Title: Masks
Description: As memories of a past life intrude on the present, a Shitennou looks on the face of the girl he's been dating and wonders what other masks she wears.
Universe: Present day AU or General Destiny-verse
It's the first time they've been together in a long time. She's been wondering whether to tell him that she won't wait for him to pull himself out of this strange mood forever, that there are plenty of boys who are dying to go to prom with her, and one of these days, she might say yes to one of them. But he would be able to tell she was bluffing. He always seems to know what she's thinking even though she never does.
But maybe she really should say yes, especially if he's going to dump her first. He hasn't been the same ever since those strangers came to town – the white-haired guy who never smiles and the blond whose mouth is always smiling, but his eyes never do. And don't get her started on the one with the long brown hair. He can go through a girl a week and doesn't keep them any longer than two, and he doesn't care if they cry or beg or swear he'll be sorry. He never is.
He's not like that, her gentle boy with eyes the color of fresh-cut grass. But whenever she comes over, he shakes his head and says "Not now," and before he shuts the door, she can see how pale and thin he's become. He doesn't pick up her calls, and she hears the hollow echo of regret in his silence. She knows he isn't sleeping well from the bags under his eyes, and hears him mumble something about insomnia and bad dreams when one of his friends finally asks him what's up. When she puts her hand on his shoulder in the hallway, he spins around with fear and horror written all over his face before he realizes it's only her. It's as if he's seen a ghost, and she wonders what he's afraid of, and never guesses it could be himself.
It's the end of summer vacation and he's finally come to see her again, and she's shocked to see that he's cut off all his red-gold curls. There isn't enough hair left for a ponytail; there almost isn't enough for her to run her fingers through. Her parents aren't home so she leads him up to her room, thinking how strange it is to see him there after so much time has passed.
They don't talk, but the shadows on the wall mark the passage of time, moving slowly, inexorably, between the shifting rays of light. It's nearly sunset when he jolts awake in a cold sweat, rousing her in the process.
She wonders if he's going to tell her it's over now, and he knows he will. He didn't mean to come into her room, to kiss her soft, sweet lips, to sink into her once-comforting embrace. But he had a faint, foolish hope that when they woke up, the past three months would just be a nightmare, and he would know himself again. But it's not, it's worse than a nightmare because he won't wake up, and he still can't figure out who the boy in the mirror is.
She doesn't know that he's wondering, as his eyes move over the smooth, innocent planes of her face, what other lives she has lived, who else she has loved, and what else she could be that he can't see.