What's wrong with me?

Why am I like this?

Will I always be hated?

Mashiro sat idly on a swing, head in her hands. She had just got into an intense fight with one of her best friends, Aoyama, and she had regretted everything. The way that she lost her cool, the way that she hit her, the way that she screamed. Even after they had made up, Mashiro still felt the jealousy brewing inside her friends, and she was scared of what that might lead to.

Will I die in my sleep again?

All because of my art?

She remembered when that almost happened, back during the peak of her fame in England. A former art student of the class she was attending snuck into her house while she was sleeping, and almost slit her throat; stopped short by convenient timing. She remembered the noises, clear as day.

"Breaking news, a prestigious high school art student almost murdered by a former classmate while she was asleep. Zachary Holmes, aged 15, was apprehended in the victims room at around two am by the victim's father, who heard wind coming from her room. The assailant was found with a small box knife, alongside duct tape, rope and large garden shears. We are very fortunate that a tragedy was prevented this night, all due to an open window, and extremely lucky timing."

Mashiro looked at her fingers, grateful that they were still there. She knew exactly why he had those garden shears.

...fuck my talent.

...I hate art.

...I just want to be a normal girl.

Is that too much to ask?

Deep down, she knew she was lying to herself. She could never hate art. She may have had talent, but it was fostered by hard work and determination, even if it didn't feel like hard work. Her painting for ten hours a day was considered fun for her.

No, she hated what came along with it. Being good at it, that is. The jealous stares from everyone around her. The death threats from people who dedicated their whole lives to the practice. The unbearable alienation. That one took the cake. It pained her straight to the core, when she completed a week long painting the size of a door, and she had no one to show it to, apart from fake admirers and businessmen who cared nothing for the art but simply wanted to make profit from it. When there was no one to paint next to.

She remembered once, she stole a classmates painting which was discarded out of anger or jealousy, and signed her name on it. The wobbly 'mashiro' written in yellow which was probably worth millions. And, lo and behold the next day, the painting was sold for millions. Put up on auction and sold to some eccentric billionaire.

She could never forget the agonizing look a classmate gave her.

"Why...," she cried. "Why do you have to be so cruel...?"

She looked up at the sky as if a God were to blame.

"I...just want to be normal.."

"That'll never happen."

Mashiro looked to her right and noticed Rita walking towards her, hands in her coat pockets.

"You will never be normal," she said plainly again, sitting down on the swing next to Mashiro.

"...w-what...?," Mashiro squeaked, wiping tears off her face.

"You'll never be normal, but we'll never be like you," Rita explained, looking at the moon in the distance. "Give yourself a break, it's exactly how we feel everyday."

"Then...how do you...?," Mashiro asked.

"We don't deny it, first of all. I guess we accept it as a fact. But, the way I deal with it. I try and find the meaning of it all, if that makes sense. I mean, why are people jealous of your art? Because it's better than theirs. Because it's 'worth' more. But us artists...us true artists!...we don't care about money or fame or whatever. Do you?"

Mashiro shook her head.

"Exactly. Why do we paint? Why do we create?," she said, both asking herself and Mashiro simultaneously.

"...because it's fun."

"Exactly what I thought," Rita beamed. "So, I strove to be around people like that. People who did things for the sake of doing them. I still don't really understand what that means, to be honest. I'm just going off a feeling here."

"...Aoyama...," Mashiro began quietly. "She's jealous of me. She's jealous of my looks, my fingers, my relationship with Sorata."

Rita nodded.

"...I understand what it's like. To work so hard, day after day, and have some person who didn't even work a day in his life-"

"-because you cared about something else," Rita interrupted.

"Huh?"

"Why would you be mad about someone achieving something if it you didn't care about it?," Rita asked.

"...manga...," Mashiro mumbled. "But...anyway...what am I going to do with Aoyama..."

"She must really love Sorata...," Rita inferred. "I mean, she was willing to put up with you talent, your looks, your attention and your lax attitude, but you taking away her love interest in a second? No no, she couldn't handle that. She cared too much about that."

Mashiro looked at Rita dumbfounded.

"But you know...if its Sorata Aoyama wants...then I reckon she's already pretty much there," she said hesitantly. "You don't think that Sorata thinks that Aoyama is insanely beautiful, talented, hardworking and the lot?"

"...compared to me...," Mashiro muttered, looking down.

"Sorata has expectations, and you two both probably exceeded them a long time ago. There is no comparing at this point."

"Rita...," Mashiro said flatly, but with a hint of sadness. "What do I do?"

The two stared at the moon for a while, going through all the possible scenarios they could reasonable take in their heads.

Rita took a deep breath of the cold, midnight air and exhaled loudly. "Do you love him?," she asked confidently.

Mashiro looked at her art friends determined eyes and smiled.

"Yes I do. I love Sorata Kanda with every fibre of my being. I want to be with him until the end of time itself."

"That...That's a little dramatic...and scary...but okay!," Rita exclaimed, standing up. "Tomorrow, you will go talk about your undying love for Sorata-kun with Aoyama. Understand?"

Mashiro put two fists on her chests and nodded like she was a bobble-head. "Hm! Hm!"

"Oookay then!," Rita laughed, beaming an authentic, genuine smile for her friend. "Now let's head home. I'm freezing."


