Archive of Our Own

Aoi has never been interested in acting.

She’s never been big on plays—she enjoyed musicals, if only for their music and set and costume design, but never the acting. She couldn’t find it in herself to applaud people for pretending to be someone they weren’t. Maybe that didn’t make much sense, because she still liked shows and movies—but it’s much different live. You can see the moment they make mistakes, each trip-up over their words, each time they mess up a note or choreography. It’s seeing something imperfect in something designed to be such.

( That’s what scared Aoi. Not the acting or the pretending, but the thought of your mistakes being seen— pretending to be perfect your entire life only to fall in front of everyone who put you there to begin with. It scared her, because it’s exactly what she’s been doing since she was five.)

Aoi was taught to pretend ever since she was little. Ever since her father left, perhaps the last golden and genuine thing she had, her mother molded her into a role she couldn’t escape from. Aoi, with flower petals in her hair and dirt under her nails, became Akane Aoi, prim and proper and perfect to the bone. She took ballet classes in the morning, piano recitals in the evening, and any free time was spent studying or socializing with her mom’s work friends’ children.

She had one real friend at the time. Her name inversed, a boy just across the gap from her balcony, Aoi Akane. He saw past the cutesy smiles and hair ribbons, not getting scared or weirded out when she teased him or stuck worms don’t his shirt. He saw her for Aoi, until he didn’t. It’s like something glazed over his eyes after junior high, a mist that prevented him from seeing the emptiness in her eyes on public, the shine lost when she could no longer be herself. Akane began to obsess over Akane Aoi, just as everyone else did. Something bitter and rotten had been growing in Aoi’s stomach ever since then, something that felt like loneliness yet never wanting to get close to anyone again.

Until Yashiro Nene, the golden genuineness she’s been searching for since her father left.

She met Nene through the gardening club—short, seafoam-colored hair in her peripheral vision as she tended to the hyacinths. She turned to her, pretty pink-brown eyes meeting her own, a timid and unsure expression on her face. She was playing with a strand of her hair, looking like she wanted to say something, Aoi beating her to it.

“Are you okay?”

It came out soft, gentle—the voice of Akane Aoi that she’s perfected. The girl stuttered, choking on her words with a flush on her cheeks. She takes a breath, “Yeah, I’m just…a little lost. I’m kind of new here so…”

Aoi giggled, forcing the sound out of her throat. “That’s perfectly fine! We love new members. Here, I’ll show you around.” 

She lifts herself off the grass, brushing the dirt off her knees. Wisps of her violet hair flow in the breeze as she walks, waiting for Nene to follow in tow. Aoi tried to stop—but she kept glancing at her in the corner of her eyes. She’s done this countless of times before, the same smile plastered on her face and the same gentle tone—but there was something about the girl that was different. Maybe it was how every emotion she felt made its way onto her face, every faint crinkle of her eyes when she was confused, every wobbly smile or embarrassed blush on her cheeks. She was so easy to read, and Aoi, bitter and cold on the inside, envied it.

As they walked between rows of vegetable plants, Aoi’s gardening boots crunching against the early-autumn leaves, the girl opens and closes her mouth, like she wanted to say something. She stutters once more, “I’m Nene, by the way. Yashiro Nene.”

The name didn’t ring much of a bell. Secretly, Aoi felt a little guilty. “I’m Akane Aoi. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yashiro-san.”

“Oh, it's just Nene. And I know who you are! You’re in my homeroom class. You’re always watering the flowers—which look great, by the way!”

Suddenly, Aoi feels incredibly more guilty—something sinking to the bottom of her stomach. Someone as genuine as Nene didn’t deserve to be looked over, especially not by her—but a flash of recognition sparks in her mind. A girl with large ankles in the back of the class, no partner assigned for the project—swaying back and forth in her chair with a nervous smile on her face. Aoi snuck glances at her from the corner of her eye, and noticed how no one seemed to be looking at her. Something akin to jealousy crawled under her skin, something that longed to almost disappear. A place where no one was looking, where their piercing gazes couldn’t find her, where her podium of perfection ceased to exist. Aoi wondered if it was better to be ignored or to have constant eyes burning in the back of her head, watching her every move.

She blinks, trying to bring herself back to reality, where the sunset is warm and brings out the flecks of gold in Nene’s eyes. “Ah, thank you…and I’ve seen you around, too.”

Nene laughs, but it was pained and humorless. “You don’t have to lie, it’s okay. I doubt anyone around here really notices me at all.”

Aoi doesn’t know what to say to that. There are so many thoughts swirling in her mind—thoughts of jealousy, the guilt for feeling that jealousy in the first place, and sympathy for a girl who just wanted to be noticed, not knowing the price that comes with it. So, Aoi speaks without thinking.

“Someone always does. Trust me, even if you think they don’t.”

There was something darker about her tone, something akin to sincerity, perhaps even hatred. Aoi’s words came from a place of resentment—years of burning stares and a pedestal that leered above everyone else coming to mind. But, to Nene, they could be of comfort. The notion that someone notices, that you’re not invisible—that Aoi, who leers above it all, can notice those closest to the back of the crowd.

She laughs, gentler this time. “Thanks, Akane-san..”

She wants to correct her, tell her to just call her Aoi, but no one has called her that in a long, long time. She moves past that thought, and continues the tour.

—

She started noticing Nene a lot more, after that.

Not in an annoying, persistent way—the way that the boys at school bothered her and tried to get her attention during every waking moment. Aoi just suddenly became hyper-aware of the seafoam hair in her peripheral vision, and the way Nene’s eyes lit up when she saw her in the hallway, and, most importantly, the way she talked to Aoi. There were no ulterior motives, or useless small talk, but just a genuine want to get to know Aoi better, even if she didn’t quite know herself.

After school in the garden, where the rest of the gardening club members had since went home, Nene was helping Aoi clean up. She swept the dirt up from the greenhouse floor, braided hair swishing with her movements.

“Do you like plays, Akane-san?”

Aoi tightens her jaw, and bites back a grimace. “I suppose. I saw a couple when I was little.”

“My mom got us tickets for the one at the local theater, but she caught up at work and can’t refund them. Do you…want to go with me?”

She didn’t. And it wasn’t because of Nene, not at all—she thought that offer was actually kind, if anything. People only ever invited Aoi to things for attention, the bragging right to say “Akane Aoi is at my party!” But Nene, with dirt covering the tops of her gardening boots and a warm smile on her face, was thinking of anything but that. Aoi just couldn’t stand plays.

Naturally, Aoi agrees. (Akane Aoi never said no,  never declined an invitation, no matter how much she wanted to.)

When the weekend arrives, Aoi isn’t excited. She makes a point to try and ignore the actors’ mistakes, every trip up in their words, but she knows that’s not going to happen. And if the play was perfect, that might be even more terrifying. Perfection fit for entertainment watching perfection fit for entertainment. How fitting.

Nene is waiting for her when she arrives, waving her arm up high in the air across the street. She’s wearing a floral sundress, and Aoi recognizes them as hyacinths. Her heart does a strange thing in her chest.

The sun has almost fully set, the neon sign illuminating the front of the theater framing Nene’s head. Her voice fades in the closer Aoi gets, the sound of cars covering most of it. She makes out the last few words, “-You made it!”

She quickly puts a smile on her face, not noticing that it’s gotten a bit easier to not force it, around Nene. She’s practically bursting with energy as she enters the theater, bouncing on the balls of her heels, swaying her arms side-to-side. It smelled strongly of buttered popcorn—and Aoi finds that she doesn’t quite hate it. Especially not when Nene gently links their arms together, a shy smile on her face, giving Aoi room to let go if she was uncomfortable. A small gesture, perhaps the bare minimum, but the thought of choice touched Aoi’s heart.

The theater is a lot darker than Aoi remembered it being. The lights on stage were a lot brighter, as a kid. Or maybe that was just her emotions, then—bright and unfiltered, popcorn stuck between her teeth and her father at her side. She shakes her head, pushing that thought down. She turns to Nene.

“What play is this, again?”

“Oh! It’s Romeo and Juliet,” An embarrassed blush coats her cheeks. “I’m a sucker for romance.”

Aoi wants to laugh and cry at the same time. Of course it was romance. That wasn’t condescending towards Nene at all—it was just the sheer luck of it all, seeing a play, which she hated, of possibly her least favorite genre. At least it was darker in nature, similar to the horror genre she loved so dearly. She couldn’t let Nene know that, though.

Aoi giggles, uncomfortable in the back of her throat. “I get that.” She doesn’t.

The theater falls to a hush, then silence. The curtain opens, and Aoi’s heart rate picks up. (Whether that was from the fear, or the way Nene’s finger brushed her own from the arm rest—she didn’t know.)

—

The play was horrid, to put it likely.

Not to the average viewer. It was relatively, objectively okay, when watching from eyes that didn’t catch up on acting like Aoi’s did. Juliet’s actor tripped over words at least once a scene—and she couldn’t fully be blamed. It was Shakespere, after all, and even Aoi doesn’t think she could read that without slip-ups. But it was obvious and easy to catch, breaking the worldbuilding that Aoi wasn’t engaged in to begin with. And Romeo and her supposed “chemistry” was…it was strained. Romeo’s actor seemed to lean away from her, like he wasn’t getting paid enough to be there to begin with. The slight imperfections irked Aoi every time, and she couldn’t help but wonder if these slips in her own act were this easy to catch up on. After that thought, the noise of the play turned to static in her ears, filled with nothing but the anxiety in her stomach.

