I was going through a bunch of old archives and managed to dig up some oneshots I wrote way back in the beginning of the 21st century. Seriously, I forgot half these things existed, it's been so long!

This was an experimental piece I did in a tense and POV I don't often write in. Hopefully it makes some sort of sense.

Reposted with some light editing to make it more palatable.

On Being Real
Yui's Introspection

I had hated her then. She had so much and I had so little and I didn't understand why it had to be that way. My best friend and my worst enemy… I don't think things can ever be the same between us again, as much as we pretend that they are. We smile and laugh and tease each other just like we used to do before … all that happened, but … is it really the same? Every time I look at her, I can't help wondering if she's really forgiven me for everything I did or whether it's all just an act. Maybe, deep down, she hates me the same way I hated her, only she's supposed to be the pure one, the forgiving one, so she buries it where nobody can see it. Not even him.

"Why do you think she hasn't forgiven you?"

His kind, gentle voice comes softly encouraging rather than condescending and it sends a warm shiver up my back. He regards me with patience, his eyes urging me to continue. I've always loved his eyes, ever since I first looked into them. Such a pretty, unusual color, just like his hair. And those long lashes which give them such feminine appeal, paired with those full lips … it's no wonder he leaves people of both genders swooning behind him wherever he goes.

He knows the betrayal of my best friend is a heavy burden on my shoulders. One that I've chosen to bear alone these past years. It's something he's never seemed to approve of, although I don't understand why. I find it ironic, really, because after all, I'd betrayed him, too. Him, and every other one of his comrades. Forgiveness is something I just don't deserve. Maybe that's why I've never been able to forgive myself.

I don't even realize I've answered his question until I see the frown tug at his full lips, his brow furrowed. I offer a small smile and shake my head, wanting that scowl to disappear. It doesn't suit him. How can you understand, anyway, I ask him. We haven't even known each other that long, not like you know Miaka. Us being thrown together like this … it's just a fluke of destiny.

He tilts his head at me as the frown melts into a smile and tells me in that cheerful, determined tone that makes me doubt myself and everything I believe, "There are no such things as flukes when it comes to Destiny."

I huff a small laugh, understanding what he's not telling me. That I, of all people, should already know this.

The words don't comfort, though. Because if it isn't a fluke, I retort with a scowl of my own, then Destiny obviously has it in for me. What I ever did to Destiny to deserve such enmity is beyond me, but—

His laughter rings out, cutting off my words as a warm arm drapes around my shoulders in a friendly embrace. "Maybe Destiny was simply trying to teach you a lesson about life," he suggests. "You have to admit that you've learned a great deal about yourself. You've grown up a lot sooner than other kids your age…"

I bristle, like always, when he calls me a kid. Just because I'm three years younger than him…

Before I can chew him out about it, however, he's suddenly serious again. How does he do that? How can he change faces so quickly, I wonder as I find myself trapped in his gaze. To my utter annoyance, my heart rate begins to increase, like it always does when we're in such close proximity.

Okay, so maybe I'm one of those people he always leaves swooning in his wake, but I sure don't have to admit it.

"You know that what happened wasn't really your fault," he tells me. And now his tone has gone from gentle and comforting to bossy and you-know-I'm-right-so-just-admit-it that always aims to rile me. He seems to like riling me, usually when he thinks I'm sinking too far into self-pity. "You got dragged into that mess as unwillingly as Miaka and—Okay, I can admit that you did make some pretty messed-up decisions. But, you were a victim, too—"

I clap a hand over his mouth, cutting off his words. Don't say that, I growl. Don't tell me I'm just a victim, because I'm not. Not really. Maybe I was at first, but I let myself be manipulated by Nakago. I chose to believe his lies. I chose to turn on my best friend. I chose to become Seiryu no Miko and I knew it would make us sworn enemies.