"Whew...I'm home baby!," Rita giggled as she opened the door to Ryuunosuke's chamber. He hadn't bothered to fix the lock she busted, since she would probably bust it again.

"B-Baby?!," he raised his arms in a defensive pose as Rita placed her scarf and coat on a hook, like she had just come home from a long day at the office. She smiled sweetly with gentle eyes at the flustered otaku. "Well...I guess that's better than the other one..."

"Aww...you don't like sweetheart?~"

Rita leaned in about a finger away from his face, to which Ryuunosuke leapt back so far he almost fell out of his chair.

"P-P-Personal space seductress!," he half-yelled, not wanting to wake Sorata up.

With a grin from ear to ear, Rita swiftly grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie and hungrily pulled him in for a passionate kiss. It lasted for a good three seconds, before Ryuunosuke backed off, not because he disliked it, but because he was running out of oxygen from being around the beautiful foreign woman.

"HSJZDPMBXOOGZZ!," he yelled, muffled with his hands covering his ironically tomato-red face. "R-R-R-Rita...!"

Rita lit up at the mention of her name.

"Hey," she said, poking at her source of endless joy with an index finger.

"What...what is it?"

"...say that again."

"Say what? Rita?," Ryuunosuke asked, eyes half narrowed, like he was about to have a trick played on him.

Rita sparkled in all directions, experiencing a mini-burst of dopamine. She placed her arms on Ryuunosuke's thighs and stared him down, resulting in an even more flustered otaku.

"Again."

"R-R-Rita!"

"Again!"

"Rita!"

"AGAIN!"

"RITAA!"

"RYUUNOSUKE! SHUT IT WILL YA?!," Sorata yelled tiredly through the wall.

"Sorry!," he yelled back. He looked back at the woman in front of him, who was smiling tremendously hard and looking at him with...he couldn't place it. Was it admiration?

...

"I love you," she whispered.

Ryuunosuke gasped.

She quickly wrapped her arms around his body, nuzzling her cheeks on his warmer than usual neck.

"I love you so much. And I want to be with you. Til' the end of time!," she proclaimed quietly, remembering Mashiro's determination when she said something similar.

Truth be told, Rita was quite scared of saying this, and hadn't planned on saying it here or in the way. But she couldn't help herself. Like a true artist, she simply did what she felt to be true. Not what was fake or influenced by money or fame or superiority. Just sheer, darn, stupid love.

She looked Ryuunosuke in the eyes, and noticed his brain was overheating from the sudden information.

"Hehehe!...," she giggled. "...am I too much for you...?"

Ryunnosuke blinked twice, as if he was finished rebooting. He shook his head awake and calculated a response.

"E-Ermm...I...you...are way...too much for me...!," he remarked, barely containing his one in a blue moon smiles. "And yes...I do think that...I have fallen in love with you...Rita."

Now it was Rita's turn to be flustered.


"Sorata."

"Hm?"

"...what do you think of me?"

Mashiro tilted her head slightly so that she could see Sorata's eyes in her peripheral. He was looking up, hands interlocked on his chest, eyes wide awake. Probably thinking of what just happened four hours ago.

"I think...you're a determined, crazy intelligent, trustworthy, playful, ambitious and not to mention gorgeous woman. But I think that...you were a very lonely girl once. I think you like being surrounded by friends and people who support you, no matter what. People who aren't jealous of everything good about you, and people who don't make fun of you when you mess up. I think..."

Mashiro was now fully on her side, holding on to every word that escapes Sorata's lips.

"...you wish to be normal."

There was a lingering silence after that statement, as if he was looking back at the time they spent together.

"That way, you wouldn't be lonely or alienated because of your talents. But I think you have your problems, and we have ours. Who can say if one's harder than the other. And...and I think it would be best if we faced them together. As friends. As..."

"...lovers?," she muttered under her breath.

"Huh?," Sorata asked.

"Huh! N-Nothing!...so that's what you think about me...," Mashiro said with satisfaction.

She blushed and smiled ear to ear.

"I'm glad. I'm very glad."

He said all that about me without hesitating. Like he was just stating the obvious.

"Sorata."

"Hm...?"

"...what I think of you...?," Mashiro said in her normal voice, which was already pretty quiet.

"P-Please don't be too harsh," Sorata said with a frown.

Mashiro shook her head in refusal. "No. You're...you're...I..."

Mashiro was starting to burn with anxiety from something as heartfelt as this.

"Mashiro? You don't have to-"

"N-No...! I have to," she trembled, inhaling softly. "I...I...gggrr...! Why..."

Sorata noticed sounds coming from next door, and banged on the wall.

"RYUUNOSUKE! SHUT IT WILL YA?!," Sorata yelled tiredly through the wall.

"Sorry!," Ryuunosuke yelled back, muffled by the wall.

"Sorry. What was that?"

Mashiro was face down in a pillow, flailing her legs around in embarrassment while making a noise resembling: 'sssscccrrrreeeee!'. Sorata drew a blanket over her, simultaneously tucking himself in for the night too. It way like they permanently shared a bed now.

"It's okay dear-Mashiro..!," he yelped, ignoring the accident. "We have all of tomorrow to chat."

"...dear...?"

...

"Goodnight, Mashiro."

"...night. Sorata."

And with that, the day ended as the two promptly fell asleep. One of them at least. The other was kept awake by fantasies of being called 'dear' again, and again, and again. Til' the end of time.