Work Text:
It was a strange thing, to live without seeing yourself.
Maki was generally aware of what he looked like, of course, through drawn portraits, descriptions, and the like. But since vampires didn't show up in reflections or photographs, his knowledge of his own features remained only as a collection of estimates. Not that he particularly had a problem with this, since he wasn't concerned much with appearance. But it did instill a sense of distance in his self-image. Thus, he primarily defined himself through actions. Whenever he put his all into soft tennis practice or took care of things at home, he felt sure of who he was.
The question of his appearance drifted to the back of his mind until one day, when he walked past Mitsue hunched on the ground on his way out of practice. He happened to catch a glimpse of the contents of her sketchbook and his feet froze in place. Seven familiar faces stared back at him from the pages. The eighth one was Maki. He knew it obviously had to be him, yet it still took a moment to sink in. His little staring contest with himself continued until Mitsue finally noticed him. "What're you looking at?"
Snapping out of his trance, he grinned. "You drew me with a really big head."
"Yeah, that's what you look like, melonhead," she retorted.
"Right back at you." Joining her on the ground, he added, "I didn't know my eyes were such a bright blue."
"The heck is that supposed to mean?" A moment later, realization struck. "Oh yeah. You can't see yourself, can you?"
"Nope."
"Oh. Do you…do you wish you could?"
Maki shrugged. "I'd be lying if I said I've never wanted to. But I've already made my peace with it. Not that it wasn't fun to see how I look when you draw me."
"Hm." Mitsue flipped through her sketchbook with a determined expression. When Maki leaned over to peek, she snatched it out of his sight. "Wait, don't look at that one! It's not finished…" Facing away from Maki, she flipped and flipped some more, her search punctuated by mutterings like "hold on, not that one," and "ugh, this sketch is so sloppy." As she finally landed on the page she sought, she looked back at him and smirked. "So, for instance, you've never seen how dumb you look when you make this face?"
Peering at the image she presented to him, Maki snickered. The drawing depicted him on the tennis court, squinting at something in the distance. "Was that really the most inspiring moment of mine you could've chosen to draw?"
"Yeah, I had to preserve your constipated face for all eternity!"
"Hey, I couldn't help it—when I look up like that even the visor can't keep the sun out of my eyes."
"Don't combust from staring at the sun too long."
"That's not how it works. Besides, no vampire has burned up in the sunlight since sunscreen was invented."
"Heh, so if the sun is your excuse for that face, then how do you explain this one?" Mitsue unveiled another drawing of Maki, this time showing him tripping and falling backwards.
"Simple. The wind knocked me over."
"What are you, a sheet of paper?"
"Sketchbook paper, to be precise."
"Maybe you'll get folded into an origami crane at your next match."
Maki laughed, then fell quiet upon noticing the illustration on the opposite page. It was a rather plain sketch of him and Touma on the court, but one detail caught his eye: his fangs were visible. Not that they were the focal point or anything, he just happened to be smiling wide enough to show them. But he looked so…normal. He knew all along that the team didn't fear him, but it was still a relief to receive confirmation that his fangs didn't appear as menacing as he imagined.
That he didn't look as much like his father as he often feared.
But that wasn't the only thing about the drawing that jumped out at him. The bite mark on Touma's neck was on full display. Initially, a wave of guilt and unease used to hit Maki whenever he saw the wound he'd inflicted on his precious friend, but he was slowly getting used to it. True to his word, Touma never hid the mark, wearing it with pride like a badge of honor. Thanks to him, the guilt was beginning to transform into acceptance and affection at the sight of the bite.
"What's with the smile?"
"Huh?" Maki snapped out of his trance and realized that a fond smile had crept onto his face without him noticing. "I was just thinking…that I'm able to see the others in a different light too when I look at your drawings."
"…In what way?" Resting her sketchbook on her lap, Mitsue leafed through the pages contemplatively.
"It's like I can see everyone through your eyes. You must watch us very closely to capture all these little things about us."
"Don't give yourselves so much credit, your head'll blow up even bigger than it already is." Despite her flippant words, the effort she put into portraying each member's idiosyncrasies shone through. Settled on a spread of the team doing their pre-game ritual, the picture radiated joy, all the way down to the sparkle in Maki's eyes.
This was who he was. And now he had proof that his friends could see that.
Noticing his transfixed stare, Mitsue carefully ripped the page out and handed it to him while avoiding his gaze. "Just keep it."
"Eh? Are you sure?" He handled it with the delicacy of a museum curator handling a valuable painting.
"It's fine, it's fine. That wasn't the best I can do anyway, I won't miss it."
Maki pondered the illustration once more. He'd always defined himself through actions. Although the way people saw him was out of his control, he could still make himself known on his own terms. He supposed that art was how Mitsue made herself known.
"Thanks. I'll be sure to look back at it next time I want to see myself." Maki grinned. "Who needs mirrors, right?"
"Maybe if you could use one, you'd realize that you've had a sauce stain on your chin since lunch."
Wiping his chin, a smear of sauce appeared on the back of Maki's hand. He elbowed her and they both laughed.
He decided he would try to save up for a picture frame.