Chapter Text
Upon finally entering the Sekai, they’re greeted by Luka staring at them with an unreadable expression. Her eyebrows are pinched together, mouth slightly open like she wants to say something, but is unsure of what exactly to say.
“I ate earlier.” Kanade says, unsure if it’s the right thing to say, but better to at least try and reassure the other. “Leftovers.” Luka looks stuck between an odd and rare mix of unsettled and her same passively smug expression, opting to instead gently poke Kanade into sitting down with a shrug and a sigh. “Well, that’s something I suppose.”
Both of them are out of their element in some way. Kanade is almost never the one receiving the comfort, they’re the one that gives all the time, until there’s nothing left but a hollow melody. Luka has never really seen Kanade in a state such as this, so she has little idea how to deal with them.
(Not that Kanade needs to be dealt with in any sort of way, they’re not a child, not something out of control that needed handling or fixing. They’re not.)
“I should go. I need to keep working on the demo-”
“No,” Luka cuts them off, her voice is stern, leaving no room for any sort of debate. “Not yet, I…” she trails off, frowning as if in deep thought. “I’m worried. About you.” she murmurs, and the composer matches her frown, watching as her gaze softens. “You seem more reserved, like you’ve got something you’d like to say. Are you hiding something?”
Kanade involuntarily tenses, the corner of their lip twitching upwards in a half-grimace. Their silence is enough of an answer for the singer, who reclines, studying the other how a lazy cat would observe a passing butterfly. “I see.” she says, tipping her head to the side. “Well, I won’t share with anyone if you don’t want me to. I’m quite excellent at keeping secrets.” Luka adds, a small smirk reappearing on her face.
The composer hesitates, scrutinizing the other, searching for a tell. Luka, unfortunately, is excellent at hiding her expressions when she wants to be, even to other singers. The type to hold cards so close to her chest you’d nearly not suspect her of hiding anything at all, which could work out in Kanade’s favor.
“Would you read these lyrics?” they ask, voice wavering as they hold out a sheet of paper. Luka grabs it from them, and Kanade doesn’t lift their eyes as the other reads it. A long beat pauses, their skin prickling uncomfortably as they wait for something, any sort of response or reaction.
“Hm.” Luka hums, clicking her tongue, “They’re angrier than usual, a bit more bitter towards ones self. not something I would expect from you recently.” she says, narrowing her eyes for a brief moment. “Again, I’m not one to spill secrets, huhu. Whatever you’d like me to know, I’ll gladly listen. It’s my job, no? To help you so you can help our dear Mafuyu?”
Kanade barely stops a flinch, their body tensing. “...I haven’t been taking my medication, and I don’t remember how long I’ve been off it.” they whisper, curling inwards as the words leave their mouth. Silence drapes itself over the two, for a while, neither of them speak, until the composer hesitantly adds on. “Don’t tell them, please, I can handle it. I’m fine, I swear, I just need to get back on track. They don’t need to know, please don’t tell them Luka.” They hate how their voice wavers, how scared and vulnerable they sound. They’re not a little kid in need of comfort, they’re someone who needs to get their shit together.
“I’ll stay for a bit, but then I need to get back to work, I want to adjust something I’ve been working on.” Kanade says, a half lie. They don’t really want to work on it, but they should, and they will. The singer hums in acknowledgement, turning away to look at the horizon. “Very well, if that’s what you want.”
It’s not really what Kanade wants, they want to lie down, cry for a while, and then maybe jump off a building and die. Unfortunately, that isn’t productive, nor will it save Mafuyu. Woe is Kanade. The sheer ridiculousness of the train of thought makes them let out a strange laugh, a jaded, almost barking sort of noise. They’re giggling hysterically before they know it, breathless and high pitched, wheezing laughs that shake their tiny frame. Laughter fades as they cough, Luka’s hand settling somewhat warily on their back.
In the silence that chases the echo of noise, Kanade disappears from the world of grey, running from the idea of confronting what they may have caused. They blink open blue eyes to see the floor of their hallway, toes curling against the hardwood, rocking back and forth to hear the small creaking, just to prove that they’re real, that they haven’t spontaneously died.
That would be far too much a blessing, Kanade thinks, walking into the bathroom. They stare into the mirror, observing their reflection as they grip a light blue toothbrush. It’s darker than their hair, matching their eyes better. When was the last time they brushed their teeth? Maybe it was before they stopped taking their medication, maybe it was after.
Why not now? Just to act like they were normal, like they had some semblance of control, the idea of being even remotely put together. Hesitantly, almost painfully slowly, Kanade brushes their teeth, avoiding looking into the mirror.
The bowl is stained with drops of red before long, Kanade spits out blood again and again. Their gums angry at the neglect. They wash it away, only to spit more into the sink. Over and over, they repeat this process, squeezing their eyes shut to block out the sight, but the image remains in their mind, red standing out against the pale white of the bowl. Kanade bleeds in a way that establishes the fact that they are nothing short of disgustingly and irrefutably human and alive. Not quite a mindless machine with no directives other than to compose or save, but something that needs care. Something that was falling apart from the inside out, and Kanade could not ignore it any longer, even if they tried.
A door swings open, and something rattles next to Kanade. Slowly, dread sinking into their stomach, they spit again, and open their eyes. Mafuyu stares at them, her expression laced with the smallest hint of anger, of concern and something else. She holds out the one thing that they didn’t want her to see, and Kanade forgets how to breathe, their heart drowning out everything else. A bottle full of antidepressants, a bottle that should be almost empty but wasn’t.
The lyricist looks at the blood from Kanade’s mouth in the sink, worry flashing in her eyes, before it settles back on the composer, steely determination settling in its place.
“Kanade, explain. Now.”