A short snippet 2

Under the cover of an extra-large military cap stood an extremely tall, androgynous young male. Brown caramel bangs curved to the right of his forehead along the wavy flaxen-tipped forelocks framing down his cheek. The overhead lights beam glared against his mirrored wraparound shades. The leather cuffs and dark nail polish made his pale skin pop further. In fact, what seemed to make him stand out wasn’t his choice of clothes: a short-sleeve cross-front T-shirt underneath a hooded zip-up long jacket, studded belt looped in his cotton cargo pants, and studded pyramid high-top sneakers—but that he wore all black in a barely ventilated room, with the outside heat index being an unbearable ninety-five degrees. Even so, while there was clearly a small-sized fan on the floor that stood only two long strides away, it stayed untouched and unplugged.
Pressing the iPod connected to a Sharp 2-way speaker, music pulsed and resonated through the room. Only the most avid of anime fans would have recognized the songs of revered Seiyuu's playing one after the other: Shiraishi Kuranosuke's ‘Tsuioku Recollection.’ Miyu Irino's ‘Haitoku no Gaijou.’ Seki Toshihiko's ‘Game.’ Kimura Ryohei's ‘Black Sun.’ Souichirou Hoshi's ‘Ashita e Kaeru hi Made.’ Jun Fukuyama’s ‘Dedicate.’ Takahiro Sakurai’s ‘Angel Dust.’ Nobunaga Shimazaki’s ‘JOY.’ Showta Aoi’s ‘Trans Winter.’ and Tatsuhisa Suzuki’s ‘Cage for Love.’ were only half of what appeared on his mixed track. And that’s how it always was. Weekends (which in his opinion, started on Friday) were his days to dance to anime songs; the weekdays were for music artists like Super Junior, Bi-Rain, U Kiss, Exo, TVXQ, BEAST, Bangtan Boys, Usher, and Michael Jackson.  
Letting the rhythm of the songs command his feet to attention as the meaning of the words filled his brain, the hipster’s every nerve had him flooding with striking precision, awing flexibility, underlying grace, and charismatic style; with unceasing stamina he moved his limbs’ extended accessories with each beat—the key rings and chains on his belt loops clanged a separate tune as he bounded; his originality showcasing itself in a surge, submerging himself into a fleeting mix of contemporary meets dubstep, hip-hop, pop, rap and R&B. His only companion a reflective mimicker—or mimicker’s as the case was—followed every move like a ripple-effect.  
After having drenched in over three hours’ worth of sweat, his hoodie drooped to his elbows; he patted his sweaty face, smearing the fragrant wetness on his already damp neck and arms like it was suntan lotion—as did the lone figure of every mirror panel.
Sliding his back against the mirror, he collapsed from exhaustion. His heavy panting left a sweet invisible puffs mingling into the air—the scent of incense or potpourri. As if on impulse, both pieces of his slit spread apart like a folding fan, capturing the dripping beads of salty perspiration surrounding his plump lips. He sighed at the lone multiples seated before him: each one with the same silvery-white speckles on jet-black roots that glistened like water droplets, zigzags parting the left of the scalp and chin-length layers covered by only a few bobby pins. Tiny braided strands twined around two vertical buns sandwiching a waist-length looped ponytail. He saw each of their eyes glowing with frustration over the truth. That there wasn’t an alternate universe in any reflection where an idealized world for him existed. Not with humans.