Work Text:
Class has been over for hours by the time Present Mic wraps up grading essays and bids his farewells to his colleagues. He leaves the graded assignments in a drawer in his desk, double checks that his classroom is clean and closed up for the night, and heads out for the radio station. He has a show later tonight, but he hasn’t finalized his set and wants his intern to type up his interview questions for him. No one seems at all surprised when he walks through the door hours early. He exchanges pleasantries as he moves down the hall, his laughter ringing through the small rooms and narrow hallway. To the right is his studio. To the left is the only bathroom in the building, a small, single occupancy room that he slips into after confirming it is empty with a quick knock.
Present Mic stands in front of the mirror and begins to fall apart.
When he is done, Hizashi stands in his place.
He looks tired. He looks stressed. He looks sad.
He stares at himself in the mirror and doesn’t move for several minutes. His shoulders slump under the weight of the world, the weight of three jobs and an inconsistent sleep schedule and the knowledge that he still hasn’t managed to make it to the grocery store. His neck is sore from his support item and the perfectly straight posture he maintains throughout the day. His scalp itches from a buildup of hair product and anxiety and pent up emotions. His heart clenches and skips with an excess of caffeine and a resignation to loneliness.
His chest feels tight. And he has no one to tell this to.
He splashes cold water on his face and pats himself dry with a paper towel. When he’s done, he dabs concealer to the dark bags beneath his eyes. Shaking fingers find their strength in smoothing out his hair, adjusting his headphones, resettling his glasses.
Hizashi rolls his shoulders up and back. Hizashi shakes his arms out and stands tall. Hizashi grins at himself in the mirror until it looks genuine.
Present Mic steps out to begin another long night.