The applause is what breaks Aoi out of her trance, the curtains closing and the play coming to an end. She takes a breath of relief, and turns to Nene. Nene is crying. Her eyes are glassy, teardrops falling from her waterline to the button of her chin. Aoi almost flinches. Nene glances at her from the corner of her vision, quickly going to wipe her tears.

“Sorry! I’m fine, I’m fine—it’s just…tragic romances really get me, y’know?”

Once again, Aoi does not get it. She doesn’t understand how Nene could be brought to tears by mediocre acting and line slip-ups. Still, Aoi gently takes Nene’s hand, wiping a stray tear from her face.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s okay. Do you want to leave?”

She nods gently, and Aoi takes her hand, leading her to the door. (She buys her a box of strawberry candies, remembering an off-hand comment about them being her favorite fruit, and leads her out the theater doors.)

They sit on the edge of the sidewalk, Nene popping the candies in her mouth, still sniffling. But she’s calmer now, closer to content. “Did you have fun, Akane-san?”

“I did.” The response comes easy, not wholly the truth, but not fully a lie. Something in-between. She enjoyed hearing Nene “awe” after each romantic scene, before she zoned out. She liked the glimmer in Nene’s eyes, completely captivated by the performance, even if Aoi couldn’t understand why. She hated the play. But she had fun, or the closest thing she could have to fun, when pretending.

“Did you like the play?”

“I…” something hesitates in the back of Aoi’s voices. Something cuts her off, maybe a deep part of her heart that wants to tell Nene the truth. Nene, perhaps the most genuine person she’s met in years, with tears in the corners of her eyes and strawberry gummies in her mouth, looks at her with nothing but kindness. Her heart twitches.

“Not really.”

Aoi is expecting Nene to flinch at her honesty, to get angry for wasting her time, to get upset by her harsh comment. Instead, her eyebrows raise, cogs turning in her mind. “Is Shakespere just not your thing?”

“I guess.”

Nene, shockingly, smiles. There’s a determined gleam in her eyes, a blush on her cheeks. “Well, then I’ll find something that is! What’s your favorite genre?”

And Aoi really should’ve just kept her mouth shut, bit her tongue hard enough to bleed, but the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“Horror.”

Nene blinks, once, twice—before breaking out into an even bigger smile. “I love horror!”

The perfect, top-of-her-class Akane Aoi who waters plants and tutors students in her free time, should not like horror. It was strange, perhaps outlandish. But Nene just smiled.

“There’s a showing next week for a horror play, in a theater just further downtown. Do you…want to meet up again?”

Aoi still hates plays. In fact, this experience only solidified her hatred more—but Nene’s eyes were shimmery in the light of the moon, and her smile was so incredibly soft and inviting, that Aoi couldn’t just say no. 

Naturally, Aoi agrees. (Not for the sake of Akane Aoi, who agrees to just about anything. But for the sake of Aoi, the real her that’s been repressed for so long, finally seeping through the cracks in her mask.)

—-

Word of Aoi’s outing with Nene spreads quickly in Kamome, rumors flying around about Akane Aoi’s interest in plays. The drama club follows her around all day, attempting to get her to sign up. She turns them down, with excuses of the gardening club taking up all her time, which wasn’t fully untrue. But now, Akane has bought tickets for all play showings within the next two months, all with seats directly next to each other. She feels her blood boil.

Nene’s involvement does not go unheard of, either.

She sees people crowding around her in homeroom, whispers of her own name filling her ears. Her grip on her watering can tightens, and the urge to intervene gets incredibly strong.

“Akane-san doesn’t hang out with just anyone, y’know. You should be grateful.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Do you think you’re better than the rest of us, or something? ‘Cause you’re not, I mean…just look at your legs. She’s probably just trying to do charity work for losers like you–”

Aoi clears her throat. Loudly. Purposefully.

The group of girls all turn to look at her, some with guilty looks, some with even more disdain on their features. Aoi is keenly aware of the fact that everyone in Kamome either loves her to an obsessive degree, or hates her so badly that they dedicated time trying to rip her from her pedestal.

“Nene-chan, do you mind helping me with these flowers?”

Nene’s hands are shaking and sweaty, and there’s a scared, uncomfortable expression on her face. She nods quickly, rushing to Aoi’s side. Something angry must’ve been in Aoi’s eyes then, a sharp glint that represented a fraction of the anger coursing through her veins. Her hands shook, and she dug her nails into her palms. 

Rumors have never externally bothered her. She made sure of that—it was just another thing to deal with as her role of perfection. But when it got someone like Nene involved, her anger was uncontrollable, the real Aoi present and loud. Still, Aoi knows how to control what she says.

“Oh, sorry. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.” She smiles, and it’s smug. Close to violent. The girls pick up on it, mummering apologies and retreating to a corner, whispering things that sounded a lot like her and Nene’s names. She turns to Nene, still shaking and a bit terrified.

“Things like that tend to happen a lot, when you’re around me. I wish it didn’t.” The sincerity-resentment came from her voice again, and she hoped that Nene picked up on it. Being around me can hurt you. You don’t have to be here.

“I’m…just a bit startled is all. I knew you were popular but…” She hesitates, likely thinking back on the girls’ words. Aoi could see the insecurity in her eyes, the thoughts, reminiscent of Aoi’s own, clouding her eyes. She puts a hand on Nene’s shoulder.

“I don’t hang out with just anyone, Nene-chan. They were right about that. And only that.” Aoi’s voice tipped on the right edge of genuine, a smile (that she didn’t have to force on her face) slipped onto her features.

Nene’s eyes glistened, mostly with unshed tears, but also with silent understanding. She takes her own palm, still a bit sweaty, and squeezes Aoi’s own.

—-

The horror play was bad.

Bad, not horrid—there was a difference. Bad as in it wasn’t scary, not a chill down her spine, not the elements of horror that made it what she loved. She couldn’t even remember the name this time. But Nene looked exhilarated by the end, a twitch in her eyes, looking over her shoulder as they left the theater. Aoi continued to be jealous of how expressive she was. 

The trips to the theater became a weekly thing, between Aoi and Nene. Aoi would always await the end of the play, the acting bothering her more than she’d ever let on, but Nene would always promise to find one that she liked, a shimmer in her eyes and a smile on her lips. And it was the strangest thing—Aoi felt as if she was enjoying herself. An unfamiliar concept, something that treaded on the edge of freedom. Every time a real smile tugged at her lips, she felt like was rebelling against something, that she was going against the role she had to play, if only for a moment.

Nene made Aoi feel free, and it was exhilarating.

Eventually, they’d seen just about every show the theater had to offer, and Nene was running out of pocket money, while Aoi was running out of excuses to ask her mother for some. A train ticket to tutor a student suddenly didn’t cut it anymore. So, they looked for alternatives.

They joined a pottery class, Aoi ending up with a set of floral cutlery, and Nene with clay stains all over her favorite overalls. (The Picasso-esque vase she made was only an afterthought.) They went to a music festival, Nene sticking all sorts of accessories into her seafoam hair, even buying her and Aoi matching music note hair clips. Nene even invited Aoi to her house on occasion, throwing a slumber party that resulted in a bad romcom rental and nail polish drying in Aoi’s cuticles. Normally, that imperfection would’ve bothered her, but with Nene, she couldn’t find it in herself to get mad.

Aoi didn’t like the term “best-friend”. Maybe it’s because Akane had stripped the word of all its meaning, becoming someone that Aoi couldn’t stand, someone who saw her only for what she pretended to be. But Nene saw more than that, so maybe she deserved it.

Aoi never explicitly told Nene about what she thought, never told her that she’s been playing the role of perfection for her entire life, or, more importantly, that the Aoi she considers her friend might not even be the true Aoi at all. (But Aoi was selfish. The thought of Nene leaving her hurt far more than pretending. So, she kept quiet.)

And even despite that—she thinks Nene understood, a little. Because there were times that Aoi’s smile slipped, or her tone bordered the wrong edge of anger, or her eye twitching when a guy at school came up to her. And there was the sincerity-resentment in her voice, at times—the genuine Aoi that slipped through, bitter and angry. She saw the way Nene’s eyes flickered, the way she noticed the changes, and the way she never prodded or asked anything more. She stayed, and it was the most anyone has ever done for Aoi. Not Akane Aoi, the girl who received flowers and praise and anything else to get on her good side. It was for the real Aoi, and her alone, and it made her something close to happy.

It was near the end of the year, when Kamome Middle School put on the spring play. Nene was bouncing on the balls of her feet, fidgeting all through class, waiting for the final bell to ring. Aoi tried to focus on her work, and not the sparkle in Nene’s eyes, of the pink coating her cheeks. She shook her head, almost breaking the tip of her pencil.

Naturally, Nene took Aoi to see it opening night, getting the best seats and going all out with snacks. The play was The Little Mermaid, a mermaid who trades her tail and her voice to become human, so she can be with her one true love. Aoi didn’t understand it—risking your previous life, every opportunity you could’ve had, just to be with someone you loved, someone you barely knew. The concept seemed so baseless. But Nene was more excited than usual, if even possible—with seashell earrings dangling from her ears, and sour powder from the candy she was eating stuck to her lips. She skimmed through the playbill, pointing out the people she knew—Minamoto Kou from the year below, playing the prince, Amane Yugi, also from the year below, playing the sea witch. Aoi just gave her a fond smile, Nene squeaking as the curtains closed.

