Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was becoming a habit again.

She promised herself it wouldn't. Everytime steel blades collided with soft skin, she swore it wouldn't happen again. And it hadn't. 

Not for three days, anyway.  

‘This is the last time.’ Nene swore as she swiped the razor across her already reddened ankles, breaking her clean streak again. Watching the blood pool and her skin weep bloody teardrops with morbid satisfaction.

‘I've got it under control.’ The girl reassured the anxious part of her that screamed- pleaded with her to stop.

Nene tried to. Honestly, she did. She'd tried throwing the razor blades out herself to remove the temptation, but she'd always end up digging them back out of the trash. The girl had even asked Google for help. 

“Snap a rubber band on your wrist.”

“Draw red lines with a marker on the places you want to self harm.”

“Hold an ice cube until it melts.”

“Start an affirmation journal, and look back on it when you feel low about yourself!” 

None of those cheesy feel-good coping skills worked, obviously. What a shock!

So here she was, once again patching herself up in the middle of the night. Knowing she had to get up only hours later for school. Knowing she'd have to face him and his inquisitive stares. 

‘It'll be fine.’ She self-soothed with a broken smile as the sticky, half-dried blood on her legs made her shudder. Every cut bitterly hummed and buzzed to the tempo of her heartbeat, but it was fine. Risky, with Hanako's keen intuition and ability to chart her moods like constellations on an astrology chart; but fine.

Still, maybe she should stop. For tonight, at least. After all, she had taken it a tad farther than she'd intended. Technically, it was only supposed to be a few scrapes. Just enough to get her through the week. 

With newfound determination, the girl set the bloody tool off to the side. 

Enough was enough.

She knew when to stop.

Didn't she? 

Nene idly drummed her fingers along the porcelain rim of the bathtub; merely an arms length away from the toilet she was perched on. 

And then mischievous, honey-amber eyes flooded her thoughts.

Her hopeless romantic heart never failed to replace the dreary, boring moments like these with sickly sweet fantasies. Utterly whimsical and wonderful visions that she couldn't help but let a lovesick sigh escape her.

It was always the same person, now. Back before she became entangled in the supernatural world, the boys she hopelessly swooned over would constantly change. Teru had lasted the longest. All throughout her junior high years and up to the beginning of her freshman year of high school. It wasn't until she met Hanako that her dreams…shifted. She could forget the other boys. The heartache would fade with time. Hell, even the fondness she held for the stud of Kamome Academy began to blur and tatter around the edges. 

Not Hanako, though. 

Not Amane.

Nene heaved a sigh, mourning the absence of frigid touches and caresses. He wasn't here. He never would be here. Soon she won't be, either. 

Perhaps she'd find a good stopping point in the last chapter once she reaches it. Her life mingled and latched onto the last few pages of her book with constant flowery language; acting as grappling hooks to anchor the girl's spirit in the living world for just a little longer. Desperate not to write and finish her premature ending. 

It's going to end, though. That's the kicker. 

So she'll just see this through, until…

Fuck it, why quit beating around the bush?

Until she drops dead. Nene will keep cutting and scratching at herself until her heart and lungs still. Because it doesn't matter anymore, does it? It doesn't fucking matter.

You know, it was probably for the best. After all, there was nothing special about her that the world would miss out on once she's gone. Nene knew she was far from intelligent. It would be okay if she made up for it somehow- being athletically inclined, or pretty enough to become a model, for example. 

The problem with that was simple. She's none of those things. Will never be beautiful, or smart, or strong.

All she'll ever be is worthless.

Why was Hanako so hell bent on trying to save her? There's nothing to save. Nothing but tarnished trash. 

And Nene decided to shut down that train of thought right there and then.

It had been a handful of minutes since she held the sharp object in her hand, now. If her rancid thoughts were anything to go by, the minutes had muddled into hours. Three days since her last relapse; a.k.a., an eternity. She'd been counting. Waiting. Holding out as long as she could before ultimately failing and succumbing to the temptation her short life-span and ugly ankles supplied.

And fucking hell , it was so addicting. With the way her razor shimmered with scarlet under the humming led light in her bathroom, it was practically enticing her to keep going. 

…

A few minutes were long enough.

The girl reclaimed the blade, examining her torn up ankles. The oldest wounds she had inflicted a week ago had barely begun to heal. New scabs were beginning to form, and she fought to leave them alone this time. Healing wounds were such a pain in the ass to deal with. Hideous, thick scabs that required the willpower of a god to resist picking them off.

In her defense, the itchiness was both murderous and merciless. Nagging the girl constantly of the damage she'd done. The hurt she'd inflicted. How sickly scabs would eventually fade to unsettling scars; some fading, some staying as apparent as storm clouds against a clear blue sky.

The rest of the cuts littering her ankles, however, were still raw and angry. Jagged, messy red lines framed and contoured her fat ankles, halfway up her chubby calves and thick shins.

And yet it still wasn't enough to satisfy her. To make the pain go away. In spite of the physical agony she'd already inflicted on herself, the emotional baggage she lugged around hadn't grown any lighter.

Her eyes lingered longingly on her tingling wrists, tracing every faint scar she'd made years ago. It was just so tempting. So easy.  

Nene's hand shook in anticipation of carving into the glowing, cream canvas below her. Soft, supple skin that her razor would slice through like butter. Hot blood that would bubble up to the surface in a second with a satisfying ruby sheen.

How fucked in the head was she to daydream about slicing herself open?

Jesus.

Not to mention, how would she be able to hide the evidence? Wouldn't it be blatantly obvious to everyone around her if she started wearing long sleeves all of a sudden? Like a billboard sign above her head, reading “I fucked up last night! Don't look at my arms!!” in flashing letters.

Well, there was this new jacket she's been wanting to wear. The opportunity just hadn't presented itself yet. 

“What're you hiding under there?” She could practically hear Hanako's curiosity the minute he spotted her sporting a jacket on a hot summer day, attempting to peek under the long sleeves. He knew she was hot-natured. It was one of the many reasons she adored his clinginess, particularly on a sweltering summer day.

But even if she was living through the bitterest winter in history, she'd still crave his near frostbitten embraces. Because it was him, and fuck his hugs were a god send. Honestly. It just wasn't fair.

And now she's thinking about him again.

She really needs to stop that.

Nene ultimately decided to let her wrists be. It was too risky. There was always a chance her sleeves could roll up while she's cleaning, and that's the last thing she wanted.

…Wasn't it?

If she wanted to do this (which was honestly debatable), she had to be clever about it. Some place Hanako would never think to look. 

To outwit Hanako is to outwit the devil himself. 

So nearly impossible.

Still, she had to do something. For the sake of her sanity. The pain just wasn't enough yet- she could hardly feel it.

Antsily, the girl decided her upper arms would have to do. No one, not even the ghost of Sherlock Holmes would suspect there to be wounds hiding under the short sleeves of her uniform. Because if she were self harming, surely it would be on her wrists, right? 

Never had she been so thankful for a cliché.

And so she did it. She rolled up her pajama shirt sleeves and sliced into once scarless skin. Gritting her teeth as the cool metal became slippery in her grasp. 

“Congratulations, Yashiro. You've really outdone yourself this time.” A voice that sounded suspiciously similar to Hanako's echoed in her mind. She gasped, letting the razor clatter to the floor. Deja vu hit her like a semi-truck.

“Tell me, what deranged part of you decided this was a good idea? Was all the bloodloss worth it?” Her mind continued to whisper eerily in Hanako's tone. Matching what she imagined he'd say if he ever found out.

Also, what bloodloss? Surely she hadn't done that much-

“Oh, Nene-chan. Scars are such a turn off! No guy wants a girl who looks so beat up all the time.” Another voice spoke up, this time almost identical to Aoi's. 

“Yashiro-senpai, how could you?! Are you crazy?! You could've died doing that! And here I looked up to you.”   Kou-kun, this time.

“How selfish.”

“Sickening.”

“Disappointing.”

“STOP!” Nene brokenly shouted before she could prevent her outburst, silencing the cruel chatter filling her head. 

“Stop. Please…” The girl trailed off, wiping away the moisture collecting in her lashes. 

It wasn't real. It wasn't. It couldn't be. Her friends; Hanako, whatever she was to him- would never say things like that. Only her own mind could conjure up such cruel scenarios.

Nene hugged herself on instinct, gripping her upper arms to ground herself and slow her breathing.

That is, until she was brutally reminded of her previous engagement, marred skin biting back at whatever dared to brush against it.

Her hands, in this case, became stained with tacky, half dried blood from her wounds’ retaliation. The sensation made her cringe as the metallic scent flooded her sinuses, while her hands began mixing the drying blood on her palms with cold, regretful sweat; as if her battered hands were crying.

She gulped and looked down, taking note the blood pooling and turning her ankles into a crimson, sticky mess. Her shoulders were no better. Thick droplets of blood ran down her arm, reaching as far as her elbow. There were other droplets that failed to make it as far; smeared by her careless hands only a moment prior.

So she'd actually done it, the teal-tipped blonde realizes with a horrifying gaze aimed at her weapon of choice. 

A rogue drop of blood splats on the old bathroom floor below her, the sound ringing in her ears until the gravity of the situation pulls her back down from whatever planet she'd dissociated to. 

“Stay safe out there, Yashiro.”

And that does it. Snaps her out of the trance she was stuck in with a force. All the stinging and throbbing she'd previously been numb to came crashing back into her like a freight train. 

She couldn't even bring herself to cry about it anymore. Not her death, nor the agony she put her broken body through. Even her self loathing thoughts couldn't bring her to tears. But she buried her face atop her knees regardless. Seeking comfort she would never receive. Trying to recall the way his hugs felt; the way he cupped her cheeks in his hands and brushed away her tears.

Longing for him was enough to blur her vision. To bring those tears to the surface and her bottom lip to quiver. It ached and burned and stung in her chest so brutally that she couldn't be in his arms tonight. That he couldn't be here when she allowed herself to drop the mask and be vulnerable.

And the worst part? It was entirely her own fault. She's the one who shut him out when he offered to take care of her. She's the one who has been callous and cruel to the ones that care about her. 

“Hanako.” She helplessly called out into the dark. Her wobbly voice echoed around the small, drafty room until it bounced back into her ears; the only answer the dark provided.

The sobs followed. Silent as shooting stars, until the suffering and shame she'd attempted to keep boxed in managed to slip out of her grasp. She brought a hand up to cover the loud, mournful cries billowing out of her mouth. 

It hits her again how far she'd taken it when even the slightest twitch from her shoulders had her reeling.

So yeah, she might've underestimated the amount of damage a single razor blade and a mental breakdown could invoke.

No matter. She'll clean all this up, let the wounds heal, and it'll be like nothing ever happened.

Right?

No one has to know. Because then they'll try to intervene, and where would that get her? Maybe the injuries on the outside would heal, but where would that leave her; with all the gaping internal wounds that did nothing but scorn her short-comings.

The answer?

Alone. 

Numb.

In pain. Useless, meaningless, emotional pain.

Besides, she didn't need anyone's help.

Of course, Nene knew this wouldn't make it better. Not in the slightest. She hadn't lost all of her common sense, at least not yet. Injuring herself wasn't a healthy way to cope. It was textbook behavior for depressed, suicidal teens who would undoubtedly take it too far. But it was the only thing that worked , goddammit. And she wouldn't take it too far.

