To be Masculine

Aoi

Aoi's mother and, by extension, Aoi herself used to watch a lot of reality shows when she was younger. The kind that would stick several people in a house or dorm together and show every little argument they'd have. And when you watch a lot of the same type of thing over and over, you start to notice patterns.

What Aoi had always noticed was that the girls in flowing dresses and natural, barely there make-up were liked and fan favourites. All the whilst the other girls; the sporty girls, the alternative girls, the ones in either no make-up or bold in your face make-up were disliked.

They were attention seeking, lazy, self-hating - or at least, that's what others would say about them. Aoi had always wondered why everyone couldn't just get along.

Why couldn't the girls in natural make-up and the ones in graphic liner be friends? They had a common interest.

Why wouldn't the girls in the flowing dresses and the ones in the black lace and leather get along? They both expressed themselves through fashion.

Why didn't the girls who liked sporty guys and the sporty girls want to talk to each other?

Young Aoi had been so terribly confused until she had gotten older and realised exactly why: people judge.

They see you for the first time and stick you into a box based on what you wear, how you speak and who your friends are and decide whether or not you're worth talking to based on that. And for most people, the box of people they're willing to talk to is small - minute, even.

And Aoi had never been a dresses kind of girl, never had that sweet demureness that the love interests in the movies had; she was loud, sporty, buzzing constantly with things to say.

In most media, girls like her were at worst something to be fixed and at best, the loveless best friend of the proper girl.

Aoi wouldn't describe herself as being insecure but slightly self-conscious might be accurate.

She finds herself jealous of her classmates sometimes - with how comfortable they are with themselves.

Celeste and how despite wearing things so needlessly extravagant, she can still hold her head up high.

Kyoko and how she doesn't feel the need to soften her harsh personality for anyone.

Chihiro and how she's everything the world says a lady should be yet still manages to thrive in a male dominated industry.

Aoi doesn't think any of them would relate to the urge Aoi gets to crawl out of her own skin and be nothing for a while - not being seen, looked at, judged, only existing.

Usually, she'd go to the pool to calm her nerves. She wants nothing more than to swim away the stress but she doesn't think she can bear getting into her swimsuit today, trunks or not.

There's only so much that can be done on bad days.

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Aoi finds herself in a corner of the library, pacing. She had tried sitting still but her muscles had twitched under her skin like they were trying to escape so she had gotten up to satisfy her need to move.

Byakuya for once isn't here although since it's almost curfew, she can guess why. Most people should be tucked away in their rooms tonight, especially after what had almost happened with Makoto last trial. It was the smart thing to do.

Aoi had never claimed to be particularly smart.

The library smells of paper, old paper yellowing at the edges like the books in an old woman's house. It brings her back to nights sat by her mother's bookshelf, browsing through titles and complaining there was nothing interesting to read. Her brother would always agree with her, even when she caught him with one of the books he had smuggled off of the shelf. He had always looked up to her.