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Mafuyu’s hands caught on the knots in his hair. He didn’t flinch as the tangles pulled at his skull. It was long and curly, flowing around his shoulders like waves. He stared at his doppelganger in the mirror, alone in the school restroom.
His hair was beautiful, he knew that. It was what he had been told. He remembered his mother running her hands through it when he was younger, gushing about how soft and healthy it was. Mafuyu had never asked for it to be cut. He knew his mother would never say yes anyway. Hair was something to be proud of, growing it out and maintaining it took so much time and effort. He imagined scissors slicing through it, locks floating down to the floor. All that investment; wasted.
The thought didn’t scare him. Hair was important for one’s self-image and personal expression, but Mafuyu had neither, nor did he have any attachment to the keratin framing his face.
He tugged harder, forcing his fingers through the knots. Strands of his voluminous hair cascaded into the sink, getting stuck in his nails and tied around his knuckles.
Once his hands could finally sift through the hair unobstructed, he straightened it out, patting down the parts that stuck up.
He looked presentable, as he was meant to. Clean school uniform ironed and tidy. A girl’s uniform, with its bland monochrome colouring broken up only by a deep crimson bow. It was the only uniform his school used; there was nothing else he was permitted to wear. Even so, no matter how he smoothed out the creases, the fabric never seemed to sit right, hugging his figure too close, each thread making him hyperaware of his skin. The natural curls in his hair hid the knots, so no one would be able to tell he hadn’t combed this morning before he left for school.
He looked at himself, the mirror’s shiny surface reflecting his features back at him. This is what he looked like. Purple hair, dull eyes, lips pulled into a tight, thin line.
Pretty. That’s what everyone said. His mother had complimented his face as her cold hands came to cup his cheeks. The girls at his school always gushed about him; how beautiful he was, how clever and athletic. How they wished they could be more like her.
He leaned his weight on the sink, clutching the rim of the ceramic. He inched closer, never breaking eye contact with himself.
“This is me.” The words sounded wrong to his ears as soon as they escaped his lips.
The door to the restroom creaked, almost imperceptibly, and Mafuyu straightened his back immediately. He contorted his features until his expression was more typical of him – a sweet, friendly smile stretching to his eyes, crinkling his skin in the way he saw other people’s do when they smiled.
Two girls entered the room, eyes finding him near the rearmost stalls. He recognised them: two underclassmen he had helped with a tricky math problem he overheard them complaining about. He had approached and offered assistance. He didn’t need to, but the shorter of the two had sounded distressed, voice a high pitch as she ranted to her companion about the following day’s test. He felt compelled to help, to put her at ease.
It took time away from his own studies, however. He could almost hear his mother’s voice in his ears, scolding him for not pushing himself harder. She wouldn’t yell, she would just speak, tone level, in that disapproving way that made his stomach flip and his hands tremble.
The duo squeaked when they saw him, like little mice spotted somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. They hadn’t done anything wrong; they were in a restroom, hardly worthy of discipline. Mafuyu didn’t really understand why so many of the first years seemed to regard him with such reverence, chattering excitedly about him as if he wasn’t right there, listening. When he did converse, they would gush about his strengths. Mafuyu didn’t believe what he was doing was all that remarkable. He was another attendee at the school, but they all knew him as the perfect student he pretended to be.
His mother’s perfect daughter.
Righting his posture, he nodded to the girls and departed for his next class. His smile stayed stuck to his face like a plaster, long after he found himself alone.
Mafuyu didn’t register the rest of the day, his shoes carrying him from classroom to classroom, fingers pulling back the string of his bow and releasing automatically. He nodded along, smiling and laughing at… something Hinomori said. He wasn’t sure. Even now, as the setting sun bathed the world in a golden glow, he couldn’t stop, his feet mechanically moving through no will of his own. Everything sounded muffled and faint, like he’d had his head underwater. He felt light, floaty, like he was simply gliding along the floor, not feeling the pavement under his feet.
Sunlight glimmered off a sign, hitting him in the eyes. He slammed them shut, ripped back to reality so suddenly he thought he might have left a piece of himself wherever his mind had been.
The sign was for a men’s wear store, he realised as soon as he could see again. The large glass window showcased business casual clothing. Mannequins wearing the latest stylish button-downs, chinos held up by leather belts fastened with a silver buckle. The figures were posed, one with its blazer slung over its shoulder, another pulling open one half of its jacket to show off the shirt and tie beneath.