Nene swore this wouldn't happen again, in fact. 

Yet it had, because-

Because she needed this.

It didn't change anything, she needlessly reminded herself. She's still going to die soon. Her ankles were never going to shrink to a normal size, no matter how tight she wore her compression socks. She won't suddenly become a celebrity at school from making herself bleed. 

Hurting herself didn't solve her problems. But it made it easier . Survivable. 

And that was enough for her.

Still, she wept over what she'd done. He'd told her to stay safe. Showered her with compassion. Yet here she was, doing the unthinkable on a school night. 

“I'm sorry…” Nene whispered to no one in particular, voice wobbly and hoarse from her cries.

‘I failed him. I failed them all.’

Hakujoudai was a pain in the ass, to put it lightly.

Seriously, it was getting annoying. Every step had to have a purpose, now that Hanako's little spy was watching. 

There would be no flinching or wincing. No tears, no bitten lips. She's fine. She doesn't need a babysitter. 

Nene could take care of herself.

Hanako insisted on the thing following her regardless. That she needed protection from supernaturals and the like, since she seemed to have a knack for putting herself in harm's way.

‘I'm going to die anyway. Why prevent the inevitable?’ She pondered bitterly.

But the teal-tipped blonde couldn't deny Hakujoudai's usefulness when it broke her fall more than once. Or when it gently nudged her awake when she'd accidentally drifted off in class. 

It had saved her, in fact; her sensei was about ready to call on her, and the spirit orb awoke her in time and flipped her book to the right page before he could scold her. Before she could become the laughing stock of class 1-a again. 

Needless to say, Nene was an utter disaster. The fact that she needed a supernatural's assistance to survive the school day tore her up inside. Because, first of all, today has been a good day (by her standards, anyway)! If the past month was anything to go by, that is. No crazy supernatural trying to rip her eyes out, no supernatural trying to rip anyone else's eyes out, no rumors to change; hell, even the mokke had been stealing less problematic things as of late. 

So why was walking down the hallway (a literal straight line) so goddamn difficult? Why did she feel like crying everytime another one of her classmates batted their quizzical eyes at her?

Why did she want Hanako?  

She audibly winced as the rim of her shoes scratched and pawed at her hidden fuck ups.

Hakujoudai stirred.

More stares fell upon her.

Whispers began to sprout rumors in other students’ ears, no doubtedly about her.

Great. She's already just about blown her cover. She seriously doubted Hanako would buy the cheap excuse of her shoes not fitting well again. And if he did, he'd try to fix the problem for her. Either steal some new shoes for her, or try to tend to the ‘irritation’ on her ankles caused by the things. 

Because she'd be a useless assistant if the pain became unmanageable, obviously. Not because he cares.

Nene took a shaky breath and attempted to hold her head high in spite of it all. This petty teenage angst over others’ opinions of her didn't matter. She’s risen above it all. Totally.

Just one foot in front of the other.

Piece of cake.

She jutted her chin out as she strutted, let a pout take shape on her lips, and pretended to be Aoi. To be desirable. Pretty. Confident.

Then all hell broke loose with a misplaced step, which led to a stumble, which ultimately led to one battleship colliding into the other.

“Shit!” She cursed aloud as she managed to regain her balance. Nene was never one to cuss. At least not publicly. Not until recently, anyway. Not until she'd managed to scrape the fresh wounds taking shelter beneath her thin socks; only to be attacked anyway.

A few people around her gave her a judgemental scoff, but she couldn't find it in herself to care.

How could she even begin to care about others opinions with how her wounded ankle stung like no tomorrow?

Was it on fire? It must be, with how awful the tussle between her two feet had been. Jesus it stings. Did she rip off a scab? She must've with the way the cuts were burning with a vengeance. 

She wanted to cry. She wanted- well, what did she want?

‘Hanako.’  

Fuck.

Always the things she could never have, wasn't it? Couldn't yearn for something in her reach for once?

All she could do was force a smile, because Hakujoudai couldn't know. Because if Hakujoudai knows, so does Hanako.

And that, under any circumstances, can't happen. Hanako could never know. 

When had she let it go so far? It was supposed to be a one time thing. Maybe a day or two of acting as if. Then it would all go back to normal again. She wouldn't constantly be going against the grain; lying to everybody, hurting herself, and spiraling out of control like this. 

Nene would be simple and plain, just like any other girl in her grade. Of course she'd never be Aoi, but she'd be normal, dammit.

And that would be enough. For her, anyway.

The freshman cringed as her sock became soggy. So she had reopened a cut.

Great.

What was even better, though, was that Hakujoudai was still glued to her side. Which meant there was no chance in hell she could clean herself up.

Maybe she'd get lucky. Maybe it wouldn't notice the crimson clashing with her black knee-high.

Even so, she needed to ditch Hanako's minion, and fast. Because if the spirit orb did spot the stains, it's game over.

And if that nuisance didn't, then she knew of another nuisance that would. The one this pain in the ass reported back to.

So she formed a plan. 

Get Kou to fry the thing.

Actually, come to think of it, that would just alert Hanako that something was wrong. And she couldn't help but to feel a little guilty about harming the innocent orb.

She huffed to herself as she opened her locker door. This was going to be impossible, wasn't it?

Why? Because she's a moron. A clumsy, self-destructive, fat-ankled moron.

Ugh.  

She headbutted the locker door in a fit of frustration, peeved with herself over the fact that she has to scramble and find a way to hide the incriminating bloodstains on her sock.

‘Damn that smarts.’ Nene cursed internally as she massaged her forehead, using the cheap magnetic mirror she'd hung up in her locker at the beginning of the year to check for a bruise. 

“Ow...” She whined pathetically. Hakujoudai perked up at the sound, which she was quick to dismiss.

“I'm all good. Just taking my anger out on inanimate objects again.” She regretfully sighed with a flick of her hand. Once it calmed back down and she deemed it safe to assume it hadn't summoned its master, she looked into the mirror again.

And then immediately sneered at the imposter staring back at her.

Because that wasn't her. Those deep indigo eye bags, chewed up lips, frizzy hair, and droopy eyebrows had to belong to someone else. Not her. Not Nene, the girl obsessed with looking swoon-worthy enough for every hot boy she passed by. Or, most recently, swoon-worthy enough for him .

Oh, what he must think of her with her appearance degrading every day. She's honestly surprised she hasn't had to endure any obnoxious teasing about it- which was worrying, quite honestly.

Because the only times Hanako didn't tease her were those rare moments he was having a serious conversation, or when he sensed something was up with her.

Hanako wasn't stupid. She knew he must sense something . Hence why she needs to get her appearance together. 

Well, nothing some concealer couldn't fix.

And there was that annoying bell announcing the end of the passing period. 

Lovely.

Realistically, she'd have a hard time working any magic with her makeup using such a warped mirror; and no luck getting the blood stain out with balled up tissues, either. She'd need to use the bathroom's sink and mirror to make herself presentable again.

Wait, that's it!

She'll separate herself from Hakujoudai's prying eye (er- souls?) by excusing herself to the girl's bathroom (Obviously not the third floor one)! There's no way it would dare to follow her; not without willingly bringing Kou's wrath upon it for being pervy. 

And that would be justifiable.

Question is, how was she going to disguise the pesky scarlet on her knee high?

Eh, the finer details could wait. First, she had to survive her torturous math class. 

“Why does she have to be so stubborn? What’s she hiding from me?” Hanako muttered mainly to himself, pacing to and fro in Tsuchigomori’s boundary.

The subject had been nagging at him relentlessly ever since his assistant tried and failed to hide the grimace on her face a week ago.

Any normal person would have let it go. Hell, Yashiro had offered him a reasonable explanation. Albeit reluctantly.

Hanako, of course, was not a normal person. Even when the supposed facts were staring him in the face, he didn't let it go.

Perhaps that was the part he was so hung up on. Because if it was truly from her shoes being uncomfortable, why didn't she want to admit it? Embarrassment? His assistant had always been insecure about her ankles. And he was no doubtedly at fault for it.

Regardless, something felt…off. 

The ghost had noticed the subtle changes in her. How she flinched so easily, winced as often as she blinked, how her sense of humor was just gone. 

He'd noticed when it became too painful for her to chase after him when he antagonized her about her ankles. Or when she cursed under her breath every time she walked. Even when she quit forcing a smile and retaliating against him at all, settling for a tired sigh at his remarks.

So here he was, pacing back and forth with worried steps over his assistant, in front of Tsuchigomori’s desk. 

She'd completely stumped him. 

Because, “Why would she lie about being hurt?” He asked aloud.

“You expect me to know?” A gruff, tired voice replied. 

“Well, duh! You know everything about the students here.”

Tsuchigomori sighed,

“If you're implying I should show her book to you, don't. You know I can't do that.”

“But-”

“End of discussion, Number Seven.” The fifth mystery reprimanded.

Hanako huffed and puffed about Tsuchigomori's unreasonable decision. What's the harm, anyway? A harmless peek- just to squash the worry in the pit of his stomach. To prove to himself that it really was just what she said; her shoes were too tight, and she was insecure about it.

He furrowed his brows and re-adjusted his gakuran jacket sleeves for the umpteenth time.

Because he had this hunch that was clawing and eating away at him. And for once, he hoped he was wrong. He probably was. It couldn't possibly be-

Could it?

Tsuchigomori sighed again, this time laced with both pity and agitation.

“You're really worried about her, aren't you?” The teacher replied, noticing Hanako's nervous tics.

Hanako, trying to find his nerve, let out a shuddering sigh.

“...I am. Yashiro has never kept secrets from me. Not like this. It's the first time she's lied to me so blatantly. This isn't like her.”

“Huh. I've never known Yashiro-san to be a liar before. She's quite the open book.” Tsuchigomori noted, realizing the situation may be more serious than he realized.

Hanako fiddled with his thumbs, contemplating sharing his suspicions of what she could be hiding. On one hand, it was Tsuchigomori’s job (both as a school mystery and a human teacher) to protect his students. So if one could be in danger, and there was a way to, say; catch a glimpse of what that danger could be, it would be a logical choice to investigate. Exhaust the resources they possessed as supernaturals to protect said student.

On the other hand, getting a teacher involved could be dicey. Because if it's what he suspects, Tsuchigomori can't just turn a blind eye to it; especially since she's a student of his. Parents and other adults would most likely have to get involved. And he didn't want that for her. Not unless it was absolutely necessary.

It was utter hell when that happened to him. He'd let a little too much slip to Tsuchigomori once when he was alive, and he paid the price. Suddenly his life was under a microscope; and this time not just his sensei's. Child welfare investigators, counselors, his parents, you name it.

That said, was he truly self-destructing in silence like Tsuchigomori said? 

Uh…well, that's not important. What's important is Yashiro. He'll try to get through to her with whatever she's hiding from him; but if he can't, or if she refuses to open up to him, then he'll bring Tsuchigomori into this.

“...I'll try talking to her about it.” Hanako informed the fifth mystery.

Tsuchigomori chuckled.

“Careful, Number Seven. It seems that girl is beginning to make you develop basic human decency.” The tired man quiped from his desk. Though, there was an approving undertone there that implied the ghost had made the right choice.

“Please. Like I could ever do that.” The ghost boy smiled, self aware enough to know he's absolutely fucked with the kind of soft, empathetic, mess of a ghost his assistant had shaped him into. 

With that last retort, he bid the fifth mystery adieu.