Aoi was more familiar with how plays went, by now. She could easily point out the mistakes, still—but she was trying to learn to immerse herself in the story, like everyone else had. When Nene’s friends were on stage, she felt a tug at her arm, and Nene pointing them out and whispering to Aoi, gushing and getting excited about the play. Suddenly, the mistakes they made weren’t the vocal point, and suddenly, scarily—Aoi was getting almost as excited as Nene was.

In turn, Aoi would tug at Nene’s sleeve when her friends were in the background of a scene, giggling at the blocking, small details that perhaps no one else noticed. Not a mistake, only intentional, little things that just made the play feel almost real. 

When the play concluded, Aoi didn’t have to break herself out of a trance, or adjust herself to the sounds of applause. Instead, she clapped alongside everyone else, but not for everyone else. It was for her, and for Nene, who was clapping and cheering louder than perhaps anyone else in the auditorium. And when the curtain closed, the lights still dimmed, Aoi turned to Nene, still staring at the stage with stars in her eyes. If Aoi looked closer, she could see traces of tears in the corners of her eyes.

“I want to do that,” Nene said, almost a whisper. “Next year, I’m gonna do that.”

Silently, Aoi grows envious of the way Nene can want, and just decide that she’ll do. She tries to push that back, and slips her hand into Nene’s own, who squeezed it without question. “And I’ll watch.”

Something flickered in Nene’s eyes, wonder turning to confusion, perhaps even hurt. “Why not join me?”

And something in Aoi’s heart lurched, something she couldn’t say, an explanation she couldn’t give Nene. She knew exactly why she couldn’t join. She couldn’t act—not when she’s been acting her entire life, not when it’s only ever hurt her. She couldn’t get on a stage and put on a performance that everyone expected her to. She couldn’t ever willingly do that. But she can’t tell Nene that. 

Silently, she just squeezes Nene’s hand, and hopes that she understands.

—-

The summer passes by slowly and painfully, humidity seeping in through Aoi’s balcony doors and making it impossible to study without breaking a sweat. She makes a point to not open the window to let the breeze in—because Akane is only a few feet away from the gap, and she can’t bear the thought of looking at him. She tugs at the sleeves of her t-shirt, clinging to her sweat-soaked skin, and almost snaps her pencil clean in half at the sensation. 

Aoi hasn’t seen Nene since the last day of the school year. She was on a vacation with her mom, and they still texted daily, but Aoi was on edge. Putting on an act didn’t get any easier even if she wasn’t at school. Her mother signed her up for this summer education program, an introduction to the medical field, or something of the like. She wasn’t even in high school yet, nor did she even aspire to be a doctor. But it made good money and she was an Akane—destined to be successful, not happy. But she had to pretend that she was.

A sudden thought struck Aoi. One that she’d thought before, one from the darkest parts of her mind that she couldn’t tell anyone else. Not even Nene. The thought of wanting to disappear. The thought of never returning to her too-big house for two people, one of which only saw her as a trophy, something to show off. The thought of never going back to school, where everyone stared at her like she wasn’t quite human, something just fundamentally different, something to be ostracized. The thought of never returning to the living world, where her future wasn’t quite in her hands, and no one saw her for who she was. Not even herself. 

She takes a breath, and forces herself away from the paper she was working on. It was the weekend, so she didn’t have to attend the class, but that didn’t mean she had a break. She almost never did, except maybe when she was with—

A call from her phone, a familiar image of seafoam green hair and bright eyes lighting up her screen. It was a picture from the music festival, a sparkly music-note shaped hair clip in her hair.

“Aoi! I just got back, do you wanna hang out?”

Aoi didn’t remember exactly when, but Akane-san became Aoi, when Nene called her name. Maybe it was after the night of their first play, when Aoi had comforted her after she cried. Or maybe it was after joining the pottery class, when she helped clean the clay stains out of Nene’s clothes, and Nene gifted her the abstract vase she made. She still had it, kept on her desk with blooming hyacinths inside. Or maybe it was after seeing The Little Mermaid, when Nene had decided she’d rather be on the stage than watching it, and decided that she wanted Aoi right there next to her. 

Nene saw Aoi. She didn’t see Akane-san with perfect grades and soft smiles, not anymore. She saw Aoi, who loved horror movies and grimaced at the romcoms she rented. She saw Aoi, who’s tone turned bitter and cold at the girls who made fun of her, a slip in the mask that maybe only she noticed. She saw Aoi, who could be blunt and sarcastic and perhaps a little rude at times, but stuck with her anyway. She didn’t get grossed out when Aoi played with the insects in the school garden, or get angry when Aoi did something a little selfish. She saw Aoi for who she was— human.

“Of course,” Aoi is already slipping her shoes on, leaving her paperwork on the table. The summer air suddenly feels lighter, and it smells like sea spray and flowers. (Like Nene, a part of her mind calls out to her.)

“There’s a fair near the school, just down the road—with games and rides and stuff. I’ll meet you in fifteen?”

Aoi is already down the stairs, abandoning her homework and the role she had to play, just for a few hours. “Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

The sun is close to setting, Aoi’s entryway casted in an orange glow. She opens the front door, and the light is a signal of freedom, a taste of what she could always have, if she decided for herself what she wanted. She basks in that thought, the thought that maybe she didn’t have to pretend. That maybe her life wasn’t over if she stepped down from her pedestal, despite what her peers would think, what Akane would say, what her mother would—

She hears her mother from the kitchen, not knowing she was even home. A hushed phone call, and she hears her own name spoken. 

“She’s doing well in the program, I assume…hm? Why, of course she’s passionate about the medical field. It’s funny that you even question it. And even if she wasn’t…it’s success that matters, isn’t it? I wouldn’t want my little girl to do what she wants if I knew it wasn’t good for her.”

Her mother’s voice is cold, like her own, when she’s acting. Her hand hovers over the doorknob, heart sinking in her chest. She was on the phone with the medical program teacher, no doubt—did he assume that Aoi didn’t really like it? Did he know? Was her act really slipping, were the cracks visible enough for people other than Nene to see?

Something defensive washes over Aoi’s body, now tense and aware. She pulls herself together, deciding that she’d try harder. This was good for her, like her mother said, wasn’t it? No one would really like her, if they knew—she had to pretend, if she wanted to get anywhere.

Would Nene? Something asks her. Doesn’t Nene know, isn’t she still here? 

Her mother continues speaking from the kitchen, and that thought is pushed back. When Aoi pushes herself out of the door, she can’t stop thinking about the acting in the plays, how easy it was to fail—how anyone could see, if they looked hard enough. She thought about Nene only being around her because she had no one else, not because she really liked Aoi—only Akane Aoi because she was sweet and kind and took pity on people like her.

She feels something in the back of her throat, and it feels a lot like a sob. Her eyes burn and glisten with unshed tears. 

How did she plan to stand up to anyone like this? This was the true Aoi. Too afraid to give up what she has because it’s all she knows, all she’s ever had. Not even Nene could change that.

When she finds Nene at the fair, eyes golden and brown in the setting sun, she tries to ignore how her heart lurches, and how she wants to cry. She pulls a smile onto her face, second nature to her, and hopes that Nene can’t tell the difference.

—-

Something was different about Nene, when the school year started.

Well, first off—her hair was longer, just below her elbows. Of course Aoi had noticed it steadily growing, but it all really hit her, just then. She had the urge to braid it. She hoped Nene would ask her to do so before gardening club, to get it out of the way. The high school had a bigger garden, and naturally, they both joined the club. Aoi and Nene and their garden, where nothing and no one could reach them. A place where Aoi felt safest.

But, that was the thing—Nene started paying a lot more attention to everything else. Instead of inviting Aoi to hang out, she’d be staring at the boys a year above them, swooning over their every move. Nene’s always been a romantic—but there was something different and terrifying about it now, and Aoi really didn’t know why. (Something in her did. Something like jealousy crawled over her skin, and she tried not to let it show. That was a truth she couldn’t face quite yet.)

Nene would recount every interaction she had with a guy, telling the stories to Aoi with hearts in her eyes. The real Aoi would shake her head, and tell Nene that those guys weren’t as good as they seemed, because she’s seen them, the same faces who were obsessed with her the year before. She knows how most of them couldn’t appreciate them for who Nene truly is, that they only care for surface-level and what they can understand. The real Aoi would tell Nene that she deserved so much more than that, that she was genuine and beautiful and everything Aoi has ever wished she could be.

But the real Aoi was getting pushed further and further back into herself, caged beneath her skin. Akane Aoi smiles and nods and tells her, “That’s great, Nene-chan!” That was the selfless thing to do, the right thing to do. She tries to pretend it doesn’t feel like a knife to the heart.

And then the worst thing happens—Nene gets a boyfriend.

That was a selfish thought, one Akane Aoi, or maybe even Aoi herself would never admit. But Nene started going out with a guy from their grade, a vaguely familiar face to Aoi, for all the wrong reasons. A boy who confessed to her last year, and when she brushed him off with the same excuse she used for everyone else, “I’m not ready to date just yet!” He talked bad about her to just about everyone. He said that Akane Aoi was a selfish snake who only cared about herself. Her heart sank, when she found out the news. Not for herself, but for Nene.

