personal favorite
Title: SMILE
Category: fan fiction (vaguely), one-shot
Genre: soliloquy
Rating: PG
Date: March 15, 2006

Pairing: NONE (with mentions, however, of both hyde and tetsu, my challenge claim)
Disclaimer: I do not own/am not affiliated with L’Arc~en~Ciel, Sony Ki/oon, Danger Crue,etc. This is a work of complete fiction. It’s for fun; I’m not going to make any money off of this. However, this particular story is my own writing, so please do not claim it as yours or repost it without permission.
Word Count: 448
POV: second person (hyde to you)
Used (but NOT written) for 50stories
Theme: 3 - Amusement
Summary: This is very broad, almost enough to be seen not as hyde speaking but almost any irritated artist. Sometimes we need a little reality check.


Don’t look at me that way.

Don’t look at me and smile in that self-satisfied way as though you’ve got all the answers. As though you know me as well as I know myself. Maybe better.
Don’t think I’m oblivious to the subtle hint when you wax philosophical about personas. I know you think you’ve seen through mine.

Which one?

You memorize every lyric I’ve ever written. Even the old ones you spent a month trying to get hold of and then had to play through high quality headphones and jot down by ear.

You watch my every movement during every song, and each performance of the same song back-to-back, over and over. You know exactly what word prompts me to look at the camera and when I look away; when I look at tetsu and if I smiled or not.

You’ve seen, and heard and read every interview I’ve ever given, and every single detail anyone I’ve ever known has said about me. And you know the facial expression that went along with it.

You can date a picture to the year and month by my hair. You could trace where my scars would be if they weren’t airbrushed out. You’ve researched the most likely medical effect of how I got them, and you think you’re right.

You know exactly how I lick my lips; how I cross my legs and how I fidget when I don’t, how I still manage to fidget even when I do. You watch how my posture compares to every person around me. You watch it change as I speak.

You know what absurd music and variety show games I’ve won and which I’ve lost, and you can picture my reaction—from smile tainting a sulk to the sparkle behind a smile. You know who I beat or lost to each time, and by how much.

You’ve listened to my answers change as years have passed. And you’ve convinced yourself that you know which ones have changed naturally with age and which ones I’m changing to keep it interesting.

And you think that you’ve found what drives it all. Where the man on stage stops and where I begin. Why the one is different from the other.

I want to grab you and shake you until that smile snaps right off. I want to ask you if you know your best friend, your cousin, your babysitter as well as you think you know me, or if you’ve spent so much time analyzing me that you forgot to bother.

I wonder just what you’re making of the little smile I give you in return, half fake and half obscenely amused by your foolishness.


Inspired by HYDE's The Cape of Storms, a discussion on a forum, and a severe lack of sleep.