And it was when he found himself back in his boundary that Hakujoudai rushed to his side, swirling and shaking to urgently relay something to its master.

“Hakujoudai? What's the matter? Did something happen?”

It continued to frantically bounce around, to the point that communicating with the thing was borderline impossible. 

He'd spent 50 years as a supernatural, and yet he still couldn't grasp how he could understand what these floating orbs had to say. He just assumed it was ‘because God said so’ and left it at that.

Still, after decades of practice, he could only make out one word the orb kept repeating in his head (however it managed to do that).

‘Yashiro.’

‘Yashiro.’

‘Yashiro!’

‘Yashiro!’

‘Yashiro!’

‘YASHIRO!!’

Hanako held up a hand, beckoning Hakujoudai to stop.

“You know I can't understand you when you bounce around like that!” He scolded, panic lacing his voice knowing this had something to do with his assistant.

If the variety pack of souls could sulk, it certainly was.

The ghost heaved an irritated sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose. A habit he'd picked up from Tsuchigomori, no doubt.

“Now then,” Hanako attempted to maintain a calm disposition. “This is about Yashiro? What happened?”

Hakujoudai swirled around wildly again. The ghost could barely keep up with the lightning fast responses.

‘Hurt.’

‘Scared.’ 

‘Upset.’

‘Lots of blood.’

It had him at the first word.

“Take me to her.”

In hindsight, submerging her arms in sudsy sink water up to her elbows may not have been the best idea.

Nene hadn't even had the chance to apply her concealer and mascara yet. At the time, she figured her tainted sock was more important.

So she'd waited until the first floor girls’ bathroom was completely empty, bolted the door, and plugged the bathroom sink in preparation to scrub the fabric clean.

Then came the worst part. Peeling the soggy garment off of her foot. Seriously, going barefoot in this place was out of the question; but wearing her shoe with nothing between her cuts and the harsh leather seam? 

Oh god.

The lesser than two evils seemed to be balancing on her other foot, still clad in a clean sock and school shoe. She could only hope her wide ankle would work in her favor of keeping her balance.

So with that, she braced herself against the sink filled with warm water as she unbuckled her shoe, grimacing the whole time. 

Nothing could compare to the suffering she had to endure when it came to removing her knee-high, though. A strangled cry left her as the tightly knitted fabric caught on every scar and stuck to the reopened wounds. 

“Ow ow ow ow ow!” She hissed through gritted teeth as more blood bloomed at the surface of her skin. The sock managed to take the rest of the healing cuts’ scabs with it.

It wasn't bleeding a substantial amount, so the teal-tipped blonde decided that it would most likely clot on its own. She'd clean it after her sock. The longer she let the stains sit, the harder it would be to remove.

And with that decision, Nene hopped to center herself in front of the sink, before dropping the bloodied clothing in the water. She shriveled up her nose in disgust as the water became tinted pink. 

She scrubbed at it with her hands with all the elbow grease she could muster, but her upper arm strength was halved ever since she-

The stain wouldn't budge. 

All at once, she noticed how the pink water became more and more saturated and the similarly colored scales appearing on her arms.

Shit.

She jolted backwards as the scales spread to cover the entirety of her arms and shoulders, completely forgetting in the moment that she was only balancing on one of her legs.

Of course she remembered that when the action sent her crashing into the harsh tile floor head first. She tried to spin around to catch herself with her hands, but ultimately failed. Her forehead took the blow.

Nene couldn't help but scream in fear, not even caring if Hakujoudai (or anyone else, for that matter) heard her.

The door she'd previously deadbolted burst open, but she could hardly focus her eyes on the floating white orb in front of her. Her forehead stung and she swore she felt a dribble of blood run down the side of her face, but she couldn't be sure.

And then she tried to stand, because she refused to lie on the bathroom floor a moment longer. Ugh. She couldn't believe her face smashed into the public restrooms’ floor.

Disgusting. If she got sepsis from this, she wouldn't be surprised. 

But her arms wouldn't work, and neither would her legs. Thankfully, she hadn't transformed into a fish, but what was the point if her legs refused to move? 

Hakujoudai wouldn't let her get up either, she realized when it gently pushed her back into a lying position on the floor.

She couldn't hold herself back anymore. No matter how hard she bit her lip, or how long she held her breath, the girl couldn't prevent the next word from leaving her mouth.

“Hanako.” She cried, which ultimately led to the dam breaking and tears cascading down her cheeks. It made the sharp throbbing headache her fall had induced 10x worse, but she couldn't even care to stop herself. If anything, it only added fuel to the fire.

Hakujoudai seemed to understand, because after a quick affectionate rub against her cheek (which she likened to the way a cat would), it disappeared.

She attempted to pull herself back up, ignoring how her limbs shook under her own weight. She'd almost accomplished it too, until her shaky arms gave out again. 

Nene yelped as she fell again, though thankfully not nearly as high. At that point she conceded to lying there helplessly, utterly humiliated.

…

Somehow, she hadn't noticed when Hanako arrived. She blinked, and then he was there; contradicting the year she'd thought had passed her by while she limply rested against the floor.

But he was here now. 

Hanako is here.

“It's going to be okay, Yashiro. I got you.” He whispered, offering an encouraging smile. She didn't miss the tears in his eyes, though. Had she caused that?

“S-sorry…” She sheepishly apologized, trying to raise a hand up to cup his cheek and wipe away the gathering moisture in his lashes. Before she could fully extend her arm, though, a stabbing pain coursed through it.

She grit her teeth and hissed. 

He delicately grabbed her wrist and laid it beside her.

“I'm okay, Yashiro. Let's just worry about getting you cleaned up and getting that pain under control, hm? I can tell how much you're hurting.”

And yet he couldn't.

He couldn't, right?

All the outer wounds littering her body still didn't measure up to the invisible pain suffocating her. It never would. She wondered just how imperceivable the hurt she kept hidden really was in this moment, though. Could he see it in her eyes? Hear it in her silence?

“Let's get you out of here.” Hanako spoke, picking her up bridal style. Right before Hakujoudai was about to whisk them away, however, the crime scene she'd left at the sink came into her view. She couldn't just leave it like that.

“W-wait. I left my sock over there in the sink, and I got the water all bloody and I need my sock back-”

Hanako's brows creased in worry at the mention of blood, but quickly erased the look in favor of soothing his assistant. 

“Don't worry. Hakujoudai will bring it with us and clean the sink up.”

And with a snap of his fingers, they poofed to the bathroom. The third floor one, obviously.

Her home away from home.

Which was quite humorous, honestly. Only a few months ago she loathed the room's existence.

He walked her over to the windowsill, setting her down like she was actually worth something. 

Or because she was fragile, and he didn't want to have to deal with her shattering into a million pieces. That could be it, too.

Once she was propped up against the window, Hanako backed away and crossed his arms. He set his determined, stern gaze on her. Hakujoudi appeared, her dirty sock levitating in its grasp. She reached for it, but he wouldn't give it to her.

He whispered something to the floating spirit assistant; Nene couldn't tell what.

Fuck.

Was he trying to get her to lose it? Spill her secret right here, right now? Because that's not happening. 

Nope.

‘I have it under control.’

Hakujoudai disappeared, so the girl's curiosity got the best of her.

“Where’d you send it off too?”

“Mm. I'll tell you my secret if you tell me yours.” Hanako suggested smugly.

“Secret?! What secret?”

The ghost didn't reply. He seemed content to let her sit and stew in silence.

Until cold hands miraculously appeared in her line of sight, lightly tracing the gash on her forehead. The touch was light enough to tickle, but she still had to hide a grimace at the feeling.

Until she couldn't, because christ it stung. Nene whimpered, despite her best efforts to cage the noise inside her chest. Her cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment, and it didn't help that Hanako immediately stopped what he was doing because of her extremely low pain tolerance. 

She felt like a fool. Surely she's suffered worse. Inflicted worse. And yet, something about the way he lightly ghosted his fingers across the wound made the pain unbearable.

So he withdrew his hand, causing her cheeks to flush deeper in embarrassment. God, when had she become so weak? So frail?

Nene didn't have time to find an answer to that question, thanks to Hakujoudai returning to its master's side. 

She gulped when she finally realized what Hanako had sent the orb to do.

It deposited various medical supplies, ranging from disinfectant ointments to all different kinds of bandages. 

“Hanako, I-” 

“This is non-negotiable, Yashiro. You're not leaving this bathroom until every injured part of you has been properly bandaged. Got it?”

In some sick, deranged part of her brain, his disciplinary tone was kinda…hot, to be frank.

Luckily, it was merely white noise in comparison to her logical thoughts, which were currently fixated on finding a way out of this.

She had to. Because if he saw what she'd done-

“Look, it's fine, okay? I can take care of it at home, Hanako-kun. I have a much nicer first aid kit too.” She lied through her teeth, smiling as convincingly as possible.

He didn't back down.

“I'm afraid I can't allow that, Yashiro. Besides, what would your parents think of you coming home all bloodied up, hm?” 

Well…he raised a fair point, actually. But that problem was easily solved with a quick rinse to scrub the dried blood off her face. As for her ankle, though…that would be a challenge. Then again, all she had to do was make sure her parents didn't pay too much attention to her ankles before she changed her sock.

So she didn't need Hanako's help in this.

“Okay, let's get you cleaned up. I'll start with that cut on your forehead. Sheesh, Yashiro-”

Ugh, he still wasn't listening. For fucks sake, can't he just leave her alone?

“Hanako, no. Back the fuck off.” She cut in, hoping her voice was cruel enough to dissuade him from messing with her injuries.

He paused, shocked, most likely. The silence was deafening. She hated being this mean to him, but if this is what it takes to get him off her back, so be it.

Hanako blinked; once, twice, three times before finally responding.

“Excuse me?” He finally responded, his brows pinched disapprovingly.

“You heard me. Let me be.”  

“What's happened to you? This isn't- this isn't the Yashiro I know.”

She puffed her cheeks out in her signature defiant pout as he continued. He couldn't resist cupping those hamster cheeks she possessed, which she surprisingly allowed.

“Where'd my sweet assistant go? My beautiful, kind-hearted, dreamy, boy-crazy assistant that I swear must be an angel in disguise. I miss her, Yashiro.”

Uh, what? 

How- 

What was she supposed to-

She's-

What?!?!

Hanako thumbed away a few tears that must've slipped out, likely chuckling at her dumbstruck face.

“Yes, Yashiro, you are beautiful, and kind, and smart, and all of those things I just said. And I'll say them as often as you need me to.” The ghost's face was on its way to turning as red as hers she noticed, and maybe that's why it meant so much to her. Knowing this stuff didn't come easy to Hanako at all, but he was trying. Trying for her.

“M'not, though. You don't understand.” She mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. 

“Then help me to.”

Nene leaned her head against the window and shut her eyes for a moment, searching for the courage to tell him. God, she wanted to. Now that he's here, and he's comforting her, all she desired was for him to make it all go away.

So with a gulp, she decided to try.

“It's just not fair, ” she starts, voice already wolbing over the edge of a breakdown.

He nods, deciding to grab the antiseptic and bandages while he had the chance.

“I'm listening, Yashiro. I promise. I want to tend to this cut before it gets too inflamed, alright? But I'm here.”

“What isn't fair?” Hanako parrots back to her.

Another shaky breath leaves her. She couldn't bring herself to fully confide in him. Not yet.

