by Niimura Takehiko



Most days I wonder, what’s the point? I work so hard everyday, and all it ever seems to get me, is more work. I’m sure that people envy me, think I’m living my dream and all that. When they look at me, they see a boy who’s got everything, everything he ever dreamed of. But from this side the views not the same. It’s as if the mirrors cracked, and everything is a twisted reflection of how it should be. And I’m left watching, looking out from behind the broken glass, wondering when it all got so _wrong_.

Somehow he’s got me all confused… I don’t know where I stand anymore. It used to be simple, I thought I felt nothing, that there was nothing between us. Just the comfort of a warm body, the comfort of someone you’ve known forever. Like a pair of jeans that you’ve had forever, perfectly worn in. I thought I could just throw them out, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I lived too much of my life with them to ever consider dropping them like that.

And that is why I have to. And that is why I hate him.

Because he makes it so hard to just forget him.

I know what I feel for the other one, he’s like fire, he makes me feel... I don’t know, like I could explode at any moment, my feelings are too much to contain. But I feel so strange sometimes when I feel _his_ eyes on me, it makes me angry. What right does he have to look at me like that? What right does he have to make me feel so _guilty_?

Why can’t he just leave me _alone_?

I’m staring at the mirror now, examining my reflection minutely, looking for some sign, any outward sign of what’s going on. But I can’t find anything. And I guess that’s how it is when the world sees us, all of us together. They can’t see all the little things, all the interactions going on under the skin. The perfect, flawless skin that is Dir en Grey.

I’m so engrossed in examining my face that I didn’t hear the bathroom door open. A pair of arms snaking around my waist doesn’t distract me from my task, or a head resting itself on my shoulder. He blows in my ear, laughing at my reaction. I disentangle myself from his arms, and give him my most disapproving Look.


He gives me a cheeky grin, crooked teeth flashing, "Yes...?" He brushes my cheek with his lips, then he’s gone, breezing out of the bathroom as silently as he entered. I follow with one last backwards look at the mirror. It sees everything that happens in there... but with one important difference: it’s backwards.


to be continued

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