I can feel myself shaking; I can never control it when I think about the past. I hate being so weak, especially in front of other people, but I can't stop the chills that crawl through my body, even with the reassuring warmth of his arm around my shoulders. The moment I betrayed my best friend, I whisper as I blink against the burn behind my eyes, the moment I stepped over that line and let Nakago hold me back … that's the moment I turned myself into the villain. So don't tell me I'm just a victim.

He doesn't say anything but now his other arm joins the first around my shoulders and he pulls me to rest against him, pushes my head to his shoulder and runs long, slender fingers through my hair. To my utter trepidation, I can feel the tension slowly drain away. It's embarrassing to be coddled like this but I'm well-aware that escape isn't an option; even in this life his strength is ridiculous and I'm not going anywhere until he lets me.

I guess it's a good thing that I really don't want to go anywhere. Being held in his arms, even platonically, has become one of life's little treasures.

It's funny, I say with bitter irony and he shivers as my breath ghosts over his neck. He had offered me salvation when we were in that shrine. Nakago had just tried to kill his lover in a most horrible way and I'd just stood there and let him, but he still held out his hand to me when he could have just left me there. I pull a face, squirm a bit against the tight hold.

Okay, true, he didn't know what was actually going on—I was still playing the victim at that point—but when he offered his hand, I wanted to take it so badly. It was the first doubt I had that maybe I'd made a mistake and maybe I could still be saved… but I still made the wrong decision. I let Nakago hold me back. I took his offer of salvation instead, even though I had to sell my soul to accept it.

He tightens his arms around me, squeezes carefully to comfort, always mindful of his strength. But I squirm in his grasp until he allows me to ease back from his arms. I try not to notice the slight hurt on his face at my rejection. Doesn't he understand that I don't deserve his comfort?

I was jealous, I continue grimly. Plain and simple. It was pure, childish jealousy that drove me to commit the acts I did because, you see … her Seishi loved her. All of you loved her enough to die for her and half of you were in love with her. He was always my excuse, the scapegoat I used to validate my reasons for my actions. But he wasn't the real reason. My silly crush wasn't why I turned on her. It was really because I thought he was—I thought you all were—taking her away from me. And she was letting it happen.

I laugh, somewhat bitterly.

It didn't help that I'd overheard her talking to him, telling him that he was the reason she'd come back to that world, because she loved him. She was never even thinking of me and it made Nakago right. As much as I'd wanted him to be wrong, all those months when I waited for Miaka to remember and come back for me … it made him right. I was losing my best friend. She had the love of her Seishi and he was more important to her than her very best friend.

My fists are tightening with renewed bitterness and I force myself to relax. It's all in the past, but thinking of that moment still feels like a punch in the gut every time. And it makes me wonder … have I ever really forgiven her?

He makes a sound in the back of his throat and his beautiful face is filled with compassion as he finally understands what had driven me to choose that wrong path.

I swallow back my pain and pretend not to see the telltale glitter in his eyes. Even above all that, I whisper, I always wondered why my Seishi never loved me the way you seemed to love her. Not one of them treated me the way Miaka was treated. Yes, they showed me the proper respect a miko deserved but they never showed me friendship. I was no more important than the Shinzahou to them. A means to an end. They needed me, I was vital to their goals, but who can really love an object?

I consider for a moment before shaking my head. Well, that isn't entirely true, I guess. Suboshi loved me. Or at least he claimed to. But it wasn't enough. He represented—they all did, in one way or another—everything I hated about myself. They were like … the physical embodiments of my dark side. What he did—Yes, I know about the brutal act he committed against his family now. Miaka told me all about it, when it was over. I begged her to tell me everything my Seishi had done to her, even though she didn't want to. But now I know what Suboshi was like on the inside. How broken he was. Nakago manipulated his brokenness just like he did mine. Maybe that's why Suboshi loved me. We understood each other. But I … I never loved him. By that point I don't think I was capable of loving anything. Hate is a much more simple emotion and sometimes I think it comes even more naturally than love. Hate against other people makes no sense anyway and nobody ever stops to think about why they hate. It's easier to deal with than love is. Hate doesn't let people think about the hurt they're causing others.