“...Lots of things,” she settles on saying.

He hums in acknowledgement (his only reaction to her words thus far), but he doesn't push her to keep talking.

She peeks an eye open, assessing him. He's nearby, but he's still too far away for her liking. So she opens her arms expectantly, inviting the ghost into them.

Of course the clingy ghost leaps on the opportunity, immediately wrapping his arms around her.

“Needed this first.” She mutters to him bashfully. His cool body temperature was already serving to ward off the panic attack that'd been looming in the distance.

“I'm always happy to hug you, Yashiro. You give the best hugs.” He says giddly, enjoying the affection just as much as she was.

“I-I do…?”

“ Oh my god , yes. The best. You're so warm and soft, unlike Tsuchigomori. He's all bony. And Yako almost scratched my eyes out when I tried cuddling with her.”

She snickered, picturing Yako attacking him after he attempted to hug her.

He uncapped the disinfectant and poured some out onto a cotton pad. The scent stung her nose.

“You find my suffering funny, don't you?” He sighed.

She bit her lip to hide her giggles, but it was a losing battle.

“A little bit,” she laughed.

The ghost pouted, teasingly caressing her face with one hand. 

Her cheek burned like an exploding star after that, obviously. If only to fluster her more, Hanako leaned in. Their faces were less than an inch apart, now. His lips were right there, so close she could-

He smirked.

God, she's absolutely screwed .

Ba-dum

Ba-dum Ba-dum  

She's going to pass out.

There was this sting then, and he backed away after that. The pain lingered for only a few seconds, shorter than the actual borderline…intimate moment they'd shared. Coming and going faster than the heart arrhythmia he'd just caused her. 

Was it a moment, though? 

‘Stop being a dreamer, Nene! He's just teasing.’

“...Annnnnnd done! Just have to bandage it now.” Hanako announced with a proud smile.

Wait, what? How did he even-

“You already cleaned it?” She asked, bewildered.

“Yup.” He replied, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“W-when did you do that?” She stuttered out.

“While I was gazing into your eyes, of course.”

Nene was almost struck speechless again. Luckily, she was prepared for his teasing this time. Anticipated it at this point.

“Ugh, you're such a flirt.”

“Whaaaaat? You want me to look at something else? Hmmm ?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, in a way that made him look so punchable.

Yeah, he's so predictable.

“Stop being dirty!! Don't make me headbutt you.”

“Hey, you're the one suggesting something dirty here.”

“It was heavily implied!!!”

“Whatever you say, Yashiro~”

He moved to grab a bandaid, a decently sized one. Was the cut on her forehead that bad?

He seemed to read her mind, like always.

“Yeah, this bandage is totally overkill. Unfortunately, it's the only one that won't leave part of your cut exposed or stuck to the sticky parts of this thing. Incompetent motherfuckers.”

Nene couldn’t help but break out into laughter again, because his random use of cuss words always managed to floor her. 

A small smile appeared on his features, along with a subtle tinge of pink across his cheeks. He placed a fist over his mouth, cleared his throat, and turned away from her.

Before she could address it, he whirled back around as if nothing ever happened.

“Now then, onto your ankles.”

Annnnnnd there went her good mood.

“No.” The blonde protested.

He sighed and muttered something under his breath before finally replying to her.

“Why are you being so resistant?” He finally asks her.

Well shit.

How was she supposed to explain herself? Should she tell him? Or keep lying and denying every sneaking suspicion he has?

“Because I- I…” Nene tries. She tries, but her voice snags in the back of her throat. 

And there came the tears again.

God. Her eyes were burning from all the crying.

“Hey. Look at me for a minute?”

Oh. She hadn't even realized that she'd shied away from him.

So she looks, and there's that smile. The miserable one people make when they're trying not to cry. 

What would have brought him close to tears like this? Was it her deceitfulness? This was, like, the third time he looked close to breaking down after looking at her.

He takes her hands in his own. The tears have disappeared already.

“There's nothing in this world you could say or do that would make me turn away from you, okay? I don't care what it is. You're stuck with me, you silly daikon.”

The nickname didn't bother her. The way he used it this time (full of affection and tenderness) was enough to wash away any irritation attached to that annoying word. 

His maple syrupy eyes dance back and forth between her pair of strawberry shortcake ones, seemingly growing more anxious with every passing second she stays silent.

He's also shifting from one foot to the other now, she notices. Her heart warms with the fact that her reaction means so much to him. That she can make the overconfident school mystery nervous.

Cute.

She's not cruel enough to keep him in suspense. With such a sweet encouragement for her to trust him, how could she not? Sure, its nerve-wracking as hell, but this is Hanako she's talking to.

This is Amane.

And it's okay if it's Amane.

‘Deep breath.’

“Okay,” she exhales.

She offers him a wobbly smile, and he returns it.

“You can clean them- uh- my ankles.”

He has the audacity to gawk at her, even after his insistence to take care of her.

“Are you sure?”

“As I'll ever be.” She answers, still a bit uneasy. After all, he hadn't seen the extent of the damage, not to mention she's the one responsible for it.

That thought gets lost to the summer breeze drifting through the school as he bends down. She swore he was moving in slow motion.

Nene knows when he's eye level with the crime scene on her ankle by the sudden chill that runs up her leg. He hadn't even touched her yet, but the teal-tipped blonde could feel the cold rush of air from his closeness regardless.

Otherwise, there's no hint that he'd laid his eyes upon the hideous sight. No gasps, no gagging, just silence. And honestly? That was almost worse.

Did he really not care? Was he not bothered in the slightest? She'd been too dramatic about the pain, hadn't she. The blood stains were a terrible exaggeration. Now he's just going to turn her away- why wouldn't he? Why waste his time on such inconsequential scratches?

“Looks painful. Your poor ankle, Yashiro.” The ghost says mournfully, barely above a whisper.

Um, out of all the things she thought he'd say, him showing remorse to her torn up ankle was at the bottom of the list. It wasn't even on the list. Because why feel bad? It can take it, with how fleshy and fat it is.

His sympathy floored her. Despite the nature of the injuries; with the way they crisscrossed up and down her lower leg and the neatness of the slits scattered across her skin, he didn't question a thing. It was obviously intentional. Her cuts, that is. Nene had no clue if his lack of his usual commentary was purposeful or not.

Odd. Hanako is such a blabbermouth most of the time, and she loved him for it. Such sass and attitude behind his words that kept her on her toes. Sure, she'd like to shut him up sometimes-

Okayyyyyy . Too far, too far, too far.

She willed her face not to heat up at the thought.

“You're brave, Yashiro. One of the toughest humans I know.” He says suddenly, unprompted.

And then he does that. Says random shit that flips her entire worldview of herself upside down.

He's got to stop compliment bombing her like this. Seriously. She's at risk of melting into a puddle of adoration at this point.

Not to mention, none of it applied to her. Nene Yashiro, brave? Please. What a silly thought. Her. Her.

Ha. 

She wondered why he'd say such a thing. He literally startled the living daylights out of her a week ago, just by whispering in her ear. The girl has been nothing but fussy about him tending to her wounds this entire time. Something a child would do. A puny, weak little kid. 

Usually, she'd be too preoccupied basking in any compliments given to her to really analyze it. She hardly got any, after all. Instead, after her knee-jerk disbelief, she decides to just sit with it. Tries to believe there's something good about her, for once.

A terribly challenging task, indeed.

…

She can't help herself.

“Why?” The freshman inquires. Great, now it sounds like she's fishing for praise and attention, doesn't it?

Yeah. Yeah, she sounds like such a pick-me.

‘Way to go, Nene. Can't just take the compliment, can you?’

Before she can spiral any further, he snaps her out of it. Just like always.

“Because you've been dealing with this all on your own. That takes strength. I seriously doubt there are many other students with such a tolerance for pain and suffering. Only one that comes to mind is the kid, really. And a large part of that is pure recklessness and idiocy.”

“Hey! Be nice to Kou-kun!” She tuts, defending him light-heartedly. He's not entirely wrong…but still! Calling him an idiot was a bit much. He just…lacks impulse control!

The pout he levels her with is laughable.

“Enough about him,” Hanako dismisses with a wave of his hand. “This is about you, Yashiro.”

His next words are spoken softer, cautiously, as if not to spook her.

“The amount of cuts and scratches on this leg alone…it's concerningly excessive. My hunch tells me your other ankle is no better.”

“Don't worry about it,” she found herself deflecting, not nearly as reassuring as she'd hoped to sound. Hoping to downplay it enough that he'd let it go.

Hanako scoffed.

“ ‘Don't worry about it?’ You think I'm just going to forget about all those injuries you've been hiding from me? That I'm going to let this go on and turn a blind eye to it all?”

“Just leave it alone, Hanako-kun. Please.” Nene pleaded, and for a moment his narrowed eyes were filled with the warmth she'd become infatuated with. As soon as it appeared, though, it was snuffed out again.

The ghost took a deep breath after her remark and his brow twitched; a key indicator he was becoming frustrated.

Still, he kept his tone even.

“You know I can't do that. Not after seeing the extent of your injuries. It's gotten out of control, Yashiro. Can't you see that?”

Nene knows quite a bit, actually. She knows for a fact that ‘it’ was nowhere near as bad as he was making it sound. Really, it wasn't.

If it were out of control, she'd be bleeding out on the floor right now. But she isn't, is she? If she'd lost her grip, her throat would be slit.

So, you know what? Fuck him, thinking he knows everything. She's fine.  

This is fine.

“I told you, it's from my shoes. Nothing is out of control.” She quipped, her vocal cords sharpening her words into knives.

“I know your shoes didn't do this!” Hanako snaps, before reigning in his temper.

He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. He counted back from ten.

“This can't go on, Yashiro. You can't keep doing this to yourself.” Hanako reinforced.

At that, her nonchalant attitude she'd maintained flickered. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Nene stated, her tone wavering subtly.

“You do.”

“Don't.”

The ghost groaned and massaged his temple to express his irritation without losing his cool. He was doing his best to remain neutral, but jesus christ , he never imagined she'd be this stubborn. Truthfully, he didn't think she had it in her to be so bull-headed.

“Yashiro, cut the bullshit. You're not fooling me. I've played this game. I practically invented it. So don't think you can lie your way out of this.” He tucks his knees under him and keeps his eyes trained on her. 

Nene rolled her eyes at his accusation. Why can't he just leave it alone? There's nothing to worry about.

Honestly, there isn't.

“What's it to you? Afraid I won't be a useful assistant anymore? I can handle ot myselfl, Hanako. So drop. it. ” She viciously attacks. The loss of the affectionate ‘kun’ at the end if his name didn't go unnoticed.

Hanako visibly winced, and guilt thawed out the numbness that had frozen the empathy she was known for deep beneath the surface.

So okay, maybe that last part was unnecessary. She knew better than to think that's all he felt for her. He had literally dragged all of the ghosts and supernaturals back with him to the far shore by sacrificing Ao-chan, all to extend her lifespan. That's not something a boss did for an assistant.

Not to mention the monologue he'd just given her.

His anger replaced the hurt. 

“You know what? Fine. Whether you admit to it or not, it doesn't change the fact that your wounds need dressing. Are you trying to get an infection? You're lucky a blood thirsty supernatural didn't come after you. Fucking christ , Yashiro.”