She went to talk to her, despite the fact that Akane Aoi would’ve approved. A good friend, her best friend, wouldn’t though—so she called Nene the night she found out, but she didn’t pick up. And when she tried to talk to her in homeroom the next morning, Nene was talking to him in the hallway, nervously glancing at Aoi from the corner of her eye, but never approaching. Every time Aoi tried to bring it up, Nene would either avoid her or change the subject, and it was awful. Because Nene had always trusted her, through everything. But now she was nervous and scared and didn’t speak to Aoi at all—and she wondered if she knew. Aoi wondered if Nene had figured out that she wasn’t who she pretended to be, that she’s really been lying this entire time, that she was a liar, just like her boyfriend had said. Aoi felt like her world was crashing down.

The thought of disappearing crossed her mind again. And she knew that it was bad, that she shouldn’t base everything on one person alone—but how could she not, when it was the only person who ever truly knew her? 

How could she not, when she didn’t even know herself?

—

One month. It took one month for Nene to finally talk to her, to not cut their conversations short, to not ignore Aoi in the halls. It took one month, and it was the longest month of Aoi’s life.

Nene approached her in home room, a piece of paper in her hands. She looked relatively normal, despite it all—the same shine in her eyes, the same smile on her face. It’s like nothing had ever happened, but when she came up to Aoi, the watering can almost slipped clean out of her hands. She tried to ignore her racing heart and shaking hands.

“The school is doing the Wizard of Oz for the play,” Nene starts, flipping the flier over. “Do you want to audition with me?”

Aoi would’ve said no. She’s never liked plays, or acting, and she still didn’t. The thought of a performance irked her to her core, something that went against her nature and felt so inherently wrong. But here Nene was, the same Nene with pretty brown eyes and seafoam hair, talking to her when she thought they’d never speak again. Something desperate and longing took over her, just then. 

“Yes,” There’s a nervous feeling in her chest, and the voice that speaks doesn’t feel quite like her own. No, it felt like the true Aoi’s, one with no filter, one that spoke without having to think. “I would love that.”

And Nene’s smile grows softer, fonder—relieved. And suddenly, her arms are around Aoi’s shoulders, squeezing harder than they should. The flier falls to the ground, grazing Aoi’s leg. And Aoi understood, it was a silent, I missed you.

She should’ve gotten angry, because it was Nene’s fault for letting things change to begin with, for leaving Aoi with nothing but the facade she had. But this was the closest thing to happiness Aoi has felt in a month, so she squeezes back even harder, burying her face in her shoulder. A silent, I missed you too.

Nene tells her that afternoon, as they clean up after gardening club, that they broke up. That he never really liked her, that he was only using her to run his errands and do his schoolwork, that he said the most awful things about Aoi—and she was so desperate to feel loved that she almost believed them.

“But I was already loved. I know that now.” There is something sad and hopeful in Nene’s eyes, flecks of gold in her eyes as the sun sets. Aoi’s heart jumps, and she doesn’t dare let herself hope. 

“You’re my best friend, Aoi. I’m sorry.”

And Aoi pretended that she didn’t know why that hurt, why the words best friend hurt more than anything, even if that’s exactly what they were. She catches the gardenias in the corner of her eye, and a revelation washes over her, in that moment. It felt like the seafoam on the shore, like digging her nails into the sand and she’s suddenly hyper aware of the grains under her nails. It felt like realizing that going to the theater was never about the plays, and that befriending Nene was never about keeping up her facade. 

“I forgive you, Nene-chan.” I love you. 

Nene smiles. But she doesn’t understand. 

—

When the auditions for the play start, Aoi seriously considers opting out. She considers just not attending, or doing so terrible that she isn’t even thought about for the ensemble. But she knows that Nene wanted her there. (She also knew that Akane Aoi is a talented singer and actor, and doing a bad job wouldn’t leave a good impression—and that her mother wouldn’t be very pleased.)

When it’s her turn, Nene gives her a hug for good luck, and a smile so bright that Aoi thinks that anyone could get the lead just by looking at it. She walks up to the stage and plasters a smile on her face, secretly hating the way the judges looked at her. They were expectant, they knew Akane Aoi because who didn’t, they were betting on the fact that she’d do good. So, Aoi sings, and she says the lines she spent only a couple minutes memorizing. There’s no amount of heart or emotion put into it, but the judges still smile and clap as if she deserved a thing.

When it’s Nene’s turn, her hands are shaking and sweaty, still reciting Dororthy’s monologue in the corner of the waiting room for auditions. Aoi returns the hug she gave her earlier, and hopes it’s enough—because if anyone deserved the lead, it was Nene.

Nene looked close to passing out, when she returned. She was shaking, and her face was flushed, but she was smiling, and that’s all that mattered to Aoi. 

The cast list is posted a few days later, on the bulletin board in front of the auditorium. There’s already a crowd gathering, Nene gently pushing her and Aoi to the front. Something rotten curls in Aoi’s chest as she hears her own name whispered, more than it usually was. When they reach the paper, Aoi’s eyes are immediately searching for Nene’s name—but she doesn’t find it at the top. Her eyes lock to a role near the bottom of the page, where the last curve of Yashiro Nene meets with “Dorothy’s understudy.” And that wasn’t the bad part. It was the sinking, panicked feeling that Aoi felt searching for her own name as she got closer and closer to the top, until she reached the very first name on the page.

Dororthy - Akane Aoi

Suddenly, she feels very, very sick.

Nene realized it before she did, giving Aoi a wide smile and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Aoi! You got the lead!”

And the worst part is—she didn’t sound the least bit ingenuine. She just sounded proud, excited, happy—everything that Aoi couldn’t find herself to be. Because if Aoi had never joined the play, wouldn’t Nene have gotten the lead? Would she not have gotten the role she deserved, because Nene could act whilst still being true to herself, in some impossible way that Aoi wished she knew how to do?

Her first thought is to quit the play, to let Nene have what she rightfully deserved—but her mother was already aware and counting on her to play the lead. She had told all her work friends to come to the play, to see her perfect, trophy daughter excel in just about everything. She had disapproved the idea at first, claiming it’d leave less time for her studies, but let it go, as long as she still got it done. 

She also knew Nene wouldn’t want her to, because Nene was selfless and kind and would give up everything if it made Aoi happy. And that thought made her heart ache.

Aoi squeezes the hand on her shoulder, and tries to pull herself back to reality. The whispers of her name turn into cheers and congratulatory words, and Aoi smiles, and hopes it reaches her eyes. She hopes Nene doesn’t notice the way her hands are shaking, or that there are tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She continues to pretend, and hopes that the next few months pass by quick.

Aoi has played a role all her life. Now, she’s doing it for entertainment, on purpose, and people know that she’s acting. It feels hypocritical to her entire nature, to her very being.

But Nene has always liked plays—she knew that for sure. And if it meant Nene didn’t have to be there alone, then she’d do it.

—

Rehearsal was the strangest thing.

To have someone critique her acting, when she’s already been doing it for years, with no one suspecting a thing. She silently resented every note she was given, even if she knew that that’s what the directors were there for. She was playing Dorothy, a kind dreamer with sparkly red shoes, a personality more akin to Nene’s than her own.

But what was even stranger—no one paid close attention to her slip-ups, not in theater. The point was to reach as close as perfect as you could get, and messing up was part of the process. That concept was new to Aoi—the fact that saying something the wrong way, or singing the wrong note wasn’t met with whispers or burning gazes in her back. It was comforting, in a way. 

Aoi has always hated plays and acting and anything that involved pretending, because she was forced to do it. But pretending was the entire goal at rehearsal, and fitting into the role of Dororthy was a lot easier than the role of Akane Aoi, because messing up didn’t really matter.

That didn’t mean Aoi still didn’t think that Nene deserved it more than she did.

She saw what theater meant to Nene, stars and tears in her eyes as the encore of The Little Mermaid faded to white noise behind them. She saw what it meant, when Nene had said that this is what she wanted to do. She glances at Nene, who was in the wing of the stage, already looking at her. She sends her a smile, like she didn’t mind that Aoi was in the place that she wanted so much. Aoi couldn’t stop feeling guilty, no matter what she did.

She walked home with Nene, after rehearsal. Nene, whilst also being Dorothy’s understudy (not her understudy, that phrasing hurt her too much to think), she was part of the costume team, something to keep her busy, even if she wasn’t directly in the play. 

“---Aoi? Are you there?”

She blinks, bringing herself back to reality. It was unlike Akane Aoi to get caught up in her thoughts. “Yes, what’d you say?”

Nene giggles, “Sorry! You’ve probably got a lot on your mind, but costumes said that the red shoes are just about done. I added a few of the sparkles myself the other day, by staying to help a bit later—I think you’ll love them.”

She thinks of the hints of pink in Nene’s eyes, how the shoes would compliment her better than Aoi’s. She thinks of the fact that she’s never liked glitter or bright colors, that those were Nene’s style, not her own. She thinks about how the sparkles on the heels could never shine brighter than the sparkle in Nene’s eyes, the shimmer reflected off the lights of the stage, in the spotlight where she belonged. Aoi couldn’t stop thinking about everything that should’ve happened, if she hadn’t been there.

