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The banging woke Ben up. Well, banging was unfair; Dad wasn't trying to break his door down. It was just the firm knock he delivered every morning to make sure Ben was up before he and Mom left for work. Ben could only grumblemoan in response. Apparently satisfied, he heard Dad's footsteps recede out of the house.
It'd felt like banging. He had a rotten headache. One of the stress migranes he'd get when he was behind at school, or when he and Steffi had an argument. Not the usual ones, a proper, prolonged fight with hurt feelings. The nightmare he vaguely remembered must've brought this on. That, and staying up past patrol last night. Great move, genius.
Opened his eyes. Ow. Regretted that. Migrane must be worse than he thought. Eyes clenched, he dragged himself across his bed like a drunk lizard, reaching for the cord and dropping the blinds with a thunk. The room was now gloomy enough for his eyes to cope. Better.
There was water on his desk. That might help. Rolling off the bed, he stumbled over to the mess of documents he'd abandoned last night and downed the remaining water. Better.
He grimaced at the desk. Maps. This is what he'd stayed up a few extra hours to do. Over the last couple nights, he'd realised his team patrol routes were out of date. Team Spear had shifted around to cover a recently retired solo, plus a couple other things had changed. He really should have left it to the weekend.
Hah. He was never going to sleep until he'd updated those maps. He knew himself.
They were rough, but they'd do for a few nights. As he sorted them, tidying his desk, he found his untouched history worksheets. Due today. Damnit, there's the migrane again.
He padded over to his bag, hanging from the mirror. Caught a glimpse of himself as he was thinking of an excuse he could offer Mrs. Godlewski. She was pretty lenient with him, but he'd really been pushing it lat
what
that's
what.
Room was still dark. In the mirror there was a boy in the dark. With bright blonde hair and shining blue eyes.
Nightmare plus hair plus eyes
The boy in the mirror was running his hand through that hair. It moved like hair does.
There was something. A ball on a string, bumping around, softly. Couldn't see what the string was hanging from. He could pull on it, if he wanted.
Don't. Don't pull on it.
Stop
Bright flash, eyes hurt. Uniform. Blue, gold, matches hair and eyes.
ears roaring, feel weird
a skirt
.
..
...
...ow.
Ben woke up on the floor, crumpled. Couldn't remember how he got there. Head was really sore. His arm was pinned under his chest, but he didn't feel like moving it just yet. Couldn't really focus. Someone had dropped his maps all over the place. Head really, really sore.
Oh. Must've fainted.
He looked at himself. He was wearing a t-shirt and trackpants, his pyjamas. Good, that was good.
He looked over. The mirror was still there. Come on, get up. Have a look.
He swung his legs around, pushing himself up, leaning against the bed. Kept his head down, staring firmly at the carpet. Come on now, have a look. You have to look.
He looked up. There he was. Ben, in his pyjamas, leaning against his bed. His light brown hair and brown eyes were missing. In their place, bright blonde hair and shining blue eyes.
He ran his hand through his hair. It moved like hair. Felt like hair this time, too.
He stared at himself for a while.
Hoooooooooooly fucking shit.
He lay on the floor, watching the ceiling. It wasn't moving much. The sun must've been high up by now, judging from the shadows cast by the blinds.
Ben held his arm up. Flash. A blue sleeve with gold trimmed cuffs. Blue gloves with black fingers. He flexed his hand. Yep. That was his arm.
Flash, normal. Flash, fancy sleeve. Flash, normal, flash, fancy sleeve. Just wanted to make sure, huh? Stop that. You'll get a headache.
He sighed, dropping his arm. Come on then. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and had a proper look.
The bulk of the outfit was a jacket with long tails, almost to his ankles. There was a... tabard? Was that the word? It ran down his front, held in place by a belt with a bolt-and-nut shaped buckle. The bright yellow cravat around his neck felt like a bit much, but it suited the rest of the outfit. Kinda looked like the one on Steffi's FP uniform. His legs and feet were encased in blue metal boots that clanked when he moved them.
Also, yep. That was a skirt, alright.
He swung his knees out, rolling his legs on his heels, testing his range of motion. He'd always wondered if the skirts a lot of magical girls wore restricted their movement at all, but the skirt gave way easily, flowing about. Huh.
He swung his knees some more. Swish, swoosh, swish, swoosh, swish, swoosh. He grinned. Heh.
Belatedly, he realised he was rolling his heels on one of his maps, crumpling it. Staring at the maps for a moment, he felt a sudden cold rush, head to stomach.
The maps. His role as team manager. Excuses. That dishonest feeling that had been nagging at him for months now. That feeling he couldn't settle, no matter how hard he worked.
Every night, he went out. With Steffi, with Chandra and Techno. Watching them fight. Standing back. He admired them so much, the danger they put themselves in. There was an indescribable thrill he felt being there for it. He worked hard to be useful out there. He loved being around them. He wanted to be there, to help them, so badly. More than anything.
Come on. You know, now. You know what you really wanted.
That hollow chill got stronger. She drew her knees in, hugging them, wracked by deep, heavy sobs. Tears were flowing in a way she hadn't felt since she was a kid. Despite this, she couldn't stop smiling.
As she'd drawn her legs in, her boots had torn one of the maps. But that was ok. She didn't need them anymore.