Ah, that struck a nerve in her. Because, lucky ? When has she ever been lucky? You want to see luck in its purest form? Look at Ao-chan. Any part of her life would do. Hell, her hair is purple. Nene has to dye the tips of her hair every month just to get that faded teal to stick. 

Lucky.

Please.

‘Lucky’ is the indigo-haired girl escaping her kannagi lineage when no one ever had before. And the best part? It had happened all on its own. It was just given to her, damnit! Aoi didn't have to fight for her right to live. Not until Hanako tried swapping their lifespans, anyway.

So what was he trying to say? That it would it be better if she quit? If she threw out her only life vest that had managed to keep her afloat this sinking ship, just because it feasted on her blood and tears?

Nonsense.

“ So what if they did come after me?! We both know I'm going to die soon anyway. So what's the point? What's the fucking point, Hanako? Huh? I'm not gonna stand around, fearing for my life like some helpless little kid!”

‘Because there's no one to save me.’

‘And I'm not worth saving.’

She hoped the bickering would stall him. Her heart wasn't in it, but she tried to force the passion in her voice. The freshman was indifferent at this point on what happened to her. 

Or so she thought. There were more genuine parts to her fury-filled sentence then she realized.

Hanako couldn't save her. Bending fate to his will like that- he didn't possess the raw power and ability required to rip and tear the timeliness apart. A tough pill to swallow, for sure; that he'd never be able to accomplish it on his own.

Not without trading one life for another. And that was something she would never allow. Certainly not for her sake.

People needed Ao-chan. But they'd manage just fine without the fat-ankled freshman.

“It's wasted energy to worry about me,” she concludes, voice back to its normal volume. “Besides, it's not like it makes a difference whether I live or die.”

Yet, her raw, weary skin told a different story. One Hanako could decipher like a picture book. 

Somehow, his panic and concern where she lacked it for herself was comforting. Still terrifying, but soothing to know how much she mattered to him. That he truly cared for her ankles when she couldn't, able to replace burning, bitter hatred with a gentle balm towards the both physically and mentally battered parts of herself.  

“How can you say that?” He breathlessly asks her, pure shock inscribed in his features.

He whispered uncharacteristically, to the point that she could hardly understand him. And yet, it managed to mute her rage, even temporarily.

Hanako moved from his spot on the floor, taking her chin in his hand to speak directly into her eyes.

“How can you say such cruel, untrue things to yourself? You don't deserve that. You've been through so much as it is, Yashiro.”

“I-”

Nene breathes, waging a war with the tsunami rising in her chest. Drowning her.

“That's not- I just…”

“I-”

‘I deserve to bleed.’

‘I need it to feel something.’

‘I can't stop myself.’

All things she attempts to say, but can't. Like a muted song; a falling tree in a vacant forest.

She's lost in the twist and turns of the labyrinth where she'd stashed the hurt away, desperately looking for a way out before it collapses in on her.

Weaving between the different walls she'd put up as they topple down before him, avoiding his gaze like the plague.

Nene refused to let him see her like this. So damaged, so broken that she can't bounce back from her breakdown this time. Because this was different from her sulking spells over boys, or crying in frustration over cleaning the bathroom.

This was…

Well, Nene didn't know what it was, exactly. 

She's losing herself as her breath snags in her chest, yanking at her sore throat that had been holding back sobs for so long. Deep ones, buried beneath the shorter, less intense crying spells she'd previously let slip away from her. Releasing a few tears here and there wasn't cutting it anymore. 

It hurt . Far worse than the shallow cuts littering her body.

And he was here, watching her fall apart. Her worst nightmare. Sure, he's seen her cry a handful of times, but never as profoundly as her heart was threatening. 

The teal-tipped blonde looks at him and hyperventilates once she bears witness to the genuine concern strewn across his face. A whine emanates from her sealed lips, and she can't help but bow her head in shame.

God it hurts. 

Why was it hurting all of a sudden?

And then he speaks, using words he's never used before. Ones that she failed to process in the moment.

Not to worry, she'll become a flustered mess later when it finally clicks.

“Nene, my love, you're hurting yourself.”

Dampness registered on her upper arms as the stiff fabric of her dress clung to her skin. She spared a glance, coming to the conclusion that she'd been scratching the slits on her arms through her sleeves until they bled.

But she couldn't stop . It was grounding her, providing her enough oxygen to keep breathing as the tidal wave within her plunged her head underwater. 

Strong, cold hands grasped at her wrists then, overpowering her resistance to being pulled away from her now bleeding shoulders.

Another whine rips through her, despite her best efforts to silence the embarrassing noise.

“I know, I know. Just focus on me, angel. I'm right here, and I've got you. Stop fighting with yourself. It's only going to make things worse.”

Angel?

He called her an angel.

He had called her- what was his phrasing again?

‘Nene, my love…’

Even after all of the fighting and stubbornness she'd shown him, he was still here, and he didn't give up on her.

Despite the fact that it would've been so easy to.

A sense of security finally wraps around her, and just on time. Another tsunami floods her vision, her chest, all the way to the tip of her tongue.

Nene couldn't take it anymore. She looks at him desperately, silently begging him to somehow lock up the emotion pooling in her eyelids. To rescue her from the loud whimper that slips out, a warning to the cascade that's about to break through.

‘Don't let me cry over myself again. Please. ’ 

Instead, she's met with gentle encouragement.

“Let go, Yashiro. I'm here to catch you.” He whispers, as if talking any louder would shatter her.

It would.

She examines him; truly analyzes his body language, and finds nothing but compassion swimming in his irises. There's no pity, no disappointment like she feared there would be.

So she does. She lets go of the thin, worn string that had been holding her together, and bawls.

“ Hanako-kun! ” Nene gasps as the rough sob racks her frame, causing her to curl in on herself.

He doesn't allow that, instead guiding her head to rest on his shoulder while he wraps his arms around her. Tight enough to ground her, yet gentle enough not to restrain her.

Nene weeps, harder than she had in awhile. It's loud as she chokes on her anguish and misery, but Hanako doesn't shush her. He rubs her back instead, praising her.

“That's my girl. Let it out, Yashiro.”

And he stays. Even when her crying only picks up as time passes by, he stays. Rubbing her back, massaging her tense shoulders, placing quick kisses on her neck.

“Sorry, was that okay?” He asks after the round of chaste kisses ends, seemingly remembering himself that he'd never cleared it with her.

“Mhm.” Is all she manages, face burning. It was a wonder her tears didn't evaporate from the heat emanating off her cheeks.

She fights to find her words, to explain away this humiliating mess of composure. To reassure him that it's all good, and she's fine now. Hanako must sense her struggles, because that's when he shushes her.

“Shhhh, my little assistant. You'll find the words when you're ready. Give yourself a break.”

Again, she's struck speechless. How did he know her so well? Also, ‘my girl’ ? ‘My little assistant,’ too? She's going to pass away with how endearing all of the nicknames he'd given her were.

She doesn't have the energy to analyze the meaning hiding behind his choice of words, so she puts it on the back burner. Again, she's aware it'll boil over eventually and leave her an absolute flushed wreck. But, ah, she can't find it in her to care.

Her tears don't die down until at least five minutes later; maybe ten. She'd lost count, and she couldn't help but anticipate Hanako's patience wearing thin at the continuous breakdown. She prepared herself for when he'd let go, and she'd be left picking up the rest of the pieces on her own.

He didn't. He held her tightly, nearly squeezing her at this point. Surprisingly, it wasn't uncomfortable; and she wondered absentmindedly when he'd grown so strong. She could practically feel his lean muscles, which was quite shocking. His jacket managed to hide them well, giving the illusion he was much smaller.

Did he always have toned arms, or was it something he gained after becoming a supernatural?

Was he this hot when he was alive, too? 

‘Oh for the love of God, Nene. Get a hold of yourself.’

“You doing okay there, Yashiro?”

Oh. Back to Yashiro again.

Why was that so disappointing? And what was with all of those pet names all of a sudden? Its not like she's never gotten upset in front of him before! 

She releases a tense breath she didn't realize she was holding, burying her face in his jacket to hide her bright red face.

Her eyes had finally run out of tears to cry; harsh sniffles left in their absence. So no wonder he was asking if she was okay. He was probably searching for any opening to pry her off of him. She couldn't blame him, honestly.

“Yashiro? You still with me?” He tried again.

“Mm.” She strategically enunciated.

After a beat of silence, he speaks again.

“...Are you ready for me to tend to your ankles?”

She visibly tenses at the mention of the damned things, and she can't help but tremble at the thought of him touching them, let alone caring for them.

But she couldn't deny the inflamed ache that had settled behind her sliced open skin. Or how it became increasingly painful by the minute.

So she heaves a sigh, and finally allows him to.

“Y-yeah. It really hurts, Hanako-kun.” She finds herself foolishly confessing. She had no right complaining about the pain when it was entirely her own doing.

Hanako didn't seem to mind, though.

“I can only imagine. Looks excruciating.” He acknowledges. The ghost gives her one final reassuring squeeze before untangling his arms from her.

She missed him already.

God, she's pathetic.

And with that, he offers her a reassuring smile and grasps one of her hands, bringing it to his lips.

“Let me take care of you, Yashiro~” He says in that oh-so-familiar flirty tone.

She ought to smack him.

She doesn't.

He kisses her hand, never breaking eye contact. At least, until he preps the disinfectant again. 

“This is going to sting like a bitch, Yashiro.” He warns, unscrewing the cap.

Nene couldn't deny that she was afraid, as mortifying as that fact was. She'd slacked off with cleaning her wounds in the past because of how low her pain tolerance was, and it had come back to bite in the ass every time.

So she steels herself, preparing for the worst.

“O-okay.” Is all she manages to stutter out.

Well, that's humiliating.

Hanako analyzes her, gears turning in his head as he takes in her fear-stricken face. He bites his lip and worries it between his teeth, seeming conflicted.

He shyly looks down and away; and with a new, determined expression, eventually breaks the silent, tense atmosphere weighing on them.

“You can hold my hand. If you want. If it helps. Um.”

The ghost boy yanks his hat down and twiddles his thumbs, nervously awaiting her answer. He always forgets how his ears change to match the shade of red dusting his face. Right now, they were practically glowing red.

‘He's blushing!’ She giddly realizes, biting back a smile.  

Jesus, he's going to kill her with how adorable he is.

She doesn't think twice about it, reaching the hand grasping the brim of his hat. He yelps , and Nene doubts herself, confidence wavering.

Should she have asked him first? Warned him? Did he even really want to do this, or was it just for her sake?

Nene starts to withdraw her hand, apology already on her tongue, when he interlocks their fingers. Palm to palm, winter to summer.

The temperature difference is what she needs to ground herself. Tension slowly eases in her shoulders as he lowers their connected hands to a comfortable angle.

Until he catches her off guard yet again.

He offers her a firm, reassuring squeeze; their eyes lock; and they both seem to creep closer and closer until she can physically feel his jitters, taste his candy-sweet breath-

And then he pulls away, leaving Nene to mourn the intrusion of her personal space. 

Damnit.

Hanako hadn't let go of her hand, despite it all.

He's covering his mouth with his free hand as he clears his throat, eyes darting around the room while pointedly avoiding looking anywhere even remotely in her direction. Trying to play off whatever just happened, she assumes. 

Her composure slips from her fingers and shatters without warning, scarlet swarming her face.