Mafuyu hadn’t registered that he had stopped walking for the first time since school had ended for the day. He was drawn to the figures in the window. He shuffled closer, shoes scraping the ground. They looked smart, trendy. Mafuyu couldn’t look away, even as the light of the sun began to disappear beneath the horizon.
Distantly, he could hear a voice, calling a three-syllable word progressively louder somewhere off to his left. His gaze never left the window, not noticing the way his muscles began to burn from holding his head up.
“Mafuyu?”
A hand wrapped around his wrist, and he slowly turned to face the offending party.
“Mizuki.” He said flatly.
There she was, arm outstretched to touch him. Her nose was red, peeking out over the top of her pastel pink scarf. She wore a thick coat with a warm-looking fluffy lining, open at the front to show a cotton shirt beneath. Mafuyu scanned her up and down, before frowning.
“You didn’t go to school,” he stated, more as a statement of fact than a question. Mizuki knitted her coat together, but by that point it was too little too late. He had already seen her outfit. No hot pink ribbon or plaid skirt signature of her school’s uniform in sight.
“You gonna scold me again?” She pouted, rocking on her heels. Mafuyu grunted in response, tearing himself away from the mannequins to face her properly.
“Any closer to that window and you’d fall in.”
Mafuyu merely stared at her. He recognised that look in her eyes. The one that meant she was worried, watching him to see if she could sus out the problem. Mizuki turned to look at what had enraptured him, gaze softening as it rested on the plastic men behind the glass.
“Thinking about a wardrobe change?” she asked. Mafuyu didn’t break eye contact with her. She shifted her weight, rubbing her knees together as she smiled nervously.
“Wanna come with me? We could sit somewhere and chat. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
He didn’t answer, almost looking straight through her. As sudden as a blink, he found himself walking beside her, not even noticing she had taken his hand. Mizuki led them away from the main street, off down a foot path bordered by dense hedges which opened into expansive park. In the back of his mind, Mafuyu vaguely recalled being here before, on a much darker and wetter day. The park’s landscape was familiar to him, but his memory was grey and blurry, alike a dream.
Mizuki led him to a bench; one he had collapsed on before. Its coldness was familiar, a numbness settling into his bones as he sat down that was already there in spirit.
Mizuki trailed a hand up his arm, silent. She didn’t pry. She knew what was happening, why it was happening. She’d felt the same way once. The feelings she could relate to, the longing looks, the sense of wrongness but not really knowing why. Mizuki’s heart ached for him, but she could do nothing but wait for him to discover on his own.
“Mizuki?” He whispered so quietly, voice more of a croak.
Mizuki hummed, leaning in to better hear the words. They never came. Mafuyu’s throat caved in, and he was silent again, fixed on some stain on his skirt. The dull greys were so fascinating.
While he avoided her gaze, Mafuyu felt her twitch and fidget beside him, likely wracking her brain for something to say, afraid to make the wrong move. Mafuyu was so much like her, but so different at the same time. Mizuki was so sure of herself, never once succumbing to outside pressure, never letting anyone break her. Mafuyu had shattered like glass, the shards so small it would take a magic spell to glue it all back together.
“How… did you know?” A vague question. Mizuki pursed her lips.
“I just kinda… did?” A vague answer. Mafuyu huffed.
They’d discussed it briefly before, soon after Ena had brought Mizuki back to them. Mafuyu was curious, probing in that bluntly honest and sincere way that he did. Her answers were simple and to the point and left him with much to consider.
Mafuyu still hadn’t grasped it. Not because it didn’t make sense, but because Mizuki’s explanation felt so out of reach. She felt joy in her self-expression, the freedom to dress how she wanted, like what she likes and not be chained by expectations. She wouldn’t conform, even when it hurt. Mafuyu couldn’t fathom it.
“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbled, head sinking into his hands. Puffs of breath cooled rapidly in the late autumn air, and his chest stung from the frigidness.
“That’s okay,” Mizuki murmured. He could feel her, thigh pressing into his, heat spreading at the contact point between them.
Mafuyu swallowed thickly, words jamming behind his teeth. He thought back to the mannequins, the way they were posed and dressed by another’s hand. The way they exist for display. He thought of the doll in his Sekai, sitting by itself. He didn’t want to be an empty husk.
“I like to dress cutely,” Mizuki offered. “The skirts and pink ribbons make me feel cute and pretty. I like the material my clothes are made with, and I like how they make me feel more ‘me.’”
