Chapter Text
Heterochromatic eyes stare blankly at a piece of paper. One eye was as blue as the sky on a cloudless day and the other was gold like a ray of sunlight. Untied golden hair drooped from his shoulders, making a curtain over his face and the paper.
Of course the paper has questions and instructions. Isn't that what life is? Social cues, test questions you have to answer, there's always a right and wrong even if people say there isn't. That's just life.
“So,”
A sickenly familiar voice slices through his thoughts.
“Continuing on…”
Their voice rings in Pure Vanilla’s ears. Of course it had to be them talking to him. Why was it always them?
School was a huge pain with them around. The annoying chatters of the same topics, the same arrogant tone used to talk to other cookies, the same ugly torn face.
I'm sO sOrRy that I'm thinking about them like this. It's not meant to be what an EStEemEd peRfeCt stUdEnt is meant to think. Pure Vanilla resisted the urge to scoff. It isn't like other people think about them like this too.
Trailing down to his next class with them, he keeps his voice light. He laughs at the right places with the right tone and places a soft placid smile on his lips. He only asks questions about whatever they were interested in and only talked briefly, letting them guide the way the conversation went. He fought the urge to rub his temples or roll his eyes.
Why did they have to be in his academic class? And for 2 WHOLE YEARS! MY LUCK IS SO GREAT!
At last, break had arrived. Normally, people would love break times but of course, not for Pure Vanilla. Because of his immense loneliness deep inside and fake demenour, break was also torture, another scene of a play he was forced to act in.
Another idiot would sit with him every morning tea and lunchtime, making Pure Vanilla just have to play along. He couldn't refuse. It would not end well if he did.
Other kids frolicked around the place with their friends, chatting aimlessly and laughing obnoxiously to pass time.
If only I also had friends to do that with. Real friends. Not just fake friends that use him as a trash bin to dump all their worries and life problems into.
After school was the only time that Pure Vanilla could actually be somewhat happy. Somewhat. Listening to some music that had been stuck in his mind lately, he started to do some self assigned homework. Well, it wasn't really self assigned if it was just doing a test to the best of his ability.
All this for some stupid money discount. Privilegeous people would say. But you don't see the amount of effort and time you have to waste to get there. The amount of pressure and expectation, heavy on your shoulders every time you walk. Talk. Speak. You'll be known. Looked upon. Teachers and students alike. Never allowed to breathe freely. There will always be someone watching. Wherever you are. No rest. No freedom. And definitely no happiness.
Pushing his way into his apartment, he is met with it neat and tidy. Just the way everyone expects him to be. He scoffs, and steps into the bathroom. He is met with the soft placid smile, thats always plastered onto his face.
I swear that smile will be the end of me. He could already feel his face straining when he formed it into a neutral expression because of how long he had to hold it for.
Sighing, he opened the bathroom drawer to his black makeup he applied when going to dance.
No one knows he actually has to work to live. Everyone has their own parents who take care of them and provide for them. Not Pure Vanilla. His parents dumped him onto the streets when he was first born, only merely surviving by an orphanage who took him in and then left him alone when he was 10. Too many kids, they said, when he could literally see rows of blank beds unoccupied.
At least they got him money I guess. There was only enough to suffice for two years of tuition and living expenses, making him have to create a different identity to work and get paid. No one would like a little child roaming their quarters for work.
Thankfully Pure Vanilla was pretty tall and was mature enough to understand the ways of the bigger world, surviving three years out of pure luck by getting a scholarship in the previous year and working at a fast food restaurant. Thankfully, in the holidays he was able to secure a place in a dance league, getting paid a much more decent amount of money then the previous job.
The first performance of the year was coming up, making most dancers have to work overtime, sometimes ending rehearsals at 1am.
Not good for school, Pure Vanilla knows but he can't do anything about it. Night time is the only time that doesn't clash with school and other commitments he has to attend.
Makeup is the only way to cover his identity, saying that he is 16 and not 13. And he wants absolutely no one in his school to know he's a dancer. Stage Pure Vanilla or in his fake identity Truthless Recluse, would not be anyone you would expect to be Pure Vanilla or even in the same generation as Pure Vanilla.
Well that was the goal.
With top down all black makeup, covering his whole face, (eyeshadow and lipstick) and his usual attire being dark themed, it contrasted deeply to the golden sunshine and rainbows Pure Vanilla usually wore. Even his personality changes, Truthless Recluse snarky and mean, always distant from everyone while Pure Vanilla is kind and modest, able to “enjoy” a conversation with anyone.
Truthless Recluse stepped out into the streets, covering his dancer attire with baggy black pants and a simple black jacket that had been zipped up all the way up. Inside was a black singlet and tights, both clinging to his body.
His black outfit fit perfectly in with the night, making him almost invisible. It was going to be a long walk to get to the dancing studio, around 30 minutes. Keeping his head low, Truthless started walking at a steady pace.
Turning around the corner, his shoes tapped against new concrete, making it echo in the narrow alleyway. 21 Brookland street. Right here. A worn out door stuck on the side of the alleyway saying “STAFF ONLY” in big bold letters. Pushing the heavy door, truthless was met with the usual extravagant sight.
Bars streamed the left side of the room, dancers that came early already warming up. The opposite wall had mirrors, making you able to critique yourself as harshly as you can, seeing every mistake and every minor error you make when dancing. Well that was what Truthless thinks the mirrors were for.
In the top right corner was another door which held all the costumes and fiddly things you would do to play dressup. On the same wall was the door to go to the main lounge and living room. This was where guests would come and sit before a show started or something. Dancers could also go and rest there when they were not training but were rarely given the occasion, given the amount of practice the manager made them do.
On the opposite corner were the bathrooms/changing rooms. Everyone needed a little privacy when putting on a new costume. You would think that the changing rooms would be with the costumes but no because the designers of the room wanted to make life harder than it already was.
Truthless stepped into the room, the door thudding behind him. Thankfully no one really cared about him except for the manager, making him able to silently go to the bathroom to change and get rid of the excess baggy clothing.
Stuffing the clothes into a bag he made his way over to the practice room. Before he even got to the middle of the room to warm up, rehearsal started. “I should get here earlier,” he thought.
The rehearsal was alright. They practiced the group dance and did a decent bit of technique work for his solo. Most of the dances were not too hard for Truthless since he had attended similar training at school, except this time it was at night and he got paid.
Without saying a goodbye to anyone except the manager because they were forced to, Truthless prepared for the midnight 30 minute stroll to his house. He somehow already memorised the way to and from his apartment to the dance studio in less than 3 times of going back and forth.
I guess that's the perk of memorising so much that you can memorise things without meaning too.
It was about 12:30 midnight when Pure Vanilla arrived at his doorstep. Unlocking the door, he hurried to the bathroom. Pure Vanilla wished that he could just flop onto his bed and sleep but if he didn't get his makeup off, it wouldn't come out the next morning. How he knew this was because he had done it before and had to cover the black stains with more makeup to look somewhat natural for school.
Such a pain that day was.
After what felt like an eternity, Pure Vanilla was able to just rest in his blankets, the warm sheets cuddling his skin.
He closed his eyes and slept almost instantly, falling into a deep slumber.
At least sleep was something that the world hadn't erased from his life yet.
Yet.