Work Text:
As Neito checked the date, his face fell. His birthday, to others it could seem that the egocentric of 1-B would adore the attention. But, his birthday had never been something good. It had always been a reminder of how he would always be different. Neito was born to be different. Born to be an outcast, born to be filled to the brim with the need to succeed only to fail again and again until he was driven into the ground. But he refused to give up, so he got stuck in this cycle. Over and over, again and again, Neito acted until someone saw him.
And maybe he was seen now. Maybe everyone saw him and his class, maybe he was good enough. But years of not being good didn’t just leave with the wind. The doubts, the fear, they stayed. They ate him up from the inside until he was nothing more but a vessel. All he knew was how to act; how to be someone other people wished to see. It was terrifying, being unable to let it go. He was a mirror of those around him, shining only when people looked at him. After all, the moon needed the sun to shine. Neito could only wish to shine as brightly as the sun.
As he stared into the pair of way-too-hollow eyes he saw in the mirror, Neito knew he couldn’t show his face like this. He was supposed to be okay. But all he saw in his own reflection was all he could never be. All he wished to be. He was nothing. He was everything he didn’t want to be. He wished for greatness, and even though he knew it was in reach, he couldn’t wrap his finger around it. What was Neito if he wasn’t good? If he wasn’t useful? He was surrounded by people so pure, so good, while he was nothing like that. He wasn’t pure. He wasn’t good. Neito was nothing compared to those around him.
He could only wish to shine, he could only hope someone would shine bright enough so he could try and grasp some of the light. Would Neito ever be able to hold onto the light? Would he ever be able to clutch it and hold it close until he took all of it in and he could finally shine bright enough to be seen. He could finally be the sun. He could stop hiding in the darkness and actually let the light cover him until he was all he wanted to be. Until he was good. Until he was useful. Until he could let go of the act and become someone he wished to see in the mirror.
But would he ever? Could Neito let go of the act that defined him? Could he let go of all he knew? He was born an actor, shaped by rough hands that pulled and pushed until he was something that his parents wished to show. No, Neito could never let go of it. Step out of what his parents formed him as, of the boy he was supposed to be. Neito could never let it go. He would never let it go. The act was so familiar that Neito didn’t know who he was without it. So he would sew himself together with thread made of what he wished to be until he could hide his fears and tears.
If Neito could, would he warn him of the past about all he would go through? Would he look at that boy filled with wonder in his starstruck eyes and tell him that, no, please, it only gets worse? No, no he wouldn’t. He would lie. He would lie to his younger self, tell him that everything would be easier as he got older. Would that make him a bad person? He wasn’t sure. Maybe if someone told him the words he would tell himself while he was barely hanging on, they would be the truth now. Instead of the unrealistic dream of being okay, Neito had to pull himself out of the dark to finally glimpse at the light again.
Did it make Neito stronger, having to pull himself out? Swim up the dark sea to finally see the sky again? He didn’t think so. Because even if he saved himself, he lost so much of who he was that he now was nothing more than a vessel for his own discomfort. He felt a cold numbness, and maybe he could rest in it. Hold onto it for a bit longer because it was familiar. For years, his feelings had been an act, and it was comfortable. Neito knew how to act, so maybe he would keep going for a bit longer. A small part wished to fully feel again, but Neito also wanted to hold onto the small amount of control he had.
Neito was tired. The feeling bone deep, dragging him down until every step took more effort than the last. He could feel his breath take more and more effort, until he wished to just lay down. His throat felt like sandpaper, his words resting deep in his heart but never leaving his mouth. This didn’t feel like death, but maybe something close to it. Or maybe he died years ago, curled up in his bed as the world spun around him and his wrists slowly grew numb. Maybe this was just all he would’ve missed, and sooner than later he would wake to find himself numb, floating in a void.
He just wished to help someone before he got to that point. Every time he saw someone go through anything familiar to him, he wished to reach out and give them hope. He wished to reach out a hand, tell them that it would be okay. Because everyone would be okay, everyone but Neito would end up being okay. Hope was something so powerful yet so fragile. Hope to get worse, so people saw what he felt. Hope to get better so people never noticed Neito wasn’t as okay as he convinced people he was.
To Neito, hope was seeing the sun go up and the moon go down, an endless cycle of day and night. Despite how he, or anyone else, felt, the sun and the moon would always be watching. Was it hope that kept him going? Was it hope that allowed him to stay on his feet even if he wished to lay down, curl up and become one with the grass until nature took over his body? Whatever this feeling was, Neito would hold it for as long as he could.
But, for now, Neito just manipulated his face into his typical grin, forced his eyes to spark happiness and walked out of his room. He would sort out his feelings another day, but for now it was his birthday and he had to be okay.