rebornish

Part 2

A description came to mind.

A short girl, freckles adorning her cheeks and bright bouncy hair framing her face. A braid that trailed down past her waist and a sincerely positive attitude. Bright blue eyes that seemed to contain the very epitome of hope inside of them.

Fakir had always liked the clumsy girl that appeared infrequently in Mytho's story. While his character and hers were always at odds, he thought that she was a charming person. To be honest, she seemed suited for a more prominent role than she had been given but as always, Mytho had been adamant about his unchanging vision for his story.

"...ow..." The girl sat up sniffling and rubbed her nose, looking up at Faki apologetically. "I'm sorry."

Fakir knelt down in front of her, still lost in chaotic thoughts but offered a hand out to the girl. "It's fine."

She'd bumped into him at full speed but she'd been the only one to fall. From the sunflower patch attached to her shirt, he knew that she was in the class below him.

He wondered why he'd never noticed her until now though. It wasn't that she was eye-catching as an individual, it was just...

She was identical. Younger, certainly, but identical to Mytho's character.

Has she been Mytho's model for the character? He knew that Mytho did things like that, given he himself had a self-insert character.

She accepted his out-stretched hand with a bright smile, standing up and dusting herself off. "I'm Ahiru! I'm in the fourth grade sunflower class! I just moved here this week, do you want to be friends?" She turned the hand helping her up into a firm handshake like it was nothing.

Fakir felt something unusual toss in his stomach and nearly pulled away from her. As a result of the hesitated action, he flinched and looked queasy.

Ahiru blinked owlishly at him and moved closer. "Are you okay? You look..."

He did rip his hand away this time, feeling too awkward to maintain the contact. "I'm fine!" He turned around, he needed to collect his thoughts.

She watched him retreating back with cheeks puffing out in indignation. She'd only been trying to be nice.

Still... she felt a bit worried about him as he left.

His expression looked a bit panicked.

Fakir's meeting with Ahiru was neither the first nor the last hint that there was something off about Mytho's story.

Fakir loved to write. He was only ten years old and he'd already written half a dozen truly terrible short stories. He might love it but he'd never been particularly skilled at it.

But he did know a thing or two about creative writing.

Mytho's methods had always struck him as queer. The way he talked about the stories and the characters, the way he was absolutely allergic to brainstorming even when he was really stuck on a pivotal scene, the way his normally gentle expression would knit with frustration at points as though the scenes meant something more to him.

Fakir had been suspicious for a while now but he'd said nothing.

For starters, he didn't like that Mytho appeared to view him as a control-freak considering the characterization he gave his fictional counterpart. Fakir had long since let it go but it had been a point of contention for their friendship at one point.

"Why do you always make my character do such mean things?"

"He's not mean! He's just... he's been through a lot and he's awkward."

It was also weird how ardently Mytho felt about defending the fictional Fakir. Not his characterization of him but the character himself.

It sounded like he was defending a friend.

Ahiru wasn't the first or only hint, but she was definitely the last straw.

"Mytho!"

The pale boy looked up from his stack of books. Fakir found him like this more and more often these days, it was like he was desperately searching for something but wasn't sure what. His bedroom had become a miniature disorganized library.

Sometimes Fakir thought that if he was Mytho's guardian the way he was in the story, he might just become a control freak because of just how thoughtlessly messy the guy was.

"Yes?"

Mytho was relatively used to Fakir bursting into his bedroom for some reason or another; it had become another facet of their friendship that Fakir felt completely comfortable invading the Siegfried household and demanding Mytho's time.

It was actually one of the things he really liked about Fakir. His proactive and prolific friend never seemed satisfied with simply sitting quietly and his sense of boundaries was nearly nonexistent with Mytho.

It made him feel like they were brothers.

Today however, there was something in Fakir's expression that gave Mytho chills.

Despite the determination in Fakir's expression however, the moment lapsed into silence.

Fakir, for all his bravado, hadn't actually figured out what he was going to ask to finally force Mytho to tell him whatever secret there was to the story.

'What's with your story?' just seemed too broad. 'Do you know Ahiru?' just didn't seem to get to the heart of it. 'What are you hiding?' was a bit presumptuous.

Fakir bit his lip in frustration and Mytho's concern grew as he sat up and approached his friend.

"Fakir...? What's wrong?"

"..." Fakir was still battling with finding the perfect words, an unfortunate moment for writer's block, when he finally just blurted out. "There's something weird about your story, isn't there."

It wasn't a question, it sounded like an accusation.

Mytho flinched at the words and Fakir just knew at that moment that he was right. He wasn't crazy.

Mytho was hiding something.

"...why won't you tell me?"

She hadn't just had the same name or the same face, her bubbly personality was identical as well.

Sometimes Mytho's story had the feel of a biography rather than an adventure story. There were meaningless details and interactions that were included that led to nothing other than a strange thing that made an impression on the fictional Mytho.

It gave Fakir chills.

It also made him upset.

Why didn't Mytho trust him with the truth?

"I..." Mytho looked down. "...I can't..."

He didn't have the answers yet. What if telling Fakir the truth hurt him? What if the information was dangerous?

This would be Mytho's first lesson, at least in this life, that concern could hurt people as well.

Fakir's face stiffened and he felt like crying.

He'd always felt like if he asked, Mytho would come clean about the story. He thought his friend had at least trusted him that much.

"Fine."

He turned around, slamming the door behind him. He felt hurt and angry and betrayed and at just ten years old, he really didn't know how to properly regulate those emotions.

He ran away from it all, bitter and angry.

Mytho stared at the door in shock.

The expression he'd seen on Fakir's face before he left... regret filled his gut but he didn't know how else to handle the situation.

He was also just ten and his vulnerability and confusion made it difficult to bridge the gap that had just been wedged in his closest friendship.