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Ryou had always liked the way he looked. While other children had bullied him, called him a ghost, he had always found his white hair beautiful; it was like his mother and sister.
The spirit of the ring agreed.
It wasn’t often that Ryou could drift awake, push his way through the fog and darkness the spirit wrapped his consciousness in, and it was always when the spirit was distracted.
Distracted while looking at Ryou.
He would find himself staring at himself in the mirror, kneeling on the floor. His fingers would be combing through his hair, softly and with reverence reserved for something sacred, eyes half-lidded as he stared at himself.
Ryou understood why.
He was beautiful. That childish cuteness he held as a creepy weird freak child had blossomed into an attractive young man. His skin was still pale, his hair was still white, his brown eyes more doe-like; the girls at school swooned and cooed and fawned over him.
The spirit took great care to ensure he remained beautiful. The scars on his chest, arm, hand—none diminished his beauty, all easy to hide and ignore. He never did anything to damage his hair, the most favored of all Ryou’s body parts, even going as far as to make anyone who did disappear.
Seemingly satisfied with his hair, the spirit gently tossed it over his shoulder, smoothing it down before leaning close to the mirror. Ryou could see himself in the reflection of his eyes, an infinity of himself seeing himself seeing himself. Except he was sure the spirit was looking at him within his own eyes, gaze soft and warm and possessive.
He leaned forward, and his body did as well, his lips meeting the cold surface of the mirror, unsurprised to feel it was soft.