Title: Make-up
Disclaimer: I do not own TRC
Rating: G
Warnings: Present tense, briefness, sadness, Fye-ness
Word Count: 241
Author's note: I must be going through a present tense phase or something because this is the second one in a row…oh, yeah, and an important note: this story is not set in any particular world. It is intentionally indescript because it is supposed to apply to any world. Also, if you don't get the title, you are obviously either male or don't wear make-up. And yes, this story is trite. Your point?
Fye wakes up on his own in the morning. It's a habit he's had since childhood, or perhaps a talent, to be able to wake up on time on his own. Light streams through his window around the curtains, and he pushes back the covers and sits up. Carefully, he slides out of bed and dresses himself. Then silently, he walks over to his bureau mirror.
The room is dimly lit because the curtains are still drawn, but Fye can see his reflection. After a few seconds of fixing his hair, he smiles at himself. He studies his smile, but decides against it. It's too genuine; it seems to mean something. He pauses for a moment, then tries again. He doesn't need to examine this one to know it won't work, though. It looks too sad.
At this point, Fye gets frustrated. Why isn't his smile working? He thinks back to yesterday, when his smile had first failed him. He had been minding his own business and suspected nothing when, out of the blue, Sakura had asked him what was wrong. He had faultered, frozen for a moment, before he struggled to force his smile back and assure her nothing was wrong.
Fye smiles at the mirror once more, and this time the smile is perfect: easy, carefree. Fye sighs in relief and then walks to open the windows. Now the world can see him. Now his façade has no cracks.