Chapter Text
OWN stayed that way for what seemed like forever.
Though for how long exactly, she couldn't say. It was hard to tell when everything crawled by so slowly; when the seconds seemed to skitter away from her like roaches in the light.
Her limbs were beginning to grow stiff from unuse, and there was a certain heaviness that had attached itself to her shoulders, keeping her seated right where she was. She had to remind herself every now and then to simply breathe, and she whimpered with the sheer effort it took to force her chest to rise and fall.
She was just so, so—tired.
She was tired of learning what it meant to exist without her. She was tired of being alone, all alone, and being so hyper-aware of how she could do nothing but sit with the fact that she would stay that way for a while more.
(Maybe her entire life.)
OWN shivered softly, and hugged her knees closer to her chest. She dug her nails into her thigh to try and ground herself, and her eyes squeezed shut in prayer: a hopeless invocation to preserve the image of the girl that she loved. She knew it was nearly impossible, after everything she'd done, but that didn't stop her from at least wanting to try.
It couldn't hurt her to simply try, could it?
She hoped not. She'd do anything to prevent the image of her from fading every time that she blinked. To keep her untainted and eternal; trapped beneath her eyelids forevermore.
Her chest began shuddering sporadically again when she realised she might not have a choice on the matter, and she cried, so loud and desperately that after a while, the sounds began to stick in her throat. They escaped her lips as soundless gasps, and she wrapped her arms around herself even tighter.
It didn't really help her to feel any warmer, but it at least made her feel as though she wasn't quite so alone.
And as if on cue, then, OWN shivered. She ran her fingers up and down her biceps to try and soothe the goosebumps that had scattered across her skin, and stuffed her face into her sleeve.
For a moment, she pretended it was Yuki's. She imagined hugging her, and burying her face into the crook of her neck. Letting Yuki pet her hair, and hearing her say that everything would be alright, even as the tears continued dripping down her cheeks, one after the other. Relentlessly, like raindrops during a storm.
It was only when her body finally stopped shivering that she lifted her head again.
And for the dozenth time that night, she confronted the cruel reality that she was alone.
Another quiet whimper escaped her, and she bit onto her lip to try and contain it. She could still feel it trembling between her teeth, though—and she gritted them as she stared straight ahead. The blood she drew when she bit down seemed small in comparison to what she'd stolen from Yuki, so she tried her best to focus on the cabinet in front of her, instead of the pain.
She burned a hole into it with her eyes.
She felt entranced—almost obsessed, and in the midst of her staring, she began to wonder why it was that her body refused to simply lay down and rest.
She was so exhausted that even the tiles beneath her feet seemed alluring to her, like one of the fluffy blankets Mizuki had stitched up for her the month before. Only, the tiles were much, much colder, and tainted with Yuki's blood. The murder weapon still lay just inches from her feet.
(Was that what was stopping her, then?)
Her eyes flickered to it occasionally, and her head—or was it her heart?—pounded heavily every time she did. It was almost as if her organs; her everything, right down to the bones, wanted to rip through her skin, and get far, far away. Either from the scissors she'd left on the floor, or the horrible individual who had stolen their beloved away.
She glanced at the scissors again, then back at her hands.
Then back at the scissors.
She stared.
And stared.
And stared.
And stared.
And that was when she began to fixate on them.
She stared at the bright blue handles, and they glinted back. Something about their colour seemed disjointed, or just plain wrong. It wasn't the right shade of blue anymore; wasn't nearly as gentle. It clashed with the harsh silver of the blades, and OWN wondered why she'd chosen such an ugly colour.
She could remember holding them up to her eyes and smiling, but surely she hadn't thought that they actually resembled her, had she?
…Had she?
OWN felt revolted with herself for even entertaining the thought.
Yuki would've known better. Yuki wouldn't have picked such a nauseating shade. She wouldn't—she wouldn't? OWN tilted her head. Her lips parted, and she hardly recognised the sounds that escaped: the pleas for Yuki to stay that accompanied the air pushed out from her lungs. The loud, broken begs that seemed to go unheard.
All she really wanted for somebody to wake her from this nightmare, and yet—
Somehow, she knew it wouldn't matter how hard she begged, or cried, and screamed.
Her skin would continue to feel cold wherever her fingers touched. Her eyes would always carry that same glassy sheen. That horrible corpse-like vacancy to her stare that still felt so unrecognisable to her. Awake, or asleep, everything about her would stay so unlike her; so horribly wrong, and she couldn't help but feel she was the one to blame.
Like she'd personally strangled every sign of life from Yuki's body.
If any had existed in the first place.
Just as the sun was beginning to rise and peek through the frosted glass, somebody knocked on the other side of the door. Quietly; gently—as if they weren't entirely sure that they should.
OWN refused to entertain them with a response. She didn't have the strength to lift her head, or even tear her eyes from the cabinet to glance toward the door. So where would she find the energy to answer them? It felt arduous just to tap her fingertips against her arm and wait for them to leave. Agonising, just to let a few seconds pass—then ten.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.
