A/N: I was so dazed and sleepy that I kinda lost scope halfway through, but I'll post this, regardless. :P
On Waking
by Shimegami-chan
At times she awakens from fitful dreams, nightmares of a future that never was, pleasant memories of a secret past. She thinks it strange that she can wake up crying without ever remembering the reasons why, but she's on autopilot, living out the life that she never thought she'd have.
She's grown two inches, now, and styles her hair without ribbon or ornamentation, in half-pigtails, unintentionally symbolic. At the top, soft waves - at the bottom, tight curls. She dresses proudly each day in her new junior high uniform, inspecting herself carefully in the mirror. She has never been vain, but occasionally she needs a reminder that she's here, that she's alive.
She sings. She sings softly and loudly, on the walk home, in her bedroom, in the garden, in the girls' choir. She sings as though every song will be her last, like a box from which a gasp of air has been suddenly allowed to escape, desperately, before the jewelled lid can slam shut on her cry. She knows that her voice is no longer in danger, but still she reminds herself each day of the things she mustn't take for granted. She'd hate to appear ungrateful, especially in front of him. She is grateful, and she knows Takuto would never accuse her of such a thing. He picks her up from school sometimes and takes her to familiar places, where they can speak and sing freely, and he shows her what he's writing, where he's going with his life.
She's envious.
Oh, she knows she has the potential to do it all again, and do it right this time, without any magic but her own. She writes her own songs, an adult's feelings scrawled in a thirteen-year-old's hand, and piles them in a drawer until they're so dense it refuses to shut. Not until you're sixteen, Grandmother had warned her, and Takuto agreed, but for a different reason.
"Give them time to forget about Full Moon," he'd said, trying to be stern, but she could see in his eyes how hard it was to say it. "No one can ever know what we did, Mitsuki, you know that."
She's patient, she's smart. He's right and she knows it. But that doesn't stop that tiny inkling of longing, the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach when someone unthinkingly says the idol's name. It isn't that she wishes for popularity or fame...in fact, Mitsuki herself can't find the words to explain why she misses Full Moon. The ability to reach out to so many people, she thinks. The way Full Moon symbolizes a bond between herself and Takuto and Meroko, whom she misses dearly. The way Full Moon could be seen with Takuto Kira, who's once again rising to stardom, perhaps to the tune of scandal - but less of a scandal than if he were to be discovered in a romantic relationship with a junior high student. Mitsuki wants to think, it isn't fair, but she knows that too is untrue. She should be grateful just to have him, and she is.
It doesn't stop her, though, mostly on waking from these terrible dreams, from crawling to the mirror and leaning close, her hands against the glass. Her hair is growing longer, she thinks, and in another few months, it might be just about the same length as the sixteen-year-old Kouyama Mitsuki that shinigami had envisioned a lifetime ago. She thinks that maybe if she keeps growing taller, she could match that height without heeled boots. She traces the tip of her ring finger over her lips, as though she were applying lip gloss, and imagines the shine of it in the dim light. A little more, she thinks, a little more, and someone might start to notice the similarity. A few months.
What will she say?
It doesn't matter. She can't go back to that life now, no matter what. There'll be a new name - her own name - and a new look and a new style. A new feeling to her songs, maybe - wouldn't they notice the similarities in her voice? More lies, she thinks, but she's used to lies; she still lives them every day.
On a night just like this one, she might wake suddenly, caught in a transition from dream to nightmare. Mitsuki doesn't like thinking about what might have been or even what was, but she can't stop herself, and she puts one hand out, searching for Meroko's tiny form beneath the blankets, finding empty air every time. Gone and never coming back. She knows that Meroko's fate was a peaceful one, but that's little comfort in the night time, when even the people in the same house seem to be millions of miles away. It's a short trip to the mirror from there, and Mitsuki stares into it, wondering how things might have turned out differently. Yes - she's grateful. Who wouldn't be? It doesn't stop the loneliness, though, or the ache of loss. Sadness and happiness all at once.
How terrible I am, she sometimes thinks, to be sitting here wishing I was someone else. What I wouldn't give for a dash of shinigami magic now.
She twists her hair around her hands, and imagines it blonde, imagines her face sharper and more defined, her eyes framed by long lashes. If she sits just so, where the moonlight brightens her reflection, it's more appealing to fall into her imagination than into those dreams again. She may not have the looks or the contacts or the fame, she thinks, but she has her voice, and she has him. If she looks hard enough into the mirror, she can still find traces of the full moon.