I draw in a deep, steadying breath, collecting my scattered thoughts. But although I hated Miaka and Suzaku and all of their Seishi … I still desperately wanted to be loved by someone.

I wanted to be loved by my Seishi the way Miaka was loved by hers. I wanted them to love me despite all my faults, or maybe because of them, but they were all there for Nakago, not me. It was Nakago who gathered them. It was Nakago to whom they were loyal. It was Nakago's whims and orders that they carried out, no matter how brutal. I wonder if any of them were human? To be so utterly cruel and not care, all for the sake of a single man's wishes… How could anybody be like that and not hate themselves for it?

But—No, I'm the last person in the world who has any right to judge them. I was just like them, after all. I wanted to be loved by my Seishi and they wanted to be loved by Nakago. I wanted to be loved by him, too, even though I don't think he was capable of feeling love any more than I was. We really were a match, weren't we? No wonder Seiryu chose me to be his miko. I doubt he could have found anyone more vindictive if he tried.

"You really hate yourself, don't you?" he questions softly, his hand stroking my face gently. I allow the touch, desperately for his warmth as I close my eyes and lean into the caress of his fingers against my hot cheek.

Somebody has to do it, I retort before dropping the false cheer to let the depression creep back in. I didn't hate myself then. I wouldn't let myself. I forced my hate onto her, instead, and I wanted more than anything to make her hate me back. I thought it would make my hate more … I dunno … more justifiable or something. But she never gave in and that made me hate all the more. It was becoming too much to bear because I knew I was wrong, but I couldn't admit it. I couldn't stop it.

So … I finally made myself believe the worst thing of all.

I made myself believe that none of it—that nothing in that entire universe—was real.

There is silence; I can tell I've confused him and I smile darkly. Do you understand? To me, it wasn't real. You were all nothing but characters in a storybook. You had no real lives. You couldn't feel real pain. It didn't matter that people were dying or suffering or being tortured, because they couldn't feel anything. They were all unimportant. False. Artificial.

I swallow, hard, and look him in the face through hot, blurred eyes. Do you hate me, I question, for believing that? For thinking that you were nothing more than splotches of ink on faded paper? That your world and your lives were simply a concept of someone's imagination and that as soon as the book was closed you'd cease to exist? Do you hate the fact that your … deaths … were completely irrelevant to me, nothing but part of some horrible play I was forced to act out?

I knew Nakago was allowing horrible things to happen to you. Even though I had no direct part in it, I'm still just as guilty. He never told me what he was doing but I knew it wasn't anything good. I knew people were suffering, were dying, and I knew that included Miaka, but it didn't matter because it wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

I pause, head lowering as I contemplate, hugging myself to ward off the chills that had returned to my body. None of that made my own pain any easier to bear, I finally admit, because then all I could think was that Miaka was being loved by people who weren't even really there … and my Seishi still didn't love me.

He steps closer and his other hand comes up and threads through my hair. His breath ghosts across my face as he presses soft lips to my temple in a sweet gesture of comfort. How ironic, to be offered such comfort from him of all people when my own allies were never capable of doing such.

Just before I summoned Seiryu, I'd asked Nakago if he loved me, I admit, my voice almost too choked to get the words out. He told me that he did and it made me sick because I knew it was a lie. He only told me because he thought I was gullible enough to believe him. And when he kissed me it made me even sicker because I knew I was being kissed by a murderer but I was so starved for affection that I'd have taken anything. Nakago had always taken such good care of me, just like the prized possession I was. Maybe I even felt like I owed him a little. Maybe that's why I gave him one of my wishes.

It's kind of ironic. The miko is supposed to be the one in charge, right? The Seishi are technically her servants, her protectors, so why was Nakago the one calling all the shots? Why did I always let him?

