A/N Written because I am a sadistic girl who enjoys inventing misery for characters. I also find the idea of secret-angsty-bastard-Itsuki rather delicious. Please drop me a review if you enjoy this / hate this / want free virtual-cookies. Free cookies for all (or at least, a reply.)

It's time to leave. All performances need to come to a close.

I never had my interval. Never had my applause. There won't be any now either, as the curtain falls for the last time. I'll head off stage, take off the mask and face the cruel lights of the dressing room mirror.

Wasted. That's what it'll tell me, printing the letters across my skin in white light. Years wasted. Moments wasted. Warmth wasted.

Can love be wasted, do you think?

As the theatre empties and the audience's sympathy fades, I shall be forgotten. My face will go first. Then my voice. They might remember my name in years to come, if I'm not replaced.

But I will be replaced, of course. The gaps in that particular life need to be filled. I'll probably have to debrief my replacement and send them on their way, my carefully constructed heart pinned to their sleeve.

-x-

University. As good an excuse as any. Studying abroad? Why not. Too far away to visit. Too far away to interfere.

And that's the way it should be. Because this production had reached the end of its run. I can feel it with each stale breathe I take. I'm not cut out for this role anymore, I looked too hard at the audience and found one person amidst the crowd that looked right. I didn't want to fool him, not after a while. I wanted him to see the script, read the cues, stay with me after the lights go down and the costumes are put away.

Wanted? Want. I can at least be honest with myself. Which is why it's time to leave. Either I leave this comfortable world I have created or I bring about the end of everything.

I'm selfish. I know that. If he didn't seem so happy with the world as it is, I would shatter it in a heartbeat.

And I could shatter it. He'd never suspect it, but I know I could. I've written the script on misted windows and rehearsed my lines into my pillow. Lighting, music, setting. It's all there. It took years to make perfect. My masterpiece.

No.

The show must not go on.

-x-

Why? That's what they'll say.

One will beg me with tears in her large eyes.

One will question me with her eyes alone.

One will interrogate and suspect conspiracy, ask me if I'm going to Canada.

And one will ask because he cares.

That is, if he's following the same script as I am. Which he isn't, of course. I've not been allowed to give him a reason to care. Quite the opposite.

In reality, he'll be angry because I'm causing unnecessary hassle, another hurdle to jump in the long and painful race if growing up. I'll apologise when the others leave, lean a little too close and ask if he's going to miss me. His voice will tell me that would be impossible while his eyes will tell me he will, if only because he's grown accustomed to my presence.

That'll be enough. It'll have to be.

-x-

It happened to me a few months after we met.

Attachment.

It'd been years since I'd actually felt attached to anything. Can you guess how many? I'd been too busy and confused to even consider making friends. Colleagues, mentors, teachers, yes. But friends? They were a thing of the past.

I suppose it's hard to be friends with a red ball of energy. Hypocritical, yes. True anyway. No one wants to trust the people that teach you to lie and scheme and conceal.

Being good at it, absolutely nobody wanted to trust me, other than to do my job, memorise my part and trick everyone else too.

Yet, I'm sure he trusts me. He wouldn't have stood out from the audience if he didn't. He's just enough of a cynical bastard to believe that I'm the same beneath the smiles. It's a compliment, a testament to my personality I suppose.

Despite this, I want him to believe I'm a good person too. First he has to accept that I'm not the good person he knows, because that person is false and formless. Once I've led him backstage and he can see who I am beneath all the glitz, he'll hate me. Anyone would. And so, that's when I want him to see that maybe, under the attitude that tries so hard to be truth, I'm a kind person after all. Fragile, even.

Layers upon layers upon layers.

The day I realised this was the day it became time to leave.I refused for years. My personal rebellion. But it's time, now.

-x-

I hurt.

Not physically, I admire myself too much for that. And not my heart either, you can't break something that's never allowed to grow fully. But regardless, I hurt. Each smile tears at my muscles. Each agreement grates my throat.

I can't play this role anymore, not to this script and not on this stage. Not unless something changes.

Nothing's changed since the day I arrived. My departure will be as swift and uneventful as my arrival.

And that hurts, too. Somewhere that I can't reach.

-x-

I've already asked to be reassigned. It's all arranged, all the paperwork filed and my flights booked. I haven't said a word to any of them yet although I've been practicing, whispering the words into my teacup when they aren't looking.

I'll tell them all at once and then, once the noise dies down, spend too long putting the game away for the last time. He'll stay behind. Of course he will. He'll want to ask me if I know something, if he needs to do something, if it's got something to do with her.

I'll turn, bag on my shoulder. The door will be to my left. He'll be standing to my right.

No, I'll tell him. I've been reassigned. Simple. Not quite a lie.

He'll look doubtful, since he's been the only one who has been able to tell when I'm finding it difficult to keep up the act. He'll doubt but he won't question.

The scene I described before will play out, a whisper of my breath against his cheek. I might even raise a hand to his hair, although I've never been good at improvisation. He'll pull away and I'll be alone. Centre stage, the door on the left and the boy on my right.

See you, he'll say. I won't say goodbye because that would be telling the truth and I can't start doing that now. I'll just nod and wave a hand.

And then I'll look at him. I'll take a breath and turn to an invisible audience without actually moving and deliver my final soliloquy.

This is the kind of chance I needed, I'll tell them. He's worth waiting a lifetime for. I know that. Everyone knows that. And that's why I can't. That's why I won't. That's why I never have.

I'll hold his gaze and raise my hand to push my hair out of my eyes. It's irritated them, you see. Made them water. As my hand passes my lips I'll frame the words but remain silent.

I loved you, I won't say. I'm sorry.

The script runs out. His part is over. I'll smile and turn away.

It's time to leave. This performance needs to come to a close. I won't take my bows, won't wait for an applause I don't deserve.

Exit, stage left.