I Lie to Myself, but the Mirror knows the Truth.
Characters: Hooligan (and Rockstar)
Summary: The more Hooligan looks in the mirror, the more his mind thinks about what he's been hiding underneath.
Word count: 1,323
Warning: This fic contains internalized transphobia and implied transphobia. Yes Hooligan is trans in this
A small survivor group were looking into houses for any supplies, they were empty anyway, so it didnât hurt to try looking.
Hooligan insisted on finding supplies in the house labeled â1104â, he couldnât find anything at first, and he was about to leave until he looked at the last room he forgot to look into.
Hooligan gently opened the door.. Oh, it was the bathroom. Hooligan was just wondering where the bathroom was, what kind of house would have no bathroom? There wasnât much to look at, there wasnât anything in the bathroom.
..Then he caught a glimpse of his appearance in the mirror. Hooligan paused, staring at his reflection. Hooligan wasnât the type to stare at his own appearance for too long but it wouldnât hurt to take a look, right?
So, he did take a look. There wasnât much to say about his appearance, he looked like the guy he wanted to look like. Tough, confident, perfectly masculine. At first, he felt pretty confident.
..But the more he stared, the more he began to see his own flaws. He quickly stopped seeing the guy he wanted to be, he didnât see that confident tough boy in the mirror anymore. He saw the boy that was scared of getting hurt again, the boy that will never be like a regular man.
No, that couldnât be right. He stared longer, starting to get more frustrated. All of his flaws were visible to him now. His looks, his body, his behavior. He suddenly felt like he wasnât being masculine enough, he wasnât tough enough, he hated looking at himself. No matter how aggressive he got and no matter how angry he looked, nothing he did fixed the problem.
âI hate you.â Hooligan muttered, he didnât want to see the guy that was still afraid, the guy that still felt insecure deep down inside, but he did. He hadnât changed at all, he was still just as pathetic as he was before. He wanted to believe that he had moved on but how could he possibly move on, knowing that he canât even change his appearance to his liking? He knew that someday he will have this moment again but he couldnât bear the thought of looking at himself, he canât accept himself whatsoever.
âYou make me sick. Why do you even look like that? Why couldnât you be different? You arenât like the real men you see everyday, you will never fit in, and when everyone finds out about you, theyâll look at you with those eyes.â Hooligan had completely forgotten his surroundings, only focusing on the mirror in front of him.
âTheyâll drop you from their lives or worse, hurt you. Why canât you just change?â
âWhy canât I change?â
Hooliganâs voice trembled as he lowered his head, his body tensing up as he felt his secret weighing him down. He hadnât told anyone. No, he couldnât tell anyone at all. He knew all of this too well, he knew not to trust anyone else again. He couldnât just say something so personal and life-changing to them, he knows that theyâll see him differently, theyâll treat them differently, and he didnât want that.
The thought of his tough guy facade shattering due to him confessing made him angry.
..He was actually frightened at the thought but he transformed that fear into anger.
His hands shook as he hesitantly looked at the mirror again. Great, he looked like a mess again. Throughout his life, he had never once liked himself and his identity. He hated it, he hated everything about himself, he hated how he had to exist in a body that wasnât even perfect for him. The last thing he needed at this moment was to see himself look vulnerable.
..He needed control, he needed something that could make him feel like he wasnât weak, he couldnât let this happen.
He needed to get rid of that reflection, that mirror. He canât look at it any longer.
â..I. I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I. HATE. YOU!!!â Hooligan suddenly lifted up his fist and swung at the mirror..
He backed away from the mirror and sat down next to the sink, staring at the broken glass shards on the floor at first, until he looked at his hand and realized. Crap, he was bleeding.
..Oh god, why did he do that? How is he going to cover this up?
The others mustâve heard. He heard footsteps and a familiar voice. âHooligan?! Yo! Is everything okay? We heard something breaking, was that from you?â Rockstarâs voice snapped him out of panic. Hooligan stayed quiet, he didnât know if he should say something or not, his hand was literally bleeding.
Hooligan silently dealt with the pain and answered. âIâm obviously fine, the mirror in the bathroom suddenly shattered, thatâs all.â Hooligan said as he got up. Although his glove would suck up most of the blood leaking from his hand, thin stripes of blood still dripped down from his knuckles to his fingertips. Hooligan winced as the cuts on his knuckles stung. Despite how he often used his fists to punch things, he actually rarely punched glass due to how painful cuts from glass are, and since his knuckles were already bruised from the amount of punches he did prior to this situation, that was making the pain worse.
Rockstar quickly opened the bathroom door, Hooligan hid his bleeding hand behind his back. âHow did that even happen?â Rockstar asked. Hooligan tried to think of a good excuse. âIt just broke out of nowhere, it looked like it was on the verge of breaking when I saw it, then it suddenly did that.â
Rockstar raised an eyebrow. âAre you sure that you werenât involved in the glass breaking? You didnât break that yourself, did you?â
âOf course not!â Hooligan couldnât even keep eye contact with Rockstar, it made Rockstar suspicious but he decided to not question it.
â..Okaaayy. Iâm assuming that you didnât find anything, right?â Rockstar asked, he couldnât hide the fact he was worried. Hooliganâs eyes narrowed. âNo shit that I didnât.â
Hooligan quickly walked out of the bathroom while still trying to keep his bleeding hand hidden, he didnât want to keep talking with Rockstar, he was having conflicting thoughts.
Rockstar followed him. Great, he was now keeping a close eye on him. Hooligan tried to act cool about it, he couldnât let Rockstar see what was wrong with him. All he had to do now is not get too antsy even if Rockstar was looking at him.
The survivor group started going into different houses and this time other survivors would go in them instead of Hooligan. Hooligan didnât care but he remained distant from everyone else. Hooligan wanted to get help for his hand but at the same time he couldnât let anyone notice that he was in pain. Besides, why would he ask for help? He had a reputation to keep, a tough guy would never get help from others.
..Well, thatâs what he thought. Hooligan stared at the ground, those thoughts lingering in his head nonstop, he hated this. Usually, Hooligan would just start causing destruction or lash out on people but he couldnât do that. Hooligan didnât know how he would be able to kick down and destroy things without people noticing his disappearance, especially Rockstar. Hooligan didnât even know who to shout at, he couldnât shout at Rockstar, and nobody else was focusing on him.
So, he has to deal with this whether he likes it or not.
Whatever, heâll just bottle it up, nobody would even care or understand him anyway. Itâs what he does when thereâs no way for him to turn that stress into anger although it always makes things worse for him but he doesn't care, he doesnât want to get close with anyone.