His hands leave my face and gentle arms, too slender for the hidden strength contained within, once again envelop me in reassuring warmth, holding me as if I'm a piece of china. Nakago used to hold me like this when I needed reassuring, but I have never felt as safe in his arms as I feel right now, in the embrace of a former enemy that has somehow become one of my very best friends. I relax and sigh, rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes against more tears as I feel him nuzzle his chin into my hair.

"When did it all become real to you?"

I jump a bit, the question catching me off-guard, and turn my startled gaze to meet his. Real…?

"Somewhere along the line, this all obviously became very real to you. The world in the book was real. Everything that happened was real. We were all real. You must have believed that or else why spend so much time hating yourself for it? And how else could it be that you were willing to sacrifice your life—your very soul—in the end to save your world?" he asks softly.

I think it over, wondering if I even have an answer to such a question. When did it become real? Had it ever been real? Sometimes, it feels so much like a dream…

And I want it to be a dream, so badly. I want to pretend that none of it ever happened. But the faded scars slashing across my wrists refuse to allow me to believe that anymore. If the book world hadn't been real then the scars surely wouldn't have remained when I finally escaped it, would they?

I think, I tell him slowly, it was the moment that I completed my duty, the very moment when I finally had my triumph over Miaka that I realized I wasn't just playing a game. It's very hard to believe something like that when one is being coupled with and consumed by a dragon, after all. There is no way to describe the sensation of a powerful deity invading one's body, one's very soul. I tried—oh how I tried—to keep hold of that delusion even as I sealed the phoenix and sent myself and Miaka back to our world to escape the madness I'd caused. But that was useless, of course.

I look at my wrists and shudder in remembrance of the shock and panic I'd felt when I realized that my scars had been covered with a layer of glittering, iridescent scales. That was when I finally realized that Miaka had been absolutely right. Far too late, of course. My body was already lost, my soul damned. What else could I do but complete the hellish path I'd started? But at least, if I had to die, I could die doing something right for once.

Allowing Miaka to call Suzaku was the only way I had left to apologize, even though I knew Seiryu would devour me. Miaka told me that if I was strong enough he wouldn't be able to consume me. Poor Miaka, always the optimist. She knew it was too late as much as I did but it never kept her from hoping. I had been ready to die, though. I didn't deserve to live. I still don't think I deserve to live after everything I've done, but Miaka—stubborn, foolish girl—she never did know when to let go. After everything I'd tried to do to destroy her, she was the one who ultimately saved me.

I love her for that but I hate her for it, too. Maybe letting me live with the heavy guilt of my sins is her way of making me pay for them. I cannot imagine a worse form of punishment. Miaka is far more malicious than she realizes. And … I still wonder if she's ever really forgiven me…

"Of course she has," he scolds gently, kissing my cheek, "because no matter what you say, it's still not your fault. You're insane, trying to shoulder the entire blame by yourself. What's that scientific law again? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Nakago had that law memorized; he knew exactly what actions to choose to cause all those reactions. It's what made him a master manipulator. We've all forgiven you for the past and we've let it go, because it's the present and future that are more important, now. It's just you who can't forgive yourself. Once you finally learn to do that, you'll realize that you have nothing to be ashamed of anymore."

He squeezes me tighter, one last time, and I feel soft lips ghost across the corner of my mouth—causing my face to turn scarlet, I'm sure—before he abruptly releases me and jumps to his feet, stretches his lithe body as he pushes a lock of thick, soft hair over his shoulder. "Well, all this angsting has made me hungry," he announces in one of his quick-as-lightning mood swings. I blink at him—even though I should be used to it by now—and he winks down at me. "To celebrate all this emotional unloading, I think a pizza and a few good chick flicks are just what the doctor ordered, right? You choose the movies and I'll get the pizza. Anchovies sound good to you?"

