to watch him leave that extraordinary worldly man and just be normal.

He steps out of his sneakers, and they rest like precious jewels beside the door, in perfect symmetry. He runs a hand through his clean, wet hair, and it falls in yellow strings around his face as he washes away his eyeliner. Beneath the black make-up, with many of his piercings removed, he looks so young, like a boy I used to know. But, the tired lines around his eyes give him away, and he smiles wearily at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I smile back, as brightly as I can, and roll over for him to crash onto the bed beside me, pulling me close to him, his head resting against my chest. His sigh is soft as it brushes over me, and I know without looking that his is dozing already.

These are the moments that remind me how wonderful he is. All day, he wears this façade of steely reserve, mixed with a carefree laziness that doesn't truly exist in him. During the day, he is a walking montage of chains and stripes and ink and eyeliner. But, now, in the soft life of midnight streetlamps, I see him clearly, in all his tender vulnerability.

They all wonder why bubbly little me clings to bored gloomy him. I know they ask the question behind my back. But, I don't mind. I know exactly what he is. He is Arashi, and that is good enough.