Author: Beta read!
Redneck Gigolo: (reads) (funny look) . . . Eeeww. What's wrong with you?
Author: (sniff) Who the (insert explative here) asked you, anyway? Jerk.
She wanted Kurosaki-kun to be her Morita-san. There are fundamental differences between them, yes—Morita-san is a dark haired artist, whimsical and unstable, while Kurosaki-kun is. . . well . . . Kurosaki-kun—but sometimes she will close her eyes and focus on their similarities. They are both gifted. They are both energetic. They are both so very sure of themselves.
The similarities, unfortunately, stop there. But it's okay, she can make it stretch here, with all this time on her hands, little else to do here but think and regret and mourn who she used to be. But Morita-Kurosaki-kun is with her, pretending not to notice the fact that she has become a little insane.
Ishida-kun is Takemoto-kun by default. But he doesn't have any burning adolescent love for her, not any that she's ever noticed. She chuckles to herself when reminded that when presented with the sight of her bra, he skittered back like a startled puppy, yelping. He's adorable when he's uncomfortable, she thinks.
Rukia cannot be Ayu-chan. Her hair is dark, her demeanor more refined, her desires nonexistent—even when it comes to Kurosaki-kun, whom she may or may not love. But she would not pine for him, even if she did. She would have him because he is so clearly already hers—no, that's not how it should go. That would make Rukia into Rika-san and Kurosaki-kun into Mayama-kun, and he's just not stalkerish enough for that, and Rukia has no deep emotional anguish. But then, who is she? Who can she be? Where does she fit in? Best not to think about that now. It'll come to me later, the prisoner thinks.
Sado-kun. . . defies any definition. The closest she comes is Lohmeyer-senpai, and he's not in the series enough for her taste. That's one thing about Sado that is non-negotiable. He is always there. Besides, her friends are too precious to her to be neglected in such a shameful way. She dislikes plot conveniences that separate loved ones in that way. Her being here is one such convenience, she thinks.
But no, this is real, and she is alone. But her friends are coming, she knows.
Coming to get her because they love her. In the way that Hagu-chan is loved—no. She cannot be loved in the way Hagu-chan is loved because she is not, will never be, Hagu-chan. Especially not now.
She is no longer pure. She was never brilliant in that way. She never will be golden like that.
The web she tried so hard to weave crumbles and melts away into the shadows as she sinks to the floor. She knows she must not—must not—but she cannot help it. The tears seep and soak the skirt of the dress. Her knees are to her chest and her arms are wrapped around them, and she is sobbing her heart out because this is reality—reality—and no amount of fantasizing will change it.
When Ulquiorra comes for her, she has sealed her tears away. She will face forward from here. She will not long for simpler days.
She will not wish to be in a clear green field with her friends searching for clover. That's not who they are. It isn't who she is, either. Never will be. Never, never, never.
Her friends are coming, and she is helpless, not unlike Hagu-chan, but in an insidious, horrible way. They'll end here too, if she does not act. But she will act. She'll become something different altogether. Please forgive me.
Someday, you'll look for clovers in a clear green field. Someday, you'll be warm and safe and all this will be behind you. Someday, you'll forgive me for not being with you anymore. This is the end, she tells herself. The end of me as I know it.
A/N: Special thanks to Notnow for turning me on to Honey and Clover. Thanks to you, my friend, this scattered brain can wander to places the Redneck Gigolo cannot tread. And she kinda likes it that way.