“Ah, I’m sure they’re lovely.”

But she doesn’t say that.

Nene pauses, shoes subtlety scraping against the sidewalk. Her grip on her school bag tightens, an unsure, nervous expression on her face. She’s always been easy to read—but there was something unfamiliar in her eyes, something close to disappointment, and Aoi didn’t know why. It was the most terrifying thing she’s seen—more so than her mother’s carefully veiled anger, or the hearts in Akane’s eyes when he stared at her. It was new and awful and it felt like her pedestal was crumbling beneath her.

“Aoi, you don’t…have to feel bad for me.”

Huh? 

Something akin to panic sparks in Aoi’s chest, the steady beat of her heart turning frantic. Her pupils widen, trying to decipher the emotion in the back of Nene’s voice, the resolve in her eyes.

“What do you mean, Nene-chan?”

Nene’s neutral expression turns upset, mouth turning into a frown. Her eyebrows furrow as she opens her mouth to speak “I just mean…you’ve been acting differently ever since we joined the play. And I can’t help but feel like you didn’t want to join in the first place. And that would’ve been fine, but—you didn’t have to join just because you felt bad for me joining by myself. You don’t…have to give up what you want, just because I want to.”

And it was the cruelest, most awful thing. Aoi felt her mask fall to the ground beneath her, open and unveiled and vulnerable. 

She just stares, lips shut tight and eyes fixed far past Nene’s figure. She’s silent for a beat too long, before she pulls herself together, forcing a gentle laugh from her chest before it was too late.

“Don’t be silly, Nene-chan. I joined because I wanted to. I like plays.”

Something glosses over Nene’s eyes. Not necessarily sadness, not even anger—but something much, much worse. Nene’s shoulders sunk, lips parted in worry. Nene looked disappointed. Disappointed in Aoi. And that thought made her sick, and the more Nene stared at her, the more Aoi knew that she knew. She knew that Nene knew that she wasn’t telling the truth. She hadn’t been, for the longest time.

“But you don’t. I can tell, y’know…and maybe everyone else doesn’t notice, but I know you Aoi. You…you don’t really like the boys from our class, you think they’re annoyances, even if you try to hide it. And you hate romance movies, but you put up with them for me—and I didn’t notice until recently, and I’ve stopped. And you…you hate things that aren’t perfect, things that aren’t organized, like when an actor messes up their lines or when there’s a stain on the theater carpet. You glance at it throughout the performance, I see you. And the plays—you don’t really like them, do you? You just kept going with me because you thought I’d get angry if you said no.”

I know you, Aoi.

The notion was impossible. No one knew Aoi. They knew Ao-chan and her sweet, honeyed smile—each word she spoke being soft and gentle, an angel’s wings resting on her tongue. They knew Kamome’s top students, all A’s and tutored students in her free time, everyone’s first choice for a group project. They knew Akane Aoi, her pedestal made of solid gold, threads woven between her fingertips that were both equal parts control over her peers and their control on her. A spider in her own web. A dying flower in her own garden. No one knew her—no one ever could, if she wanted to be safe.

But with each word that came out of Nene’s mouth, Aoi felt the threads unraveling, leaving red burns on her fingertips. Withered petals fell from its stem, falling far onto the floor below, into the crowd that leered below her. And something defensive burned in the back of Aoi’s throat, a dam threatening to break lose. And she didn’t know why, because Nene was golden and genuine and the best thing that’s happened to her since Akane looked at her as if she was still human. 

“As if” because Akane Aoi wasn’t human, not anymore. She remembered her mother’s grip on her arm, in an empty driveway, just minutes after her father drove off and never came back. 

“You have to be perfect, if you want to survive,” Her mother’s voice was stern and cold, no signs of vulnerability in the back of her throat, not even after the tire tracks on the pavement were still visible. “Strive for nothing less than the best. Don’t let others see you weak, or you’ll end up like him. Do you understand?”

And Akane Aoi never said no. The dam broke lose.

“You don’t know me.” She crosses her arms over her elbows, closing herself off. Her voice didn’t waver—but it wasn’t stern, wasn’t cold or bitter or resolute. It was raw and uncomfortable, the worst of the real Aoi crawling up to the surface. Nene’s eyes flickered with something close to hurt.

“You don’t know me,” She repeats, louder this time—reassuring herself more than Nene. “I’m not…I’m as good as you think I am, Nene-chan. I didn’t spend time with you because I felt bad, or because I couldn’t say no. I did it because it’s what I’m supposed to do. I do things only when it benefits my reputation, when I know they’re watching. And they always are.”

Aoi’s voice borders the edge of hysterical, quiet enough to not yell, but scraped raw enough to be considered a sob, only there were no tears. There was just the hollowness in Aoi’s heart, one that could never be filled, if it meant surviving. She can’t stop the words flowing out of her mouth, a faucet turned off for far too long.

“And you’re wrong. I do like the plays. I love acting. I have to. Because if I didn’t…if I truly hated it…then I’d hate myself. Can’t you see, Nene-chan? It’s an act. All of it. This is who I am—an actor, meant to perform, made for the stage. Everyone looks up to me, and I can’t risk losing their trust. You understand, right?”

Nene is silent for a long, long time. She’s still giving Aoi that look— the one that’s disappointed, the one that’s still searching for something. Not one of fear, or hatred. She wants Nene to leave, just like everyone else had. She wants Nene to prove her right.

Something in her gaze flickers. “But that’s not right. You defended me, that time. You didn’t have to. There are so many things you didn’t have to do—you told off those girls even if it meant they’d get angry with you, and you helped me in gardening club, even when there was no one there to see you. You joined that pottery class, you went to my house, you actively sought out for me even when I was dating my ex. If it was all an act, then why did you do those things, Aoi? Why did you care about me when no one else had?”

“Stop it,” And it’s not an order, or a statement, it’s a plea. Stop looking deeper. Stop understanding me so well. Stop making it so easy to love you.

Nene gets closer to her, but not aggressive or assertive. It’s gentle, like comforting a hurt animal, and that just made Aoi even more angry. Aoi’s head is cast to the floor, arms wrapped around her shaking form. She can feel Nene’s gaze on her, the way it’s still not judgemental, not after everything. She hates it.

“What do you want, Aoi? Not the act, not for anyone else. What do you want?”

I want to disappear. I want to know who I am. I want to be what I can’t. I want you to stay.

“I want you to leave.”

And the worst part is—Nene listened.

—-

Aoi didn’t go to rehearsal the next day.

It was something unheard of, to miss a day with the play only a week from then. It was even more unheard of when you were the lead, and when you were Akane Aoi, who hasn’t missed a day of school in her life. She was sure Nene was the only one who knew the truth—but she hadn’t slept that night, so the eyebags and redness from crying sufficed as an excuse. It didn’t make her mother any more pleased, though.

She was sure the directors would scold her. Her mother already did, glaring at her disapprovingly whilst she was on the phone with the school. Aoi wondered, distantly, if she’d become like her. Years from now, Akane Aoi with her porcelain mask and shining smile, a mother and a CEO, another successful product of the Akane family name. She wondered if she’d give her children the same looks, tell them to be perfect because it’s all what she was taught—it was the only thing that she had, apart from a girl with seafoam for hair and dappled sunlight for eyes, whom she’d long since forgotten the name of.

Aoi didn’t like that thought. Despite everything, despite Nene tearing into the skin of the girl she pretended to be without notice or permission, despite the fact that Aoi just might hate her for it—-she couldn’t stand the thought of Nene leaving. And maybe it was just her fear, the motivation and reason for the act she put on—or maybe it was because she loved her. 

Aoi loved Nene. She couldn’t be more sure of anything else. 

And Nene was right—terrifyingly right, it’s why she pushed her away. Nene knew Aoi, so much that it scared her—and she was the first, since Akane. She saw Aoi with her carefully veiled anger, threatening to boil and spill through her veins, and she didn’t comment on it. She sought for the real Aoi, not Akane Aoi—she purposefully tried to ask about what she liked, tried to joke and bring out the real Aoi’s laugh. Nene knew Aoi cared about her, and she cared equally as much in return—but she knew that revelation would be hard to face. 

So why now? Why confront her now?

Maybe it had gotten too much for her. Maybe she’d finally grown tired of the pretending and dancing around a facade, just to try and figure out what Aoi was feeling. Maybe Nene really did start resenting Aoi, the truest version of herself, the one that was bitter and selfish and just yearned to be loved. Or maybe it was something else.

“You don’t…have to give up what you want, just because I want to.”

And it struck Aoi suddenly, that maybe Nene wasn’t fully talking about just herself, then.

She was telling Aoi that she didn’t have to sacrifice who she really was to appease others, that she didn’t have to keep quiet and distance herself because she thought it’s what the other person wanted. She didn’t always have to say yes, didn’t have to dissect every question she was asked based on what Akane Aoi would say. She could just do what she wanted, what Aoi wanted—and Nene would stay with her regardless.

The thought was so simple, so kind hearted—but Nene didn’t understand. No matter how hard she tried, or how many theater productions she saw, acting was always different, in real life. Aoi knew this firsthand. But she wanted to believe it, if only for a moment—that she could choose. Nene had given her choices ever since they met. Now, it was time for Aoi to make up her mind.

