Chapter Text
Howard had hated mirrors for most of his life. He hated how he looked, how the reflection never matched what he felt he should look like. He would tell himself that it was because of his resemblance to his mother, that looking in the mirror was like looking at her, but the wrong her. He longed to look more like her, but he hated looking like her at all.
He didn't always hate it. Once, long ago, before he lost Mother, he had loved it. He remembered a certain day, when out selling plums with Mother, they were approached by some unfamiliar faces, a man and a woman. Howard thinks they were on their way to the city, but he was never sure.
The woman had said: "Such a beautiful daughter you have, she looks just like you! I can only wish that mine's like that too."
Howard didn't know why at the time, but her words had made him so happy. Now Howard tells himself it was because Mother was his only role model growing up, since his father wasn't entirely present. Howard had wanted to be just like Mother because Mother was the best thing he knew. It was normal for his situation.
Mother had gently corrected the woman. "Thank you very much, but that's my son. Our shared features were a lottery won!"
The adults exchanged pleasantries and bought plums, but Howard was disappointed. He hadn't seen why he couldn't be Mother's daughter, with his childlike world view.
Later he had asked Mother why, and she had gently told him that he can't change that he's a boy. It had hurt a little, but Howard accepted it. He still loved looking like Mother, that was fine, but he wouldn't ever be just like her, like he wanted to.
That changed after Mother died. Looking in the mirror made him feel sick, and he hated people comparing him to her. It only reminded him that she wasn't there.
During his growing years, he was often mistaken for a girl. He was shorter than the other boys, less broad shouldered, never grew much body hair, and it didn't help that he avoided haircuts like the devil. Howard was fine with it at first, but it became a point of ridicule. Howard didn't appreciate being called feminine much longer after that.
Then Greatmaw happened. In an attempt to find more information on Phillip (and snoop around his room, he'll admit) Howard had shown Tricemire the ID of a deceased woman. Despite the obvious difference, Tricemire went along with it, even calling him 'Miss'. It was the first time in a very long while that femininity didn't feel like burns against his skin. It had felt nice.
Then he met Angelique, smart, confident, beautiful, she was someone to admire. She had looked past whatever others had found 'strange' and recognized his intelligence. Her validation made him feel elated.
And Samantha! She had such stunning, long flowing hair. Howard wanted hair like that, maybe not as long, but he wanted it. Was it wrong to envy someone who had been so cruel in life?
Now he stands in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection. Everything is wrong, but not in the way he remembered. His hair is too short, shoulders too broad, hips too narrow. The suit he's wearing for the award ceremony Angelique got nominated for feels suffocating.
He doesn't want this. He doesn't want to feel like this. He wants to go back to how it was.
No, he doesn't. He wants to be beautiful. He wants long flowing hair and a voice like silk. He wants shoulders that slope down and hips that are just a bit wider than his waist. He wants to wear a dress to that award ceremony. He wants people to look at him tonight and think Wow, she's beautiful
He envisions her, the woman he wants to be, on the other side of the mirror. He names her Hallie, after the comet he'll never see. Fitting, he supposed. Right now, she's checking her outfit, adjusting her earrings, touching up make-up that Howard doesn't understand. She's smiling. She's happy. She's everything he wants.
He wants to reach out to her, to hold her, to ask he questions like she know much more than he does.
Hallie notices him. She stares as if Howard's everything wrong with her.
"You're beautiful..." He tells her, and she smiles.
"You are too" She tells him, and he almost believes her.
"How can I be beautiful like you?" He asks, tears welling up in his eyes.
Hallie's smile turns sad, like she knows Howard can't be her, not in his world. She reaches for him, and he reaches too. There hands meet in the middle, unhindered by the glass. She holds his hand and starts to speak. "I'm-"
"Howard!" Phillip interrupts from outside of the bathroom, and the illusion breaks. Hallie is gone, replaced by his reflection. Howard's hand rests on glass. "Are you almost done? We can't miss all the fun!" Phillip exclaims, unaware of the crisis Howard was having.
Howard takes his hand off the mirror and leaves the room. He does his best to look like he wasn't crying. It doesn't work, and Phillip notices.
He places a hand on Howard shoulder. "Why are you crying, are you alright?" Phillip's concerned, and he wants answers that Howard isn't emotionally prepared (or drunk enough) to give.
"I'll talk about it later tonight." He tells Phillip. It might have been a lie, it might not have been a lie. They'll find out after the award ceremony, but for now, Howard mourns the loss of a version of himself that was never real.