She counted the seconds in her head, marking each and every one with an aggravated tap of her nails against her skin. Thankfully, whoever it was on the other side of the door either ignored her small signs of life, or stayed quiet. OWN was just just beginning to get her hopes up that they might give up and leave her alone, when—
There were three sharp taps against the wood.
Of course. Of course they hadn't left—because really, when had OWN ever gotten what she wanted?
The situation was frustrating enough to make her want to cry, but her body had stopped producing tears hours ago. She'd exhausted her strength for even that, and she seethed silently. Her lower lip trembled with the force of her grief, and she was just about to curse at them for not getting the hint; for caring enough to stay, when they called her name.
It rendered her into silence in an instant.
They spoke it so softly, so fucking tenderly that OWN wasn't entirely sure what to do. She almost couldn't believe such softness would ever be directed towards her again. She surely didn't deserve it after everything she'd done. Her body threatened to collapse under the weight of her guilt, and it didn't take her very long to realise why.
The way they'd spoken her name, after all—
It was the way that Yuki used to say it.
Like a prayer, with every word wrapped in the gentleness of her love. Soft, and intimate and sweet—the way prayers were always intended to be, and not like the desperate, feverish thoughts that continued echoing inside her head.
Initially, she'd thought that Yuki would be the only person in the entire world to speak her name like that, but lately, she was beginning to think that wasn't true.
There was one other person that came to mind. One other girl who held her like she was loveliest thing she could ever have, and cherished her perhaps more than she should. Who called her name adoringly, without the veneer she'd grown accustomed to or the expectation of anything being given in return.
Her Mizuki.
Yuki's Mizuki.
Mizuki, who loved her the same way flowers were loved by the sun. Effortlessly and unwaveringly, with boundless affection in her eyes and eternal warmth on her lips.
Even if there were days where she never spoke the words out loud, OWN knew Mizuki's love for her would never falter. It was one of the few things she felt certain of, and whether it was in eight days, or eighty years, OWN doubted that would ever change.
She was as sure of Mizuki's love as she was that the sun would rise tomorrow, and the day after that.
(How could she not be, after everything they'd been through?)
She knew everything there was to know about her, from how she acted when she was in love, to how sleepy her smile was in the morning as she begged her to come back to bed, and everything in-between.
She knew—sometimes before Mizuki even moved—how she would discreetly sidle closer to her, and hesitate before tangling their fingers together. How she would look at her from across a room and stare, so reverently that OWN wondered if it had ever occurred to her that she could simply reach out and take what was left of her heart.
She'd picked through every innocuous interaction with a fine-toothed comb, until she was as attuned to Mizuki's emotions as the blood pulsing gently through her veins.
It had taken time, of course, but it was obvious just how much she loved her.
Yuki, too—and OWN didn't know if she could ever bear to tell her what she'd done.
"Mafuyu," Mizuki pleaded again, and—
Almost instinctively, OWN's hand fell around the base of her throat. Her lips parted to form a reply, but before the words could slip through, something at the back of her mind began whispering to her. It nagged at her, telling her that she should pitch her voice higher. That she should sound more like her, and less like herself.
The thought that doing so might make Mizuki's life easier made something in her chest seize, but she complied nonetheless.
"Yes?" she answered. "Sorry. Did… did you need to use the bathroom? I'll be done in a minute, I just—"
OWN let her voice trail off. She wasn't really sure what to say, and, judging by the eerie silence on the other side of the door, neither did Mizuki. She lowered her chin back onto her knees, and hoped Mizuki would buy into her flimsy excuse.
Lying to her made her uncomfortable—she'd never wanted to, before, because it felt like her skin was trying to crawl off of her bones—but she doubted it really mattered, anyway.
Mizuki had always been able to see right through her.
Why would now be any different?
She waited quietly, listening for movement on the other side of the door. She could hear Mizuki shuffling, and breathing—yawning loudly as though she'd just woken up. She felt slightly sorry that this was the first thing Mizuki had to deal with, when all she probably wanted to do was brush her teeth, slip back beneath the covers with her, and kiss—
But when the heaviness in the air finally, inevitably lifted, Mizuki didn't sound the slightest bit upset.
"Can I come in?" she said. Her voice sounded like it had been suspended in a layer of fog; muted by the cacophony inside her head.
OWN opened her mouth. Then closed it. She considered the pros and cons for a few moments, then before she could think twice—she answered. Or at least, she thought that she did. She could could feel the movement of her mouth; could hear it so clearly in her head as she said, "Yes," but something about it seemed so detached from herself. It was like somebody else had answered for her.
The door opened not even a moment later, and shortly after that, OWN felt the warmth of Mizuki's leg pressed against her thigh. She didn't turn to look at her as she settled beside her. She just sighed.
