Chapter Text
It was almost time.
Kotone Shiomi-Yuki had always been a night owl, ever since she was a child, even before the accident. It was hardly a secret, to the family members and foster “families” who took her in (and never seemed to care enough to keep her around for long).
(All the better, in some ways. The handful of families that had learned their secret had usually tossed them to somebody else within a few months of learning it. Which had only given them all the more reason to keep it a secret).
This family, and the last few, hadn’t realized that - well, Makoto Yuki-Shiomi had been saving money for a while. Money that he had been saving for them, under a name that wasn’t “Makoto”.
(Most of the time, keeping their private funds a secret probably wasn’t necessary. But - well).
(Memories of her mother’s second cousin flashed back behind her eyes).
(She’d left that woman’s house fourteen, emotionally drained, and financially broken, with literally nothing but the clothes on her back).
(Better safe than sorry).
As Kotone kept an eye on the clock, she began to get up and walked over to the closet, quickly rooting around and digging out the travel bag that she’d had to refill all too often.
It was always nice, when she did this and had the chance to.
A lot of the things in it were old. And they may not have seemed like much. But - well, they were the world to her.
First, there was one of her bras. She took a look at it carefully - and another look at all the other ones in her bag. She felt - slim, today.
Regardless, as she pulled it on, her chest, ironically, felt lighter. Reaching in again, she pulled out a skirt.
Thank god. She had never minded pants, but having to wear them all the time was just suffocating. As she struggled out of her clothes, pulling on her other lower body covering just felt right.
And finally, a wig. Quietly, Kotone ruffled her hand through the artificial auburn hair. Long and nigh-unbelievably realistic. Hell, for all she knew the Kirijo Group had made this wig with cut-off hair from some heiress. She’d believe it, with how natural it felt.
(Somewhere distant, Mitsuru Kirijo felt as if she had just had some part of herself violated, and she wasn’t sure why).
Either way. Running her other hand through her natural blue hair (which was a comfort, as Makoto, but just - didn’t work, as Kotone), she pulled the… well. Technically, it was a wig.
She pulled the hair over the top of her head.
Almost simultaneously, the light in her room turned green.
She smiled.
Perfect timing.
“WOOOOO-HOOO!”
As the green moonlight swam through the stars and air like a school of fish in the ocean, Kotone Shiomi-Yuki sprang through the air, as if she had been possessed on a trampoline by a ghost that had returned from the dead just to boogie.
She may have only ever gone out as herself at the Midnight Moon any more, but it felt like she could fucking breathe again , as she let her self out.
She - well. She wasn’t really quite sure - when she had realized she had multiple names, to be honest with herself. It was definitely after the accident, but she wasn’t sure about much else.
(She wasn’t sure if that was because her memory sucked in general, because it was selective, or if it was because she was subconsciously trying to forget the time when she’d realized it, for some reason).
But over the years, well - somehow, Makoto had become the one that was - numbed. The one that dealt with all the pressure from everybody else. The “sad orphan” everybody expected them to be.
And the sad orphan that they honestly were. Most of the time.
And the sad orphan she had to pretend to be when she was herself, so that she wouldn’t be outright rejected and scorned instead of just mostly ignored.
Makoto was better at being the mostly ignored sad orphan. And she was good at it too, but - at some point, she had become a - pressure release valve, almost. (They weren’t Koto or Mina enough for the two to really work that way). Makoto wasn't a front, but - well. He was the one who was more likely to take a hit and roll with it. She was the one who was more likely to smile, and then scream into the solitude of the Midnight Moon later.
And it wasn’t like she minded. She could live, with being mostly ignored. It made it easier to be herself.
Being mostly ignored meant that she didn’t have to fight down the urge to scream every time somebody called her a name that wasn’t quite her.
So when she felt like herself, and got a chance, to put on her skirt and her hair and bra, well -
It was sad, really. That just being able to express part of who she was that she normally couldn't, had become so freeing.
As Kotone walked back to the house, she sighed. Green moonlight was still streaming down.
Her internal clock wasn’t always reliable - and she was pretty sure that the Midnight Moon was - well, she would swear up and down that sometimes, she could fit eight hours into it, and that other times, it was over in fifteen minutes flat.
Regardless. Some part of her always seemed to know, somehow, when her private time was coming to an end. And she’d gotten burned too many times to not listen to that part of her very closely.
She walked in through the door, and as she did, she tugged off her auburn hair.
(It was a wig, technically - but it was her hair. It always had been - well, ever since she got it, after that cousin threw away or sold all of her others, she still wasn’t sure which, and she’d had to build up her selection from scratch again).
That was, honestly, the entire reason she kept her blue hair short. It was easier to keep people from making the connection, that way. The bigger the contrast between her and Makoto, the easier it was to keep her secret if she ever went out as herself - and the easier it was, to just - blow off steam.
As she pondered this, she walked into her room, tugging off her skirt as she did so and grabbing her pajama bottoms.
…she only ever went out as herself at midnight, when it was safe to do it, but still. Better safe than sorry. It never paid to take stupid risks.
She didn’t know if it was just rotten luck, nearly everybody she’d ever known being prejudiced, or people just using it as an excuse to be cruel to an orphaned child, but she was sick of people rejecting her for not sticking to just one gender and name.
Well. Soon, she’d be moving back to Iwatodai. And in only two years, she’d be out on her own.
Free to be herself, themselves, they, or he whenever she pleased. To use whatever name she wanted and dress as she pleased.
She couldn’t wait.
And with a smile as bright and free as the stars and the moon hanging in the sky above, Kotone Yuki laid down in bed and closed her eyes.
And six hours later, in the same bed and the same body that Kotone had fallen asleep in, with a smile that spoke of a pressure in his mind and soul having been lightened immensely, Makoto Yuki opened his.
The memories of last night danced behind his eyes - but - well. He didn’t feel, at the moment, like that was who he was.
Hm.
A boy day today, then.