My expression makes him laugh, a girlish giggle. "Right. Forget the anchovies. Extra mushrooms instead." He flashes another wink and turns his attention to the phone. What with both of us being complete junk food junkies, Pizza Hut is number one on the speed dial.

Smiling fondly, I plop down in front of the video cabinet and start going through the vast collection of DVDs—most of which are romantic comedies and all of which belong to him—and my tense shoulders begin to relax. Times like this are special to me. Being with someone who cares for me beyond all doubt, despite knowing all my faults, is a unique experience. Of course Miaka is that way, but … it's different with him. As much as I love Miaka, she doesn't send a warm thrill all the way to my toes whenever she smiles at me in a certain way, like he does.

She and I still have our heart-to-heart talks, although now they happen less often since we're so far away from each other. And of course she's married, now. So most of the conversations focus more on her husband and her life and the baby that's on the way. She doesn't really understand much about college life or having a career. Being a wife and a future mother is her career and sometimes I can't help the small amount of jealousy I still feel. She's found her purpose in life and I'll never be front-and-center of it despite all of our former childhood plans, but I don't begrudge her happiness anymore. Heaven knows after everything she went through to find it, she deserves everything she fought so hard for.

I just wish that I could experience the kind of peace she seems to have found.

"You want extra cheese on your pizza?" His voice reaches me from the kitchen and I look up to see him smiling fondly. "Come on," he wheedles, "you can never have too much cheese…"

I just roll my eyes which he apparently takes as consent and he grins and disappears into the kitchen again.

How can someone so … careless about life make so much sense, I wonder. He acts like he doesn't have a single worry in the world, so how can he possibly understand things about me that I don't even understand about myself? He doesn't take things seriously enough, most times, but whenever the situation calls for it, I believe that he must rival Socrates in wisdom. Maybe being a reincarnated Seishi gives him a little more insight on life than most normal people?

When he talks to me seriously, it makes me doubt everything I've always thought about myself. He makes me feel like I'm actually worth something, a feeling that I don't think I've ever had in my life. And it makes me love him in return. I don't know if he loves me … that way … but it doesn't even matter.

For the first time, I think I really understand how Miaka felt, when she first started to love him. That feeling of anticipation and hope and doubt all roiling around in my stomach like a flock of butterflies, wondering if there's a chance—just a single chance—that he might return my feelings…

When he looks at me sometimes, it's like I'm the only person in the world that he sees. Even though there are rumors… Even though I suspect his preferences might be different than other guys, that soft light in his eyes, the smile on his lips that's reserved only for me, make me wonder if I might stand a chance someday. After all, he did love Miaka once upon a time. I suspect that part of him still does, and it's enough to make me hope that my love might somehow be accepted, if not returned, in the future.

It's funny. I don't even remember when I was able to start loving again, but I have the feeling it began when I first opened that door and met the eyes of my new housemate. Even before we actually remembered each other, I think we both somehow … knew.

I think I understand how it works now. The secret of living that always eluded me, the one Miaka always seemed to have in her grasp… No matter what life throws at you, you have to accept it all. Take all the bad along with the good. Focus hard on the good and just deal with the bad. Maybe if I focus on the good hard enough, with his help, I'll be able to finally forgive myself for focusing on the bad for so long.

He comes back and plops himself down beside me against the couch, throws an arm around me and pulls me to his side and I welcome the contact as I rest my head on his shoulder again.

This love thing… I've been searching for it for so long and it always eluded me because I never understood how real love is supposed to work. But now I do.

It's not about being loved by a person and having them devote themselves only to you. It's about loving a person and devoting yourself to them. Selfishness has no place. Selflessness is what real love is all about. Sometimes things end up in a fairytale romance like Miaka was lucky enough to find. And sometimes the prince turns into a frog and all you can do is move on and learn from the experience. But, as a very wise former Seishi has come to make me see, this is what makes our lives worth living.

This is what makes us real.