The hyacinths in her vase, the one that Nene had gifted her—swayed in the breeze let in by her window. Aoi wasn’t meant for the stage. Not the one that she danced on during rehearsals, sparkly red heels kicked against the wood. And more notably, not the one she’s been performing on since she was five—an unsteady, eleven year long balancing act between a porcelain mask and the eyes that shone beneath.

Aoi was meant for her garden, her flowers—hyacinths on her windowsill and the seaspray in the air. The wind hums outside, and it sounds a lot like Nene’s voice. Aoi makes her choice.

—

“I can’t do it.”

The other cast members look at her in horror, adjusting their costumes, only ten minutes until curtain call. Aoi looks down at her shoes, sparkling and cherry-red, and hopes it’s convincing. Aoi could do it—months of rehearsal certainly paid off in terms of muscle memory, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t need to, not when there was an understudy just as capable, if not, more than she was. One she hasn’t spoken to in a week, one who she hoped, after this, could still bear to look at her.

“Akane-san, you have to—it’s…we don’t have time.” The lion, who Aoi recognized as Nene’s friend, Minamoto-kun, whisper-yelled at her.

“Nene-chan can fill in for me. I know she can,” She’s already removing the apron from her costume, slipping herself out of the red heels. The directors stare at her, wide-eyed and definitely angry. She’s always been able to tell what veiled anger looked like—she’s known her mother for sixteen years.

And Nene is already being pulled around the corner, other cast members whispering to her about the change. Aoi observes how quickly her face changes, how far her pupils widen and how her lips part in surprise. She can see the moment her heart jumps, and she knew that someone as expressive as Nene has always deserved a role like this.

Nene locks eyes with her, parts betrayed, panicked, and perhaps a bit grateful. She races over to Aoi, ready to talk her out of it, but Aoi pulls her into a hug before she can.

Nene freezes, arms hovering over Aoi’s shoulders. There’s a beat of silence, before Aoi pulls the lace ribbon from her hair and carefully ties it in Nene’s own. She’s always loved to play with Nene’s hair—it was so soft, so shiny, even in the fluorescent costume room lights. She gives it a light tug, securing it in place, before the moment is lost, and she pulls back.

Nene puts her hands on Aoi’s shoulders, eyes wide and panicked. “Aoi, you can’t—”

“You’re right. I can’t, so I won’t,” She turns around, beginning to unzip her costume, waiting for Nene to help her. “But you can. I know you can.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Nene laughs, worried and panicked and perhaps a bit hysterical, but helps unzip the dress regardless. The baby blue fabric falls in a pool around Aoi’s feet, and she, already prepared—still had her outfit on underneath.

“Go put it on, the stockings are already in the room. And the shoes, here…” The heels had come with a cover, ones that made them appear normal until the quick change, where they truly became the iconic sparkling shoes. She places them in Nene’s arms, already full, and she just stares, like maybe she’s seeing Aoi truly and fully for the very first time.

There’s a brief pause between just the two of them. The world carries on around them, cast members making final adjustments and exchanging words of encouragement, some nervously glancing at Aoi and Nene and the dress in her arms, but all Aoi is focused on is Nene. The room around her blurs together, and all she can think about is how she doesn’t doubt this decision for a second, how it’s one of the only things that truly made sense for her. 

Aoi had the rest of her life to figure out who she wanted to be. But Nene had this chance—this opportunity to do what she truly wanted, and Aoi wouldn’t dare take that away from her. Those memories, that stage, that spotlight—they meant more to Nene than they ever could to her. Her pink-brown eyes are glossed over, and she’s smiling. Aoi smiles back, gentle and fond, and it feels like her own.

She blinks, breaking herself out of the moment, still smiling. She pushes Nene’s shoulders, rushing her towards the dressing rooms. “Curtain call is in five, Nene-chan! Go, go!”

Nene’s eyes dart up, body jumping and already starting to run, but just as she passes the corner, she stops. She quickly peeks her head back around, sending Aoi a smile so bright that it can only mean thank you.

And it wasn’t just a thank you for the dress, or giving her the part, or doing the play with her despite not wanting to join in the first place. It was a thank you to Aoi, both parts of her—the real and the masked one, who stayed with Nene despite not having to, who smiled and made sarcastic quips when no one was watching, who loved horror movies but put up with romance because it made Nene happy, and who helped Nene water flowers without killing them and being her first real friend at Kamome. Thank you for being you.

Aoi returns it in full, the smile not leaving her face. A shimmer in Nene’s eyes tells her that she understands.

(And she always had, each and every time.)

—

The play was incredible.

And that was the very first time Aoi has thought anything remotely positive of a play—and meaning it, anyway. It was the strangest thing, because she couldn’t find it in herself to care about the slip-ups in the acting, or the slight key changes or cut-offs of notes. Maybe it’s because Nene was on stage. Maybe it’s because she finally realized the true meaning of acting.

Because when Nene sang, she wasn’t playing the role to cover something up. She was just happy to do it. She was so bright, so vibrant and warm even when acting out sad scenes. And when Nene messed up—because she had, no amount of notes could save her surprise when Aoi dropped out—it didn’t matter. Nene wasn’t perfect, and neither was the play, or the school, or Aoi.

Aoi wasn’t perfect. She knew that. And maybe that was the whole point.

When Nene bows, Aoi cheers the loudest—and the other cast members just laugh and cheer along with her. She wonders what her mother would think. But she pushes that back, because Nene—tears in her shimmering eyes and sweat on her forehead, a huge smile on her face that reaches her flushed cheeks—that was far more important to think about.

When the lights cut, all Aoi can hear is the applause, along with an intense, familiar shuffling of shoes. As it drew closer to the wing of the stage, she could spot a pair of sparkling red shoes coming towards her. Aoi feels Nene before she sees her, slightly-sweaty arms wrapped around her figure. She doesn’t even think before hugging her back.

“That was beautiful,” Aoi starts, staring into the darkness, the lights still not on. With her face hidden and her voice a whisper, she continues. “ You’re beautiful.”

She knows Nene heard her, the smallest catch of her breath and the way her arms tightened around her shoulders. The lights come on before Nene can respond, and the moment is lost—but Nene looks at her after. There’s a new shine in her eyes, and a coat of blush on her cheeks—and it wasn’t because of the adrenaline. At least Aoi hoped it wasn’t.

Nene is pulled into hugs by the other cast members, mainly Minamoto-kun, who was on the verge of tears at her performance. Aoi smiles at the exchange, before her phone vibrates in her pocket. She knew it was her mother. She knows she’s going to get chewed into later, by the directors, too—but she just takes a deep breath, and continues staring at Nene. It doesn’t make her body shake any less, though.

When Nene is finally done with hugs and words of congratulations, she goes back to Aoi, pulling her by the hands. “Do you want to go meet the crowd?”

Her mother is in the crowd. Akane is in the crowd. At least a hundred students who were expecting Akane Aoi as the lead were in the crowd. 

“Sure.” Nene smiles as bright as the sun, and it was all worth it. The grueling hours of rehearsal, the girls from the year before who still hated her, the lecture she was going to get later by everyone—all of it. But it wasn’t just because of Nene.

Aoi had found herself. She couldn’t become her overnight, but she recognized who it was, even after years of repressing her. The play with its bright spotlights, and Nene, with a bright smile to match—had guided her way. 

This time, Aoi was going to follow the path. The one that was her own.

—

After the play, Nene had dragged Aoi, as well as Minamoto-kun and a few of her other friends (one of which Aoi recognized as the sea witch from last year), to the front of the auditorium. Nene was getting stopped every five seconds to take a picture, and she looked just as surprised and happy every time. Her eyes glistened with bright unfiltered joy, and it brought a smile to Aoi’s face.

Nene noticed how Aoi was on edge, and understood. Whenever they saw a head of muted purple hair pass by, Nene, and even her friends, built a barrier around Aoi. It made her laugh, which made them laugh, and everything was golden and warm for a moment.

Once the crowd had died down, the cast had an after party at a local diner. Nene ordered a stack of strawberry pancakes, sticky syrup glistening down the stack. Aoi exaggerates a grimace across the table, and Nene kicks her leg from underneath, smiling all the way. Minamoto-kun, who told Aoi to just call him Kou, invited one of his friends from crew, Mitsuba Sousuke. Amane Yugi, the seawich from last year, told Aoi to just call him Amane—and with all these informalities and the fact that Aoi wasn’t fully Akane Aoi anymore, told them to just call her Aoi.

They stayed at the diner until around one in the morning, Kou and Mistuba flicking food at each other while Amane talks about Nene’s acting. He turns to Aoi, “Kou told me you were the original lead. I get how you feel…it’s a lot different when you’re in front of an audience.”

And maybe he didn’t really get it. But the audience part is true—an audience was what separated Akane Aoi from Aoi. So, Aoi just nods.

“But hey, if you don’t think you can do it tomorrow either, at least the play is in good hands.” 

Nene flushes, trying to hide a smile. “That’s enough of that! I’ve been embarrassed enough already today.”

“But he’s right. You did amazing, Nene-chan. I knew you would.” She sends a soft smile across the table, Nene flushing even more, if possible. But the look in her eyes was different. It was fonder, more enamored. She doesn’t dare let herself hope. (But the signs were there. They always have been.)

Suddenly, Kou jumps up. “Oh! My brother and his friend are here to pick me up…I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” 

And just behind Kou, the bell to the diner rung, and two people walked in. Minamoto Teru from the year above, undeniably his brother, and another familiar face that brought Aoi’s heart down into her chest.