Heat floods her, until she feels like an overheated furnace. She hopes he can't hear her heartbeat or feel the pounding of the traitorous organ in her palm.

If he does, he doesn't show it.

“Here goes…” He warns, unable to form a full sentence.

All at once, she feels the cold, antiseptic soaked cotton pad make contact with her skin, and she reels.

She shouldn't have screamed, but she does. It burns , awful enough that she swore her entire leg must be on fire. 

“Squeeze my hand, Yashiro.” He redirects, but continues to slowly wipe away the dried blood stuck to her skin.

Nene grips his hand with all her might as he scrubs at an inflamed area as gently as he can, and she can't stop her breaths from becoming shallow.

The room spins, and she shivers. Her shaking doesn't stop, even when he finishes disinfecting it. 

“Breathe, Yashiro.” He urges, releasing her leg.

Man, she tries. She really does. No matter how deeply she inhales, her exhales come out as desperate wheezes. Which only causes her to inhale faster, shallower; a vicious, never ending cycle.

Why did it sting so bad, anyway? Sure, cleaning her wounds last time was no walk in the park, but it was never this agonizing. He was gentler than she was! She'd hastily scrub at the injury in question, lacking any care and compassion towards her beat up skin.

Not him, though. He'd taken it slow to avoid roughing up her already abused ankle, but quick enough so her suffering wasn't prolonged.

Or because he was sick of hearing her bitch and moan, but who's to say?

At long last, she gets her hyperventilating under control. Hanako waits, ensuring that her breathing remains even before he dares to do anything else.

He must deem it satisfactory, because he's on the move again. This time, he's gathering a roll of white gauze and self-adhering bandage wrap.

Okay, she has to admit that this was far better than what she had at home. Hanako was right, as per usual. 

He'd really gone all out, hadn't he?

Before Nene can even begin to contemplate why, her concentration slips. Hanako completely erases any sane thought she could possibly have from her mind when he grabs her ankle-

And he treats it so gently. Like a glass vase rather than a heavy baseball bat.

Before, all Nene could comprehend was the brutal burning ripping through her skin when he was cleaning up the jagged red lines that zig-zagged all over her ankles; her nerves lighting up like a busy city at night. 

But now, with the pain receding to a mere nuisance, his soft hands on her bare skin- her ankle of all places-

Well, it tossed any logical thought process in her mind out the window, to put it lightly.

In layman's terms:

Nene's positively  fucked, and will never recover from this.

She must've flinched when his hands first made contact, because his already feather-light touch suddenly lessened to his hand ghosting over her calf.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” 

“No.”

He gives her a skeptical look, but finishes wrapping her ankle and calf quickly. In fact, she blinks, and he's done, admiring his handiwork.

That's not all, though.

She expects him to let her go and move on to the next ankle (she hadn't bothered trying to convince him only one ankle was like this); however, Hanako completely subverts her expectations again in his typical Hanako fashion.

Her tired eyes watch closely as he lowers his head closer and closer to her now bandaged leg, seemingly in slow motion.

Or maybe he truly was moving that slow.

Yet, before she knows it, 

Cold, tender lips lightly kiss the top of her bandage wrap, right in the center. She can't feel the sensation, and oh how she mourns the loss. 

Nene couldn't deny that she'd been craving his lips on her skin ever since he'd given her those neck kisses.

‘…

…

…Enough, Nene .’

As soon as he kisses her, he shoots backwards. Like he'd been catapulted across the room by her ankle, or something.

It shouldn't hurt when he immediately lurches away from her, mumbling about how “it's a protection charm, that's all it is” , yet it does.

It does hurt. Quite a bit, honestly.

Because she's an idiot that reads into things way too much. It's her own fault her heart is broken.

•••

It's not until after she's fully cleaned up and close to becoming a mummy with how much gauze has been wrapped around her when she finally says something to him.

He'd kept quiet and hid behind the brim of his hat for the rest of the time he worked. His hand had been offered to her wordlessly every time he was about to disinfect her cuts, and she'd taken it, of course. 

He didn't give her any more protection charms, though. Perhaps one was enough?

Or did her fat leg just gross him out too much?

His ears weren't red, so he wasn't hiding because of his shyness. Maybe he had been originally, but Nene couldn't be sure.

So when he finishes wrapping the last of her injuries, she decides to disrupt the incredibly uncomfortable silence.

“Hanako?” She asks warily.

The girl antsily awaits his answer, fiddling with her thumbs to keep her occupied.

She's convinced he's not going to say anything once a minute passes by, since there's been no acknowledgement to her calling his name; but eventually, he graces her with a response.

“Hm?”

Not much to work with, but the absence of his usual teasing lilt doesn't go unnoticed.

Ugh, she knew she was going to mess this up somehow. She'd done something wrong, that's for certain. Problem is, she couldn't figure out what . Because it could be anything! Hell, even taking her sock off could've been the catalyst.

It was no use. In the end, she'd have to ask the (literal) mystery in front of her for a list of her specific fuck ups.

Sighing in defeat, she bites the bullet.

“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” She shouldn't sound so pathetic. 

Honestly, she shouldn't.

She shouldn't fret about his opinion of her. He was her boss and she was his assistant, bound together by two mermaid scales.

They were nothing else. Friends, maybe.

But nothing beyond that.

She really needs to stop caring. 

It would be so much easier for both of them when she dies to just cut ties now. That way, neither of them will take it so hard. 

She can't.

“You don't make me uncomfortable, Yashiro.”

Hm. If that's the case, why has he been so quiet? Why won't he look at her anymore?

What could've possibly changed in this past hour or so to completely extinguish the confident, radiant spark behind his eyes?

Except, no. There was something…different about them. Some new emotion she couldn't quite put her finger on.

When she peers down at his eyes to get a better look, they're the opposite of his muted mood. His irises resembled freshly crystalized caramel, infused with gold flakes that shimmered under the harsh fluorescent lights. The mystery's pupils had also dilated to the size of black holes, completely blown and refusing to focus on her.

His eyes were practically glowing.

Okay, maybeeee she's exaggerating a bit. But she's never seen his eyes so full of-

So full of life.

Ironic, to say the least.

She's been staring too long, she regretfully realizes as he tugs his hat down further and turns away.

And she swore she heard a sound similar to a whine escape him.

Yet he still finds a way to take the upper hand, albeit begrudgingly.

“Staring is rude, y'know. Been sizing me up for like… five minutes now. Jeez. ”

“Because you're being weird!” Nene shouts, not even denying his accusation.

“Wanna go up to the roof?” Hanako asks her suddenly, getting up from his spot on the floor.

Nene, caught completely off-guard, blindly agrees.

“...Uh, sure?”

She figured they were going to make the trek up there, but is pleasantly surprised when he offers her his hand to hold.

It's slightly shaky while he waits for her to take it this time, but completely stills once their fingers interlock. 

Hanako snaps his fingers, and holy shit, she's never going to get used to that. All of a sudden, crisp summer air forces its way into her lungs, the bright sunset thrusting light into her dim eyes. 

She's nauseous at first, as always. It quickly dissipates; or rather, transforms into butterflies when she catches a glimpse of him.

He's got his hat off, spinning it round and round on his finger while he leans over the roof railing. His head is reclined, and when she follows his line of sight she realizes what he's looking at.

The stars.

Despite the fact that it was barely sunset, the twinkling stars were easily visible against the tangerine sky.

It would've felt like she was intruding on a private moment, had she not been brought here by him. Still, he must be able to feel her staring at him (since he seems so intuitive when it comes to that sort of thing), so she decides to quit gawking and take her place beside him.

With a gulp, she makes her way over. Every footstep is like a boom of thunder to her, and she's trying to prepare herself for the moment she crosses the line. Like there's invisible landmines scattered around the roof, except instead of them exploding in her face, Hanako does.

She anticipates him whipping around and telling her to leave once she finally makes it to the railing.

He doesn't.

He doesn't even react. His gaze remains fixed on the constellations, and Nene desperately tries to recall all the ones he'd told her about in the fake world.

She squints, tilts her head, and nibbles on her lip as she attempts to decipher all the seemingly randomly scattered balls of light. Hanako lightly chuckles, and when she turns to see what he's laughing at, he's already looking at her.

Before she can comment on it, he turns back to the evening sky. She honestly can't believe how late it had gotten. It had been, what, early afternoon when he found her? 

He wrings his hands and sighs.

“Follow me.” He orders, yet it comes out unsure and nervous.

Doesn't he know she'd follow him anywhere by now? 

He takes off, and she attempts to match his pace. The bandages help, but her walking speed is still slightly hindered. Hanako never leaves her sight, though. 

With his hands stuffed into his pockets, he makes his way over to the door they just came through to access the roof. Instead of going through it, though, he rounds the corner of the concrete cube the doorway was housed in. He doesn't pause until he reaches the back of the small infrastructure.

There's metal rungs ingrained into the back concrete wall, and she watches as he climbs up them with practiced ease. She takes her time navigating them, as her feet were far too wide to get a good grip on them.

The view, once she finally makes it to the top, is nothing like she's ever seen. City lights slowly come to life below them, and from the new height, Nene feels like she's on top of the world. 

She never even thought of climbing to the top of this thing. In fact, she never even imagined that she'd be able to.

Now, though, she can't imagine forgetting this place.

He pats the spot next to him, legs dangling off the edge. Surprisingly, the concrete is cool to the touch when she plops down beside him.

They sit there for a moment, inhaling the crisp night air and taking in the view. Until, eventually,

“I used to come up here a lot…when I was alive.” Hanako confesses, seemingly confiding in the sky more than her.

Nene's jaw hits the floor. 

He's never told her anything about his past before he died. Ever. Even little tidbits and bite-sized information about his life was off limits.

So to say she's shell-shocked out of her mind would be a dramatic understatement.

She doesn't say anything, gripping onto the ledge, gripping onto this moment to prevent it from slipping through her fingers before he shuts her out again-

“The stars…they don't talk back. They're great listeners that way, y'know?”

He doesn't wait for her to answer.

“When things got- when I-” Hanako clears his throat, looks away, looks back up at the stars.

“People always seem to think they know what to say. That they know how to fix something they can't understand.”

He pauses there, and Nene conveys her mutual understanding with her silence. It's tense, and it's heavy, but it's okay. She doesn't have to paint a sunny sky on her face, doesn't have to speak an octave higher than usual to hide the gruffness of her tired voice.

“Try to fix things that were never broken in the first place.” 

And there he looks to her, stares straight into her eyes and beyond. Narrows his as she widens hers. He frowns in concentration as their gazes waltz to and fro, determined to tell her something he couldn't find the words to.

She gets it. Somehow, someway, she deciphers the inaudible message.

‘I wasn't broken, and neither are you.’

Then, they flick back to the stars.

“So when people didn't know how to mind their business and wouldn't get off my back, I'd come up here. Where no one could find me.”

She can picture who he must be talking about with how eerily similar his words sounded to the ones he used in Tsuchigomori’s flashback, back when she destroyed the mystery's yorishiro. Back when he was alive and breathing. 

In fact, he was acting just like-

With a shuddering breath, it hits her:

The ghost had dropped his mask. The one he wore as Hanako, making him the powerful yet gleeful leader of the seven mysteries.

Now, he was just a kid, like her. 

‘Amane.’ 

It's Amane she's talking to, has always been talking to. He's just been hiding behind that white seal, that cap, that knife, that pseudonym. Just out of sight, but there. 

