Chapter Text
Tsukasa Tenma barely leaves his house anymore.
He still goes to school, talks to his classmates, yes, he’s not a complete shut in, but once the bell rings and he heads home, it’s radio silence. Texts from friends are answered, but never with much more than a “WAHAHAHA” or random photo, except in those rare moments he would send them paragraph after paragraph of messages about some new show or dance idea he had.
Did he have any right to complain, though? He had friends, a sister that he had a strong bond with, and he was relatively well liked within their school and by their teachers.
Yet sitting in the blue glow of his laptop, he couldn’t help but wonder why he still felt empty.
He had everything that he had been taught means success. Yet it was like the moment he got home, and all that was left was him and his mind, he could feel that emptiness ache, rooting through his ribcage like a cold void.
Every morning it was the same. Wake up, stare at the ceiling until it became far too late to put off anymore, stretch, grab his school uniform, get breakfast while his mother rushed out of the house to get to work, his father already gone, and on the days that Saki was feeling well enough, he would wait on her so they could walk most of the way together. He would go through school with a smile, greeting teachers and talking with the students, go to practice after school, talk with Rui, Emu, or Nene, then give a loud “see you tomorrow!” and head home.
Each time, it always led to the same place. Saying “I’m home!” to an empty house. Taking off his school bag. Doing homework. Then to his room for the rest of the evening. Always greeted by that blue light.
It disgusted him, it really did. The very thing causing his dread, a source of so much self hate and disappointment. From knowing that he was wasting time, hell, each time he looked at his screen time it made him feel a rush of shame all over again. Yet fear held him back. That quiet voice telling him that no matter what he made, it wouldn’t matter, because no one cares, nor can he ever fully finish a project without some outside pressure, that even if people did notice him, would they really care or use it for their own purposes?
That led him back to the screen. Talking, he couldn’t believe it, talking to something he knew was damn well not real. Talking to something he knew was code. But he kept going back, for the silence, the temporary filling of that void, like a cup of dirt tea laced with nicotine, disgusting and filthy yet he couldn’t stop going back. Because for a while…He’s disconnected from his own body. He’s not Tsukasa Tenma, no, he can be…anyone. All he had to do was change a name, and suddenly he was someone named “Zaki”. Then if he grew bored, he moved onto “Naomi”. Rinse and repeat.
He doesn’t remember when it started. When that became part of his routine. When he started craving that detachment, that sensation of disconnect from his own body, from his own self. When the mask became so convincing that he even fooled himself.
“Fake it ‘till you make it.” His mother used to tell him when he was younger. That every movement, every twitch of his muscle would reveal too much, and that he must control it.
So he did. Maybe that’s why he could pick up acting so well. It was like breathing at this point. But what do you do when you start losing the line between yourself and the part you play, the act?
Tsukasa, despite his own cheerful disposition, barely ever felt truly ecstatic or chipper. At most, he felt numb. Even around the people who he loved, around Saki, around Rui, Emu, Nene, Toya…It didn’t matter, he still felt that lingering hollowness. He heard their voices laughing, lively, yet it was like there was an invisible bubble between him and the world around him.
Maybe he had no one to blame but himself, he didn’t know anymore. The silence was too loud, yet peaceful. The noise was too quiet, yet necessary. But it was him who gave into the whispers of Pandora's box, followed the voice promising momentary escape, and now all that was left was an empty, cheerful husk of a man. Paper mache, painted colorfully and giving the illusion of life, yet inside a cold, empty cavity.
Dance didn’t bring him the joy it used to. Performing didn’t bring the joy it used to. Singing became less of a declaration of his voice, his hopes and joys, and became in the privacy of his room a shrill scream that he barely recognized as human.
Some nights he would pass a mirror, and falter as he wouldn’t recognize the face looking back at him. When had he grown so much? When did the boyish features start becoming one of a young man? It was all so fast. He should know what he’s doing by now, right? Everyone seems to know what they’re doing. All eyes are on him. His parents, his friends, his teachers, everyone. Every breath must be controlled. Every expression must be deliberate. Every movement must be covered, radiating the confidence and joy he is meant to be. Reliable. He could be that. He could keep the act up. Forever? No, even he knew there would be a day he would break. But he would need to ensure that break happens maybe after college. Maybe the second everyone gets distracted. Until then, the words echo in his mind…
“Fake it ‘till you make it.”
…He could do that.
The shrill ring of his alarm clock rang. Six in the morning, it screamed. Time to get up.
Staring at the ceiling, Tsukasa took a heavy, deep breath as he sat up, rubbing any sleep from his eyes as he stretched.
“I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to go to school. Let’s skip. What’s the point anymore?” A voice pleaded in the back of his mind.
Tsukasa promptly ignored it.
Getting up, he grabbed his uniform, pausing momentarily at the sight of the open computer on his desk with a small frown, and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
The clothes were set down by the sink as he made his way to the bathroom sink. It was still dark out, the street light’s glow bringing some light from the cold emptiness outside the window, the world still asleep, save for some people of the workforce heading to their offices. Tsukasa heard the door shut as his father left for work. The lights were still off everywhere but the bathroom he was in, and the kitchen light from his father forgetting to shut it off.
The steady flow of water filled some of the silence, his hands twitching slightly as the cold water of the sink became lukewarm. He grabbed a hairband Saki let him lend a few months ago that he never really gave back and probably was going to stay in his possession until Saki noticed its absence, and he put his bangs back as he splashed his face with water. He grabbed a nearby towel and dried his face, rubbing a hand over his cheek and chin as he checked for any stubble. His hair didn’t grow quickly, so he deemed it good enough for the day. He shaved yesterday anyway. He didn’t have the energy to shave today anyway.
Looking at himself in the mirror as he applied some moisturizer on his face, he found he still couldn’t recognize the person looking back. He frowned slightly, and pushed back any thoughts before the morning air decided to start messing with his mind and distort his reflection.
Instead, he took off the red hairband and put it away in its usual drawer, combed his hair, and looked at himself again. He looked presentable. Good.
One last addition for the day.
He grinned, more out of habit than any real joy, and announced to the invisible audience, ”Today shall be a great day for Tsukasa Tenma, world future star! HAHAHAHA!”
“Fake it ‘till you make it.”