It was Akane.

He looked different. His glasses were off, his hair was messy, and he looked tired and miserable. He gave Teru an exhausted look, grumbling about something under his breath, before his gaze caught Aoi’s. He jumps like a deer in headlights, pausing all movement. Aoi pushes herself out of her seat, bumping the table and causing the silverware to clash. 

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” Aoi freezes up again, remnants of the real her receding back beneath the cracks, a porcelain mask back to its comfortable spot over her face.

She hears Nene call her name, but she’s already rushing out the door, pushing past Teru’s arm. The cold night air brings a chill up her spine, and her hair rushes past her in the wind. She can hear the door open behind her, as well as footsteps following after her, and she silently hopes that it’s Nene. 

“Ao-chan, wait!”

 It’s not.

There are already tears in her eyes, threatening to slip past. She crosses her arms over her torso, trying to hold herself together. She casts a glance behind her, Akane catching his breath with his hands on his knees. They were a good distance away from the diner, at that point. She can’t avoid it.

Akane and Aoi had been together alone several times before. Together in the playground sandbox, across from each other on their balconies, Akane walking Aoi home even when she didn’t want him to. No watchful eyes, no one to see—still, Aoi kept up the act, because that’s all Akane knew anymore. 

A thought crosses her mind. But maybe it didn’t have to be.

“Why do you call me that?”

Aoi still isn’t looking at him. She stares down at the cement, and she can hear the faintest hitch of his breath, almost lost to the breeze. But when he takes a beat too long to respond, Aoi turns her head towards him, meeting his gaze.

He was still frozen, eyes locked onto Aoi, like he was searching for something. He looked different without his glasses, without the wide smile and hearts in his eyes. Watching him search for an answer was like studying an ant under a microscope, and it struck Aoi suddenly, that maybe she wasn’t the only one putting on a performance.

He jumps, but still doesn’t smile. “Because I love you.”

Aoi frowns, shoulders sinking. Her hair, let down for once after they got to the diner, flows in the wind. “Do you really?”

He pauses again, glancing down at the ground to Aoi again. Aoi thinks he might be truly seeing her for the first time. There’s no fluorescent school lights or glasses frames to block his view of who she is, and there’s no longer a mask on her face or a podium that she leers from. There’s just the night air, the stars, and Akane and Aoi, raw and real and the closest they’ve been to each other (metaphorically) since they were kids.

“I thought I did.” It’s like something washed over him, his whole body sinking in parts defeat and relief. He’s staring at Aoi, blinking like he’ll see the vision he had of her before. But he doesn’t. 

“I never loved you, Akane. And I never would. Did you know that?” Her voice isn’t exactly hollow, but it’s quiet, and filled with finality. Aoi finally let go of the mask. Now, it was Akane’s turn. He had to leave the shards of broken porcelain on the floor, to be swept up by no one but Aoi herself.

Akane’s act was slipping past him, too. “I think I must’ve realized, eventually. I knew you weren’t being true to yourself, and neither was I.”

There was a silent question in the air. So why did you keep it up for so long? Why pretend to love me when it was hurting us both?

He finally meets her eyes. “If I stopped pretending, I’d lose you completely. You more than anyone know how hard it is to give up the act.”

“You already have,” And her voice is strained, a sob climbing up the back of her throat. Akane didn’t have to change. She changed because it’s what her mom wanted. No one told Akane to pretend to love her. Did he feel inferior to her? Did he feel like he wasn’t good enough to just be her friend? So many thoughts, but they didn’t matter anymore. Because the gap between their balconies was as small as the gap between them ever could be. 

Akane’s mouth parts in surprise, but his expression falls, a cruel mix of hurt and acceptance evident on his features. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” A tear slips down Aoi’s cheek, the words stumbling out of her mouth. “I made it worse by not rejecting you outright.”

Akane laughs, but its empty and humorless. “Guess it was both our faults then, huh?”

Aoi releases the grip on her arms, raising her head and really looking at Akane. She studies the brown of his eyes and the specks of blue in them, how the stars that reflect off of them remind Aoi of the meteor showers they used to watch.

“I need you to promise me something.”

Akane lifts his head, scrunching an eyebrow before nodding.

“Stop calling me Ao-chan. Stop treating me like I’m above you, because it’s not true. And stop pretending to be someone you’re not.” 

Her eyes are sharp, and her voice holds a steel-like resolve. There were no doubts, no formalities—just Aoi and the things she wished she could’ve said years ago.

Akane lifts a pinky, sending her a relieved, nostalgic smile. “Only if you promise to do the same.”

Aoi locks her finger around his own, and she smiles back. 

(She couldn’t forgive Akane. She didn’t think he could forgive her either. But they were on equal footing now—no pedestal or masks in sight. Aoi saw Akane and doubtful glances and the bags resting under his eyes. Akane saw Aoi and her cruel honesty and the smudges of mascara on her lashes, teardrops resting underneath. The gap would never close, but it could be repaired, if only a little.)

—-

Her mother was furious, just as she suspected.

She returned home at two in the morning, after going back to the diner and assuring everyone that everything was okay. Teru offered to drive Aoi home, and with her and Akane’s previous talk, the drive wasn’t that awkward. She saw the kitchen light on from the window, and took a long, deep breath. Akane seemed to understand, sending her a look. She nodded her head, a confirmation that she’d be okay.

Okay. The concept was foreign, but there it was, and it was true. 

She received a long lecture on the safety of communication (like her mother would know anything about communication), the importance of curfew, and the disappointment she and everyone else had felt when Aoi hadn’t been onstage. She said she felt sick, and couldn’t make it onstage, so her understudy (who was so much more than that) offered to fill in. Her mother didn’t fully believe it, but just took her phone and sent her to bed.

Aoi smiled all the way up the stairs, the common heaviness on her shoulders no longer present. She wondered what school would be like tomorrow.

If people stared, she’d pretend not to notice, because that would give her more peace of mind, pretending or not. If people asked her about her absence, she’d tell them that she felt sick, not entirely a lie. She was sick at the thought of being up there instead of Nene. And if anyone talked poorly about Nene, Aoi and the rest of the theater department were ready to defend her.

At that thought, Aoi decided that, if Nene didn’t want to, she’d act out the next two nights. She might hate it, but at least now, she knew she’d be acting for herself. Not for anyone else. That thought eased the nervousness she had, like water had been unclogged from her lungs, and she could finally breathe again.

Aoi had always hated acting. She hated the idea of it, the performances people desperately clung to for entertainment. She hated how the actors didn’t take it seriously enough, how they let the cracks in the facade break through. She hated when they did take it seriously, when they were passionate about something Aoi dreaded every single day. She hated acting because it’s all she knew how to do, all she knew how to critique—because it was a reflection of herself.

Aoi hated acting because she hated herself.

But now, it was different. Aoi finally realized what acting truly meant—how, in the end, it was all about enjoying yourself, and though contradictory in labeling, being true to who you were. Acting was passion, and happiness, and Aoi had seen it all—through Nene. Nene and her kindness, her genuine passion and interest in Aoi, her sunlit smile and the soft speckles of pink in her eyes. She was beautiful and so very real that it struck Aoi speechless.

Nene’s acting, and the rest of the actors Aoi had witnessed in her life for that matter, was different from her own. It was somehow just real. You could see the characters as well as people and the passion. A story told through human emotion. That was what made acting so special. It made Aoi realize something too, about herself.

Aoi realized that she wanted to be that kind of story—the one with feeling and meaning and genuinity. The kind that Nene was. The kind that her mother wasn’t. The kind that Akane and her could’ve been, if not for everything. But maybe that could change, with time. She knew that she could try—she would try. Because it’s what she wanted. And that’s all that really mattered.

Aoi discovered many things over the past few months. She found that she preferred horror plays to anything else, but romance wasn’t so bad, not anymore. She found that her favorite color was seafoam green, not the cutesy pastel purple. She found a group of people who knew her under the facade, maybe not fully—but they would. She found a person who saw both sides of her and decided to stay anyway because she loved them both. She found a home in theater, in the Kamome school garden, in that diner in the earliest hours of the morning, and most importantly—

Aoi had found herself. And she wasn’t going to let it slip away again. She left the mask on the front of the stage, shards of glistening porcelain, and walked out of the stage lights. 

(The lights she walked into next were warmer, dimmer. The buzzing of them overheard sounded a lot like laughter—Nene’s specifically, her friends’ from the diner, and even her own.)

–

The year had passed by fast, a blur only recognized by the way the flowers in the school garden withered and bloomed again. The gardenias bloomed the best, bright and pink and swaying in the sun. Nene had taken care of those ones herself, and Aoi couldn’t be more proud. She wondered, absentmindedly, if the gardening club could survive without them next year. She huffed a small laugh at that, knowing that they would. She’d taught more students than just Nene, after all.

They were third-years now. The last year before graduating, where your future closes in on you and looks you dead in the eye. The Akane Aoi from a year ago would’ve looked away, terrified of the future that wasn’t truly her own, but one chosen for her. A medical career and a master’s degree and the mother of a family. The titles of doctor or mother before her name felt foreign and uncomfortable on her tongue, when she said it out loud. The very idea of that future irked Aoi to her core.