Always there.

Always has been.

“They couldn't begin to comprehend what I was going through. What was happening- what I did to cope with it all.”

Countless questions flew through her head, ones she desperately wanted answers to.

What happened to him? What had he endured?

…What had he done to cope?

The movement was subtle, and barely caught her attention. He'd idly started scratching at his inner wrist through his sleeve for a moment, until he caught himself and fisted the top of his dress pants instead.

It had garnered her attention before he was able to mask it. That was the thing.

The question rang in her ears.

Had he…?

He releases the fabric, hand moving to grip the edge of the concrete harshly, right next to hers.

Her hand starts inching closer to his with every deafening, still minute, until it eventually runs into his.

She didn't even mean to. Yet, she finds herself leaving it there. An invitation for him, if he needs it.

He doesn't take her hand, but he bumps her back, too busy clinging to the ledge with a white-knuckled grip.

His breath hitches, and Nene anticipates his tears, ready to step in. But he doesn't cry.

If she's truly strong, Hanako is Hercules in comparison.

He dulls, before finally continuing.

“So I talked to the stars instead. Because at least I could count on them to listen and be there for me every night. The moon too, when I couldn't see them.”

At last, he fully turns to her. He takes her hands in his own, and she all but latches onto him.

“I'm telling you all this because…well, I thought this could be your place too.” 

He seems to think for a moment; long and hard over what he wants to say next. Nene never grows impatient.

“I know I can't stop you from doing this to yourself. I mean, I technically can, but I know what it's like to be in that mindset. And having the only tool you use to survive just ripped away from you- it doesn't end well.”

Ah. 

So he had.

It makes sense now, why he's been so distraught this whole time. She must be triggering him by subjecting him to all of this.

How inconsiderate of her! Like always, she never stopped to think how thos could possibly affect him. Only worried about herself, it seems.

However, she knew Hanako, and she knew for certain that he wouldn't want her to blame herself or worry about him. He'd said so himself countless times before. And gathering pity points by sharing about his past was the last thing Hanako would do.

‘He's telling me this to help, not to make me feel bad.’ The girl concludes.

What he desired more than anything, if she had to bet, would be her promising to never harm herself again. Which, fair. If the tables were turned, she'd want the same thing. 

But even with how strong she (apparently) was, or resilient after her relapses; it was going to happen again.

It just was. Saying she wouldn't do it would be a blatant lie, no matter how much she dreamed it could be true.

More than anything, Nene wished she could promise him it would never happen again, that the view and care he'd shown her had uprooted the urge constantly nagging at her. It was quieted for now, but it will come back.

It always does.

He seems to understand that, though. 

“But I hope that this place,” he widely gestures around them, “can serve as some sort of outlet for you. That way you don't have to keep all the pain bottled up inside you anymore.”

His gaze softens, and with the setting sun almost truly gone, there is no light left to shine through him. He looks solid, real, tangible, alive.

“Just please promise me that you'll come to me when you harm yourself, so I can help you tend to your injuries. I won't judge, and I won't scold you. I just want to make sure you're taken care of the way you deserve.”

‘taken care of the way you deserve…’

The way she- what ?

Tears slip past her grip and slide helplessly down her cheeks for the umpteenth time. Christ , she'll never run out of tears, will she?

She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve anything.

She sniffles, and Hanako hovers his hand in front of her cheek, debating whether to brush her tears away or not.

“Uh, do you want me to go? I can give you some space-” He hastily questions, beginning to withdraw his hand.

Nene shatters, after that.

“ No.”

She chokes on a stifled cry, throat beyond raw from her previous breakdowns.

“Please stay. Please.”

Logically, the girl knew he wasn't leaving because he didn't care. He's more than proven that he does. 

The thought of him leaving her, though, broke her heart regardless.

“Okay, Yashiro. Okay. I'll stay, don't worry.”

Relief seeps through her, but it doesn't stop the surge of emotions rushing through her.

Because all she could ever want in this life is right here in front of her.

And it can't stay like this forever. No matter how she wishes or dreams, they'll have to part ways. Sooner rather than later. 

It's just not fair . 

Aoi gets to stay. She has Akane worshiping the ground she walks on, and she doesn't even care. They have the rest of their lives to spend together, and that fact is just a given to them.

How the hell is that fair?

Kou throws himself at dangerous apparitions whenever the chance presents itself, and he's just fine. Like he's invincible.

The freshman tries to live her life as normally as possible, and yet she's the one fated to die first.

Nene trembles, and he doesn't hesitate to wrap an arm around her shoulder. She goes, settling in the partial embrace. The cold from his lack of body heat should make her shiver, and maybe it does, but it's hardly noticeable when she was already trembling.

As Hanako hugs her close, she decides on a whim that maybe, just maybe, he would understand. And if he didn't, the stars were here too; ready to listen.

Her head finds its place, ending up leaning against his shoulder in the crook of his neck. Nene doesn't take her eyes off the twinkling stars nor the shining moon once.

The teal-tipped blonde opens up her mouth, and the words she was previously grasping for finally materialize on her tongue. 

“I don't want to die, Hanako-kun.”

A simple statement, and far from shocking. Still, there was a weight to it. They'd both known it when she wished for him to extend her life; and yet, hearing the words aloud was like a punch to the gut.

It was tragic. Awfully so.

He makes a sound of acknowledgement anyway; an otherwise silent nudge to keep going as he uses his hand to act as an icepack against her inflamed upper arm.

It felt like heaven. 

She forces herself to continue.

“I…I know I pretend it doesn't bother me most days, but it does.” Nene admits.

She'd kept a smile pinned to her cheeks ever since she found out accidentally. It started to convince Hanako to let her leave the fantasy world; that she could handle it. 

So she'd put on a brave face, and acted like nothing was amiss. Denial was quite a useful asset in this instant. Nene had such difficulty grasping that her life would just…end, that she didn't. Didn't process the wad of grief and terror knotted up inside her, and decided to ignore it. Kick it aside for later.

Maybe if she didn't acknowledge it, she'd learn to forget the constant tugs on her heartstrings. Maybe, if she numbed herself enough, it wouldn't hurt anymore.

Because if it didn't feel real, and she told herself it wasn't real…

Then it wasn't.

Even when she grew frustrated and upset over vain things happening in her life (new drama and the like), Nene kept the messier, uglier emotions locked away.

And she'd gotten astonishingly good at masking, too. It grew easier each day to smile like she meant it. To act like the only spark of joy left inside her hasn't already been stomped out.

Her eyes lock onto the sight of the one familiar constellation he'd shown her; the big dipper.

“And then I see Aoi get everything I could ever dream of. I've become so bitter over it- over her that I don't even recognize myself anymore.”

Her voice wobbles, but she's run out of tears to shed. 

“Because here you had swapped our lifespans, and I had to be a damn fool and switch it back! I could've had it all, and I gave it away. And yet I'm still- ”

Nene cuts herself off as a lump forms in her throat, making her voice hoarse.

“Still what?” He cocks his head to the side, curiously awaiting her answer. Thus far he'd been neutral towards her venting. No negative reactions like she feared, but no comforting words, either.

“ Jealous . God, she's so pretty Hanako-kun. And I'm just- just me . Nene Yashiro, the girl with fat daikon ankles.”

She throws an arm around him for comfort, afraid to utter the words she's about to.

“S-so I do this to myself. Kind of like a punishment, but it's just- I don't know. It helps me deal with things.”

The pair sit there while Hanako interprets her words. It's not awkward, she tries to tell herself. Because it's not. They're just two people; nay, a person and a supernatural observing the stars together. 

While that person confesses to mutilating herself.

All the while the supernatural shines in the moon rays of early dusk.

He's beautiful .

So yeah, nothing out of the ordinary here. Her heart pounding in her ears was just a natural occurrence for her.

She checks the expression he's making, hoping to read him. But alas, Hanako had mastered having a neutral resting face.

“That…makes sense.” The ghost begins.

“You gave Aoi-chan's life back because you're a good person, Yashiro. You still have human compassion. My humanity died with me, so I don't have a conscience like you do anymore. That's why I was able to do…that.” He hesitates at the end, knowing his decision to separate the near and far shore was a touchy subject as it is.

“...Oh.” She says, bewildered. The girl hadn't fully forgotten when he'd told her about his lack of empathy before, but she had a hard time believing it.

After all, if he didn't possess any level of care in his now still heart, what was that he showed her in the bathroom? Taking the time to bandage every wound he found, going at her pace instead of rushing through it.

If that was Hanako truly not giving a fuck, she couldn't possibly imagine what he's like when he does.

And, quite honestly, she can't point out a single thing that makes her a good person. Giving Ao-chan's life back- that's just the right thing to do.

A good person wouldn't think twice about it.

But Nene did. Oh, how she doubted herself every step of the way, knowing she was throwing away her only chance at a long life.

“You're a good person, Nene. Trust me on this.” He prods, peering over at her furrowed brows.

That snaps her out of her thoughts so swiftly that she practically gets whiplash. 

He can't just- just- keep using her first name like that. She doesn't call him Amane randomly! Actually, come to think of it, that would be the perfect revenge.

For now, though, she'll keep that in her back pocket to address later.

Instead, she leads with, “I'm not. If you heard half the things I think in a day-”

“Like what,” he cuts in, quick to curb her self-deprecating opinions. She really was too hard on herself.

“Wanting to live? For being in pain?”

“For wishing my best friend didn't get everything I ever wanted right in front of me, okay?!” Nene shouts.

She takes a deep breath after that, realizing she was accidentally taking it out on the last person she'd ever want to do that to. The freshman knew she'd already been cruel to him as it is.

So she clenches her eyes shut, attempting to reign in her anger, before she remembers the view right in front of her.

The sun has pretty much set now. The sky was an indigo fading to maroon, and the stars were much more prominent. 

‘Like Ao-chan's hair and eyes.’

God, envy is an ugly look on her. She knows it's petty and stupid at best to compare herself to her best friend, but who wouldn't? 

Aoi outshines her in every aspect.

Without even noticing, she's scratching at her wounds again. Not until the grippy fabric of the self-adhesive bandage wrap catches under nails. 

And not until a cool hand rests atop her own.

“Besides,” his voice softens, “For someone who is ‘just Nene Yashiro’ , I think you're much prettier and smarter than Aoi-chan…”

Just like that, he whirls away from her, reaching for the brim of his hat that is no longer atop his head. When he realizes this, he bows his head instead; deciding on hiding behind the fringe of his bangs.

Under normal circumstances, the freshman would've found this hilarious. Except, this time she was too focused on her train of thought, concentrating on voicing what she wants to say before she loses her nerve.

“I think you're pretty too, Amane-kun.”

Bingo. Shot fired.

Did she say it as confidently as she did in her head? No, absolutely not.

Was it effective regardless?

The flustered squeak he gives her is as good of confirmation as any. She can't help but giggle when he slaps a hand over his mouth and burns an even brighter scarlet. 

“Y-you can't just say stuff like that,” he reprimanded, though his voice is hoarse and lack any real fury behind it. 

“You started it.” Ah, she loved getting the upper hand. Only once in a blue moon did she win at games like these.

Hanako clears his throat, and quickly changes the subject. How he manages to flip a switch and suppress his nerves and embarrassment on que is a mystery to her.

“It's okay to be jealous. Everyone is jealous of someone.”

