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reflection (when will it show who i am inside?)

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let’s say the devil is played by two men. we’ll call them jeff. dark hair, green eyes, white teeth, pink tongues- they’re twins. the one on the left has gone bad in the middle, and the other one on the left is about to. as they wrestle, you can tell they have forgotten about god, and they are very hungry.

 

two brothers: one wants to take you apart. two brothers: one of them wants to put you back together. it’s time to choose sides now. the stitches or the devouring mouth?

 

they are the same and they are not the same. they are the same and they hate each other for it.

 

 … jeff or jeff? who do you want to be?

 

- richard siken, you are jeff -

 

 





the rain is quiet around her, falling in small drops that hit the ground with barely a noise. 

 

or maybe- maybe there was a noise, one unlike the one inside kirari’s mind. one that calmed down the heart, one that lured you to sleep. 

 

but the noise wasn’t in kirari’s mind.

 

the rain fell, yes. and the noise was loud too. 

 

but it wasn’t kirari’s hair that it fell on, it wasn’t kirari’s braids those that hung heavily from the wetness of the rain. 

 

it was kirari, and yet, it wasn’t. 

 

so it was simply a girl, looking with empty eyes towards the woods that surrounded the academy. a girl that was alone, one that looked like the president, one that had the same cold, calculating gaze, one that was the spitting reflection of momobami kirari.

 

it was a girl but- who was she really? a reflection that doesn’t know who it belongs to?

 

the rain keeps falling around her, for that’s all she can be right now. just her, just a girl standing in the rain and letting it soak through her red uniform, through the wiped lipstick that remains on her fingers and soon disappears.

 

there is not much to distract her. no secretary to radiate warmth and protection, a support that mattered more than words could say. this girl rarely felt it, enjoyed the warmth as much as she hated it. it didn’t belong to her, even if purple eyes looked into the same blue orbs that they fell in love with, even if sayaka kept following a girl with two braids and silver hair. 

 

so sometimes the girl would let herself be kirari, would caress the cheek of her secretary and feel loved, feel wanted

 

so sometimes she wanted to feel as if someone wanted her, loved her. so sue her for living a midnight lie from time to time.

 

but she was alone now. no shadow to follow her, no warmth to steal. it was just her and the rain and-

 

a loud thunder rips through the sky. the girl shudders, shoulders tensing at the unfamiliar movement. a momobami doesn’t show signs of weakness, kirari doesn’t show anything but superiority and power. 

 

it dawns on her too late to drop her shoulders, remembering that there is no one watching her. it felt the same as wearing the mask, free to show all emotions, and think in peace. and think she does, about the election, about the plans already laid in action, about blonde hair and golden eyes-

 

she shakes her head. it’s a rainy day, not enough time to think about the sun. and it’s of no use to think of warmth that only reminds her of how cold she is. so she stares and lets the rain pick up, its droplets hitting on her skin without mercy.

 

nature, the only thing a momobami like her couldn’t control.

 

so she keeps looking, eyes searching for something that the mind doesn’t know of. students leave the school, huddled under their umbrellas and walking towards their homes.

 

how nice would it be to live a life like theirs, she wonders. no family name to live up to, no missing reflection, no need to search for who you were.

 

a shadow falls around her, darker than usual. she turns slowly, too numb to show surprise when golden eyes are staring back at her, a hand she knows is warm holding a black umbrella over their heads. 

 

she stares, blinking slowly as mary stands beside her, her head looking before them. they stand in silence, blue eyes observing and golden ones looking around. they don’t utter a word, the rain hitting pleasantly against the umbrella, filling the silence more than words ever could.

 

mary turns towards her after a while, gaze warm as it rarely were, so different than what she was used to seeing every day. it felt weird, to stand with braids upon her head and with the blazer different from mary’s own without her smirk and glint in her eyes.

 

but it was raining. and she could have it easier to memorize each droplet that fell upon her skin than do that.

 

“took me some time to find you,” says mary, voice lacking her usual loud tone. it felt surreal, it felt weird.

 

it felt… warm. so similar to the warmth having sayaka by her side did. but this time she felt as if she deserved this warmth, as if it was truly hers to grasp and hold unto, a warmth for her and not her .

 

her head feels heavy.

 

mary is shorter than her, but her shoulder is comfortable against her forehead. the blonde knows how to stand beside her, makes sure to give her space to breathe and be protected by the rain.

 

it rains around them, cold and wet.

 

their chests lean against each other, longer leg between two shorter ones, bodies close and warm.

 

mary smells like the lemon ice tea she has seen the blonde drink from time to time, a comfort in the cold and fresh air around them. she sighs and leans closer, eyes falling closed and she breathes deeply through her nose, doesn’t care for how wet mary’s blazer will be later.

 

she grasps the blazer tightly with her fist, holds mary close.

 

no words pass between them, mary a shield against the world, mary a wall to lean on, mary the light to lead her home.

 

“these braids are so annoying,” murmurs mary. “your head must be heavy.”

 

she doesn’t reply, but when mary’s hand rests against her hair, she doesn’t push her away. mary is gentle, makes sure to untie the braids and run her hands slowly through the wet hair with a care that leaves her breathless, that leaves her tearing up and shaking, grasping for an anchor on this warmth.

 

sayaka is the one to tie her hair this way. she’s always gentle too, her hands warm and it’s as if she’s building an empire, as if she’s thinking of love and molding it. the braids represent more than a hairstyle, more than just a look. for sayaka, braiding silver hair is forming the reflection of who she loves.

 

mary is different. she hates the braids, prefers getting rid of them slowly the same way sayaka loves putting them up. for mary, braided silver hair is a sign of danger, of everything she stands opposite of.

 

sayaka builds her up, a girl with too much power on her hands. mary is the one to bring her back, a girl of quiet thinking and planning.

 

if sayaka’s warmth and love feels like stolen bread, good when you forget who it truly belongs to, mary’s destruction feels like coming back home.

 

her silver hair is slick when it falls fully on her back, mary making sure to get rid of any tangle with her nails. it’s soft and slow, unrushed. mary keeps her hand on the back of her head when she’s done, doesn’t move it even if it gets wet.

 

“you’re going to catch a cold,” says mary. she hums as a reply, hugs her closer with both hands on the small of her back. if mary wants to protest, she holds it inside, fingers tapping slowly on her head to the tune of a song she has heard her sing time to time.

 

mary sighs, pulls the arm holding her umbrella behind her back and wraps her arm around her shoulders. it’s an uncomfortable position to anyone but it wraps her in such a warmth that it’s addicting. mary hugs her close, keeps her there until she can feel her face again, until her eyes feel moist enough and until it’s not just droplets of water from her bangs falling down her cheeks.

 

slowly, the reflection starts to make sense. slowly, there’s a pair of soft blue eyes staring back, golden ones warm behind them.

 

slowly, the walls fall down. slowly, the same way the rain stops falling, the masks cracks.

 

with warm hands and a wet blazer, mary waits patiently as ririka rebuilds herself.

 

“hey there.” 

 

mary’s smile is small when ririka raises her head, blue eyes shining.

 

ririka only gives her a tired smile. not a black painted smile, not a blue painted smile.

 

mary smiles and its ririka who smiles back.

 

“hello.”

 

behind them, the sun slowly appears behind dark clouds running away.