But this Aoi, the truest and happiest version of herself, had chosen her future for herself. A bachelor’s degree in botany and the dream of a flower shop, with pretty glass doors that had flowers carved in the brass handles. The university she was attending was hours away from Kamome, and only an hour or so away from the Theatre Arts school that Nene was attending, along with a few of her friends from the department. They already planned it out—the first time they met up, they’d immediately run down to the coastline by Nene’s school and watch the sunset. Nene swooned about how Aoi would spin her in her arms and kiss her on the cheek. Aoi gently shoved her with her elbow when she said it, flushing in embarrassment but promising to do it all the same. 

That was another thing, something that Aoi had been dreaming of since she met Nene. It was another impossible concept—Nene loving her back. Impossible, yet so believable, something that made so much sense that Aoi can’t believe she missed it. She remembered the gleam in Nene’s eyes after their embrace in the dark, how they shone like Aoi had strung up all the stars in the sky, like she was the first person to ever truly see Nene. She remembered far enough back to when Nene flushed before linking their arms at the Romeo and Juliet play, subtle but memorable all the same. 

The confession was abrupt and ill-planned, just a week after the play where they were packing up their gardening supplies outside. Nene muttered something under her breath, Aoi craning her head and asked her to repeat it. She squeaked and flushed bright red, picking a hyacinth off of its stem, something she usually would’ve condemned her for—before passing it to Aoi. It was only then, that she looked into Aoi’s eyes.

“I love you, Aoi. Will you be my girlfriend?”

The pink on her cheeks matched the pink in her eyes. Her seafoam hair swayed in the breeze, the gold of the sunset reflecting off of it. She looked just as pretty as she did when Aoi first saw her, and just as genuine and kind and everything she’s always loved about her. Aoi didn’t even have to think before saying yes.

She didn’t tell her mother about it. She didn’t think to—her mother never asked, anyway. She told her mother outright about her plans after Kamome, how this was what she truly wanted, how she never really wanted to be a doctor. She could see the disappointment (wasn’t that always there?), the way her eyes darkened and her mouth a firm, closed line. 

“I’ve spent all my life trying to raise a successful child. Do you have any idea how ungrateful you’re being?”

Yes—she certainly had an idea. She knew that it was a privilege being held in such high regard by society, to be titled the most beautiful girl in Kamome, to be smart and popular and never struggle with finances. Aoi knew she was privileged. But she wasn’t happy, and she never asked for all of that to begin with—not when it was only ever a curse, one that plagued her life and stripped her from who she truly was.

And the truth of the matter was—her mother didn’t strive for succession. She strived for perfection, an impossible concept that Aoi knew she never wanted to be, and that her mother would never get. And she told her mother that she’d never be what she wanted her to be, that after she graduates, they never have to speak again. Her mother just stared, cold and stern and everything she’s always been, into the eyes of a girl who’s trying to be everything she wanted to be.

Her mother barely spoke to her after that, not like they frequently spoke prior—but she only asked about how Aoi planned to fund her tuition, because she certainly wasn’t helping. She already planned ahead, a scholarship ready with her record, and a job interview at a local floristry near the school for any additional expenses.

(Even with that all said, Aoi still found a check on her bedside table that night, no label but she knew from the handwriting that it was from her mother. She knew her mother was angry and disappointed, that she just might hate Aoi, that maybe she truly never wanted to speak again, after she left. But maybe it was something else. Maybe her mother looked into Aoi’s eyes and saw her dad, feeling a twinge of regret. Maybe she looked at Aoi now and saw what she wished she could’ve done when she was younger, to escape from the future set out for her, to finally let go of the act and take her life into her own hands. Maybe there were cracks in her own porcelain mask, ones that mirrored Aoi’s own, but they were sealed back together. She didn’t have the choice that Aoi did. But maybe she could still make it now, if she wanted to.)

The year wasn’t over just yet. Aoi still had a lot of things to do before graduation. Finishing finals, getting accepted at that job interview, shopping for dorm decorations, and—

“Aoi! Curtain call in ten, be ready.”

And that.

The cast backstage adjusted their outfits, Aoi not wearing one this time around. Her all-black ensemble for stage crew did its job—obstructing her from view. Her hair was tied into a low ponytail, cascading down her back. This time, Aoi wasn’t acting—not that it was so painful anymore, but she never considered herself meant for the stage, not like that. That was for Nene.

She giggles quietly, adjusting the microphone near her lips. Her seafoam hair was let down, a shimmery seashell hair clip pulling some back. This time around, the musical was Mamma Mia, a drastic shift from The Wizard of Oz. And this time, the directors recognizing the talent that Nene had, casted her as the lead heroine—Sophie Sheridan. She tugged at her white blouse, nervously glancing at the curtains, and then to Aoi. 

She gave her a beaming smile, her eyes shining in the dimmed light. She took Aoi’s hand in her own, giving it a squeeze. And she would’ve kissed her, too—if not for the microphone, and the sparkly lip gloss, sure to get caught in the light as Aoi moved set pieces around.

Aoi knew Nene was meant for this. The directors and the cast knew that too—it wasn’t like last year, blinded by Aoi’s facade instead of true, real passion. They knew Nene was perfect for it. Perfect, the word left a bitter taste in Aoi’s mouth, but it was different with Nene. Perfect just meant good and right for her. It was perfect because Nene thought it was, too.

Aoi didn’t join the stage crew just to “save Nene a spot.” If she had wanted to audition for the cast, she would’ve—and she knew Nene would’ve wanted her to do it, no matter what part either of them got. She joined because she thought it fit her best, thought being a part of something without having to be in the spotlight more appealing. She’d spent too long there. This was perfect for her now, just as the spotlight was perfect for Nene.

The overture music picked up, causing Nene’s hand to flinch in Aoi’s own. She sent Aoi another smile, quickly moving her microphone out of the way to kiss her on the cheek, paying no mind to the sparkly lip gloss. Aoi couldn’t find it in herself to care, either—Nene’s love was more important. Nene kept her hand locked in Aoi’s until the very last seconds before her cue, sending her one last fond, breathtaking smile.

Aoi sends one equally as fond and genuine in return, the smile pulling naturally at her lips. She lifts a hand to the spot where Nene’s lips grazed, the glitter apparent when she pulls her finger back. She just laughs quietly under her breath. 

And as Nene takes the stage, dazzling the audience and everyone else backstage, mostly Aoi—she thinks about the girl she was a year ago. Akane Aoi, perfect grades and perfect poise, a wonder and an enigma—never human. What she was living through now, no longer cast in the spotlight, curtains drawn back with a smile on her face, one she didn’t have to force—surrounded by people who saw her for who she truly was, that was all a distant dream before. Out of reach, out of touch—the bright red exit sign at the back of the auditorium, the light that peaked in from under the wooden doors. That was Aoi’s dream, to not have to pretend anymore, to leave her performance. 

Long ago, Akane Aoi had surrendered the idea of a life of her own. She gave up her future and her aspirations and her personality, all so she wouldn’t be hated again. All so the audience didn’t go through those wooden exit doors, didn’t abandon her when the show ended, and the applause faded into white noise. So, Akane Aoi stayed—-she continued to act until she resented it, until she hated herself. 

But the doors were open now. From her spotlight, Akane Aoi had seen a glimpse of seafoam-green, heard a distant laugh, the sound of the ocean following it. The light from the doors was warm, shades of orange and pink with shards of sunlight peaking in. It sparkled brilliantly, brighter than any spotlight she had been under. And from the crowd—she caught the gaze of two pink-brown eyes, shimmering in the honeyed light.

And she just smiled. She lifted a hand towards Aoi, and mouthed her name. Aoi. 

It reminded her of who she truly was—human. Selfish and jealous and perhaps a little rude, who laughed when Akane got scared of the ladybugs in her garden, who glared at the girls who talked about others behind their backs, just to see them squirm. She never communicated to others about what she wanted, and she never let anyone close enough to see exactly what that was, and she was weak and cowardly and ran when someone could see. 

But this girl understood. She saw Aoi in that moment under the spotlight, where her face faltered, like she could see every one of her flaws and awful thoughts. The girl still only smiled with understanding. She knew what it was like to be ostracized, to be looked at as if you’re not truly human. 

The spotlight flickered. A breeze blew from the open doors, a strong scent of flowers and salt water hitting her nose. She felt, she felt so much in that moment, a single tear escaping her glossy eyes.

Aoi took a step. She took another, wooden floorboards creaking beneath her. The breeze grew stronger, the scent more powerful, the glow from the doors growing brighter. And the girl—Aoi was beginning to recognize her more and more. She couldn’t grow flowers very well and she had a wonderful singing voice and she was genuine. And golden. So very golden. 

She walks down the stage, growing more frantic with each step she takes. And when she reaches the girl, she sees her in full, every sparkle in her eyes and every shade of pink that coated her cheeks. Her steps begin to slow, staring at her hesitantly.

The girl holds her hand out. Shakily, but knowingly and full of relief, Aoi takes it.

And they run. They run down the aisle, and Aoi can hear the applause. She is brought briefly back to reality, the audience clapping and cheering for the girl—for Nene. Aoi cheers with them, tears caught in her lashes, escaping all the same.

The lights cut, Aoi’s cue. And on that cue—the doors shut behind her and the girl. The warmth, the freedom, the choice and the dream—Aoi had finally had it. 

--