“Even you?” Nene can't help but ask. Because she's fucking nosy, okay? Sue her. 

“Even me,” he smiles at her comfortingly, and she can't help but feel relieved that even Hanako, the Seventh of the Seven Mysteries, feels envious of something .

“When I was alive, of course. I'm totally awesome now.” He oh so helpfully adds.

She doesn't hesitate punching him as soon as that smug smirk appears on his face.

“ Shit- owwwww…” She gains a smirk of her own for catching him off guard.

But then it dissipates. His smirk, that is. And he took hers with it.

Nene could sense the serious demeanor overtaking him, the sudden lack of lighthearted conversation unsettling her.

“You don't have to tell me-” The teal-tipped blonde finds herself saying, desperate to salvage the soothing atmosphere they'd previously established after venturing up here.

...However, she couldn't squash the curiosity brewing within her. After all, how could someone so beautiful and sweet as Amane be jealous? And, better yet, jealous of what? 

“It's fine.”

He takes a shallow breath, and she inhales with him.

'He's way too tense to even think about talking about this. It'll lead straight into a panic attack,' Nene decides, having experience with this to back her judgment up.

Nene goes out on a whim, doing what she hopes will help calm him down.

“Hey, look at me.” She orders, mirroring his tone he'd spoken this same phrase with.

He doesn't at first. His eyes avoid hers at all costs; and that just wouldn't do.

“Hanako -kunnnnn” Nene whines, trying and failing to get him to listen.

Even bumping her hand against his again doesn't do anything. He flinches, but otherwise refuses to acknowledge her.

“Amane-kun,” she tries as a last resort, and he immediately perks up.

When his eyes finally find hers, she offers him the sweetest smile she can muster. 

“There's nothing in this world you could say or do that would make me turn away from you. I don't care what it is. You're stuck with me, Amane-kun.”

Whether it was the fact she parroted back the loving words he'd told her with ease or the fact that she'd used his real name that had touched him, she didn't know.

But with the way his features softened: brows unfurrowed, bottom lip freed from his teeth, and his eyes no longer creased in worry; Nene realized that he was letting her in, and he'd calmed down substantially. After all this time of trying to scale the towering walls he'd built to keep everyone out, he'd opened the gates. For her, and her alone.

Nene waltzes right through.

“Before I died, I had a little brother. Well, younger by about ten minutes, but you get the point. You've met him by now, obviously.”

He kicks his dangling legs back and forth, phasing through the concrete below them with every swing effortlessly.

A distinct fondness always overtakes him when he reminisces on his brother. But, buried deep beneath the nostalgia and love he felt for him, there's pain. An old wound that never fully healed after he died. She catches a glimpse of it in his watery eyes that refuse to let the tears fall.

If only she had the amount of self control he possessed.

“We're practically identical, but Tsukasa was always the favorite back then.”

Now that right there, Nene couldn't possibly understand. Really? Him? She'd like to give Tsukasa the benefit of the doubt; that some of his charm had perhaps died with him. Yet, she could hardly picture him with the same compassion and cuteness Amane had.

That's what made the two distinguishable, she thinks. Where Amane's eyes held warmth and love, his brother's were wide and devoid of anything of the sort. 

“He was really outgoing. Managed to make all kinds of friends, and the teachers always liked him better.”

That couldn't be true, could it? Surely at least Tsuchigomori saw him as his favorite student. Besides, Hanako was quite sociable when he was pretending to be Amane in the fake world. So he had to have at least one best friend, no?

“Even Tsuchigomori-sensei?” She counters, one eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

There he smirks,

“Nah, I was always his favorite out of the two of us. He was the only teacher that never got onto me about being quiet. Not until much later, anyway. Right before I-”

He clears his throat and looks down at his semi-translucent school shoes, finding them far more interesting than the night sky for some reason.

‘ Died ’

Her mind happily filled the blank, much to her displeasure.

Deciding to move away from the clearly uncomfortable topic, she asks another question to steer them clear of that .

“I'm sure you had at least one friend.” She drawls, playfully nudging him.

He doesn't reciprocate, and his legs still. His grip re-tightens on the ledge, and she hears a faint sound, almost like-

“Hanako-kun?”

It happens again; louder, and confirms her suspicions. 

He was sniffling, heart obviously broken by the answer to her question.

Which, based on his reaction, was a no.

‘Poor Amane-kun.’ She thinks to herself. How could those kids be so cruel to such a kind, shy boy like him? 

If she could travel back in time, she'd kick the shit out of all the ones who even dared to look at him wrong.

Alas, she couldn't. The damage was already done, and there was nothing she could do to change that fact. But she could be here for him now, like he'd been for her.

After all, that's what friends are for.

He tries to play it cool and act nonchalant, but she reads between the lines of his stuttering dialogue.

“N-nope! Didn't have any time for that silly stuff, heh.”

She flashes him with her ‘clearly not impressed’ frown, and his plastic smile leaves as soon as it was forced onto his face. 

“It's fine,” he grits out. The teal tipped blonde can't discern whether he's trying to convince her or himself that it didn't bother him.

It fails either way.

“Anyway, my point in all of this is to show you that I understand. It's brutal watching the ones around you get what you want, become the person you wish you could be.” 

The sadness from reminiscing on the worst days of his life take a back seat, but never truly fades away. Still, he trudged on.

“But you can't let yourself get so caught up in mourning all the things you don't have, because you'll miss out on all the wonderful things you do have.”

“Take it from me.” He finishes, voice laced with tangible regret.

Nene…doesn't know how to take that. She's gobsmacked, to say the least.

“If only I'd have known that.” The girl barely hears him mumble to himself as an afterthought. 

She's not about to let him stay in this miserable mindset of feeling unwanted. Nene simply wouldn't dream of that. And while she could do nothing to absolve him of all his regrets, perhaps she could remedy him of some.

Like never having a friend, for example. 

“I would've been your friend, Amane-kun.”

Nene beams brightly at the mystery, scooting over to sit right next to him until there was no concrete left between the two.

The ghost immediately freezes, but his temperature skyrockets to be comparable to a living person's. She can feel the warmth seeping from his leg to hers, and she has to stifle a giggle.

She counts back in her head, tracking how long it takes for him to reboot and fully process what she said. 

‘One.’

‘Two.’

‘Three.’

“...Fuck-” Nene hears him grumble beside her, burying his reddened face in his hands.

“Stop saying shit like that. God . ” Hanako bristles.

“Hm? Stop saying what?” She innocently asks. Obviously having no idea what he could possibly mean.

“You know.”

“Do I?”

“ Yes. ” He hisses firmly, though in an octave higher than his usual pitch.

She decides to give him payback for earlier; leaning towards him until their foreheads were less than an inch apart.

Mercilessly, she smirks. Just like he did before, when he was disguising cleaning her slit on her forehead as flirting.

He swallows harshly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“You're going to have to dumb it down for me.” She whispers breathlessly, air tickling his face. He twitches, shutting his eyes tightly.

Interesting. Nene should play dumb more often.

“That name. My name. Because-”

“Because?” She bats her eyes at him.

“ BecauseIlikeittoomuch! ” He yelps.

“I didn't quite catch that.”

He mumbles something under his breath, most likely cursing about the situation. But then the mystery repeats himself, slower this time.

“Because I like it too much. Like, more than a friend would like it. Y'know?” He confesses shamefully, hanging his head like a scolded child.

“Did you ever consider that I feel the same way about my name?” The daring words fly out of her mouth before she can stop them.

This was dangerous territory. Yet she couldn't help herself but to follow through. If her shortened lifespan has taught her anything, it's to live every moment like it's her last. Because tomorrow is a gift, not a guarantee. 

So she trudges on, forcing herself to maintain eye contact.

“What- you mean when I call you Nene? You like that?” 

“I like you , silly. But yes, I do.” 

It was truly a wonder that she wasn't a melted puddle from all of this; hell, their faces were still in such close proximity that their breaths fanned across the other's face, and that was completely Nene's doing. Not to mention what she'd just said. 

Perhaps that explained her immunity to embarrassment and allowed her to take the upper hand.

For now, anyway.

He squabbles, “Me?”

Hanako breaks their staring contest to stare at her lips for as long as he can manage without her noticing. He doesn't linger there for long, quickly flicking his eyes back to hers.

The thing is, the ghost boy isn't nearly as subtle as he thinks he is.

She's going to lose it. She's read enough romance mangas, novels and the like to know what it means when a guy stares at your lips.

Especially with the way he quickly tears his gaze away and bites his own .

So yeah, logically speaking, she knew what those body language cues meant. It was quite obvious, really. Adding herself to the equation muddled things, however.

‘He wants to kiss me?’ Her heart pounds hopefully in her chest- nervous beyond belief, sure; but also positively thrilled .

The fact that they could kiss again- that he would want that-

No, she has to be 100% positive that's how he feels. There's no room for guess work or slip ups. She'd misjudged him once before at the confession tree, and she wasn't about to make that same mistake again.

So she continues the conversation they'd been having, with neither of them backing away from each other's personal space.

“Yes, you . You know, the one who took all afternoon taking care of me, showing me this awesome view, comforting me. Yeah, that guy. I like him a lot.” 

Reaffirming her feelings for him was good. Yeah. That way, if she's made up his affections towards her in her head, she'll finally get some clarity. 

…Or, he could reciprocate.

Maybe.

Possibly?

Hanako struggles with his words, waging a war with his own esophagus, it seems. 

Relatable.

“Can I kiss your cheek? As a thank you.” She asks out of the blue, hoping to use it as an ice breaker and take the pressure off of him. 

Not without his consent first, of course.

He squeaks instead of answering, but ultimately nods his head enthusiastically. More than he meant to, she assumes when he ducks his head, breaking away from the magnetic force propelling their faces closer and closer. 

So with his permission, she does. The ghost turns his head to give her easy access, and her lips meet his flushed cheek. She steals a kiss with a deliberate exaggerated sound.

“A reward for your hard work,” she informs him, nostalgic of the time he'd done that for her.

When she pulls away, she's over the moon.

“Thank you. For all of this.” Nene says gleefully, reinforcing how truly grateful she was for him. She hadn't felt this content in a long, long time. And it was all thanks to him.

He shyly smiles, scratching the back of his neck while he continues to search for his words.

She beats him to it.

“I love you, Amane-kun.”

His eyes comedically widen in shock while his pupils shrink substantially, and his lips flatten into a thin line. The admission that it was more than just a simple crush was unexpected from both of them, and yet Nene couldn't find herself regretting it in the slightest. 

For once and only once, she didn't overthink it.

Because it was an undeniable fact. It went deeper than just liking him. She loved him; all of him, and that's all there was to it. 

And with it simplified like that, without any overwhelming romantic gestures or meticulous planning leading up to it, the words flowed from his mouth effortlessly.

“I love you too, Nene. And no matter what happens, I always will.” Amane speaks softly, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.

His eyes flick down to her lips again , and now she's sure of what he wants.

“You want to kiss me, don't you?” She asks with a teasing lilt.

“More than anything.” He blurts out accidentally.

“Uh- if you'll let me.” Amane corrects.

She wants to pretend like she has to think it over, but she's never been a great actress. Of course she agrees, and in hindsight, she probably came off far too eager.

Oh well. 

So they close the gap between them, lips colliding at last; albeit a bit forcefully. 

And, in that moment, kissing Amane under the starry twilight sky;

She knows she's the luckiest girl in the world.