More ‘me?’ He ruminated on that, brows creasing. Who was he? The girl he saw in the mirror, ripping out hair and cataloguing every detail? The good student on the honour roll, who picked up a bow simply because he was asked? A lyricist, searching for a spark. Could he be all of these things, or none?
Mafuyu’s stormy eyes bore into Mizuki’s, searching for answers in her. She didn’t falter.
“You know I’ll help you out,” she said sincerely. “If you want to experiment.”
Mafuyu played with his fingers, distracted. Thoughts swirled in his head like a typhoon, all mixing until he couldn’t tell one from another.
“What if I’m wrong?” his breath hitched as he leaned into his twitching hands. “What if I don’t find it?”
“Then you’ll know,” Mizuki shrugged. “Knowing what doesn’t work is one step towards finding what does.”
“Everyone knows me as this,” he waved his hands at himself. “I’m… used to it, so are my classmates. My…” His lip trembled. He didn’t want to think about what she might think, if he ever dared tell her what he was thinking about doing.
Mizuki rose to her feet, and Mafuyu’s heart stopped dead. For a moment, he was seized with an acute fear she would leave. A tiny, strangled whimper threatening to slip out of his throat as he watched for her next move.
Mizuki didn’t leave. Instead, she curled her arms around him, pushing into his space. Her soft hands threaded into his hair, silky soft skin grazing his scalp. Her body draped over the top of him like a weighted blanket.
His hands flew out – to steady her, keep her from falling. At least that’s what he told himself. But he didn’t have to push back against her to keep her upright, didn’t have to slide his arms under hers, didn’t have to pull her in tighter. She was so warm, fending off the cold that numbed his body and soul. Mafuyu’s nose scrunched, catching a faint flora scent emanating from her collar.
“This isn’t about them,” she told him firmly, and he believed her. Trusted her so easily. “All that matters is what you want to do. Who you want to be.”
Mafuyu peeked up from where he’d tucked his face, seeing her cheeks shiny and red, more colourful than it was when she’d been sitting. He didn’t comment on it, instead putting his face back to where it was before.
“You do whatever you have to do to survive.” Something soft and warm brushed Mafuyu’s hairline – her lips, he realised – and his arms coiled tighter around Mizuki’s waist. “If you do find what you’re looking for, keep a tight hold of it. Don’t let what anyone says get to you.”
Her hands danced through his curls, spinning locks around her fingers, Mafuyu’s eyes drifted shut, soothed at last.
“Oh boy.” A sharp gasp, and his eyes opened again. It was nice while it lasted.
“Your hair’s a mess! Look at these knots.”
“I can’t.”
Mizuki sighed, smiling fondly. “You gotta take better care of this,” she patted the bundled ponytail hanging loosely off his shoulder. “Don’t wanna shave you like a matted dog.”
She dragged him to his feet, still close, still ready to catch him if he needed a place to rest.
“Would you be able to cut it?” If it were anyone else, he might have sounded a little shy.
Mizuki blinked, startled by the sudden request. She recovered quickly enough.
“You sure? I mean I can if that’s what you want.”
Mafuyu chewed his lip, pupils dilating at the way she held him. “I’ll be in safe hands.”
Her cheeks lit up even brighter, and she hunched her shoulders. “Y-yeah, of course!”
Mafuyu nodded, stepping forward with a tug of their joined hands. “Shall we? It’s getting late.”
His observation rang true; dusk had quietly settled around them, reluctant to disturb the budding couple. A few streetlights in the park had flickered on, lighting the path back out.
Mizuki perked up as they walked. “Wanna go to that clothing store tomorrow if you’re free? I’m not doing anything.”
“Sure, I’ll have time after school.”
Mafuyu looked down at his feet, scraping against the asphalt as they turned onto the road. “I don’t know what to look for though. Mom buys all my clothes,” he muttered,
Mizuki swung their arms back and forth as they went. “Well, I don’t know much about men’s fashion, but there’ll be something there that just screams ‘you’, I know it.”
For the first time that day, Mafuyu felt the constricting feeling in his body start to loosen, like strings coming undone. Mizuki was more perceptive than most gave her credit for. His lips quirked up in a rare smile.
“Thank you, Mizuki.”
Deep down, he was still apprehensive. Thoughts of what his hair would look like, shopping for new and unfamiliar clothing, what people would say and what they wouldn’t all swirling together, but less chaotic now. None of that mattered in this moment, only the simmering warmth in his chest, and the softness of Mizuki’s hand in his.