"You don't have to do that, you know," Mizuki told her, nudging OWN in the ribs with her elbow. "Pretend, I mean. Not around us, at least. You…" Pausing, she tilted her head. "You do know that, right?"
OWN blinked up at her. She wondered what exactly had given her away. Had Mizuki thought something about her was wrong, the same way she had? Had she noticed the lack of warmth in her eyes; how they weren't quite the same shade of blue? Or was it something else; the complete and utter absence of anything soft? What made her realise it wasn't her?
Regardless of what it was, OWN figured it was worth a shot to pretend not to know what she was talking about. She was too deep into the lie, and she forced a smile on an imperfect pair of lips. "What?" she laughed. "I don't know what you—"
Mizuki cut her off by placing her index finger at the centre of her lips. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in disapproval. "OWN," she said, and nothing more. She didn't need to.
OWN shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She cast her gaze back toward her lap, and plucked at one of the loose threads on her jeans.
"Oh."
Mizuki shook her head, amused. "I know how much you love her," she murmured, laughing softly when OWN visibly deflated. "I'm sure she does, too. I'm not going to fault you for how you feel, but I do hope you know that you don't have to become her." Mizuki leaned forward slightly to look at her, and gently pressed the tip of her finger to OWN's nose. “You're perfect," she said. "Just the way you are."
OWN turned her head away so sharply her neck ached.
Instead of the warm waves of affection she usually felt when Mizuki complimented her—she only felt dread. It settled deep in the pit of her stomach, and her eyes stung with tears too tired to fall. She raised a hand to gently massage the nape of her neck.
"Mizuki," she mumbled. Not to… dissuade her, exactly—but because she didn't know what else to say.
How could she possibly?
Mizuki stared at her for a few moments before looking away. She must’ve felt the discomfort radiating from her body in waves, and OWN appreciated the small opportunity she'd given her to calm down. She drummed her fingertips against her thigh, and Mizuki hummed quietly along to the melody.
After a few minutes, though, the humming stopped, and Mizuki's fingers drifted up toward her face.
Before OWN could question why, or even think to move away, they began to ghost along her jawline. Slow; careful. The way one would handle a frightened animal. Mizuki's nails scratched softly against her cheek, then travelled further upward, still, to the crown of her head. There, she gently smoothed over the strands, and OWN exhaled slowly at the feeling.
The knot in her stomach seemed to unravel the more she leaned into her touch.
She didn't stop to wonder why. She didn't have to. Mizuki had always had a knack for these sorts of things. Her presence alone felt like warm sunlight against her skin, and OWN closed her eyes to allow the rest of the tension to fall away.
When she opened them again, seconds later, she saw Mizuki smiling at her sweetly.
"Aww. Aren't you sweet?" Mizuki teased, the curve of her lips so gentle and adoring that OWN had half a mind to agree, or at least beg her to stay. "You were being so sulky, earlier. But now you're just like a puppy that doesn't want their owner to stop petting them."
She scratched a spot behind her ears as if to demonstrate, and OWN momentarily forgot about everything that had been plaguing her to flush a bright shade of pink.
"I am not—" she started to say, but any protests she had died the moment that Mizuki's fingers slid through her hair. She preened at the feeling of her nails scratching along her scalp, and she just barely restrained a whine. "I just…"
OWN let her thoughts trail into a sigh.
She didn't really know what she was trying to say, and she was glad that Mizuki didn't think to ask. She simply continued playing with her hair, laughing softly to herself whenever OWN's expression twitched. Every now and then, her fingers grazed the shorter strands that curled around her ears, and for that, too—OWN was endlessly grateful that she stayed silent.
Things continued that way for a while more, until Mizuki spoke abruptly.
"She's not perfect, you know."
OWN's blood ran cold. She could almost pinpoint the moment her heart stopped pounding in the chasm of her chest, and she clutched a hand to her ribs, just to confirm that it still beat.
"What?"
"Yuki," Mizuki explained. Seemingly sensing OWN's distress, she ran her hand over the top of her head a few times. She giggled to herself when OWN leaned into her touch before sobering up. "She's really not as perfect as you might think."
OWN swallowed around the lump in her throat. She could still feel the blood rushing in her ears, and when she tried to speak, her voice sounded fragile, even to herself. "What do you mean?"
Mizuki peered at her curiously. "Well," she said, extending her fingers to count on them. "She's stubborn, to start with. She has a habit of fixating on the tiniest things, and—hey. Don't look at me like that, you know it's true!" OWN did. She guiltily turned her gaze toward her lap while Mizuki continued.
"Not to mention how clumsy she is. And, oh my god, don't even get me started on how jealous she can be. She was in such a bad mood the other day that she nearly bit Ena's head off for resting her head on my shoulder!"
OWN frowned. Her arms wrapped defensively around her knees.
"That doesn't mean she's not—"
"—No," Mizuki cut in.
She spoke so suddenly that it surprised even herself, and her hand quickly retreated from OWN's hair to tug at the cuffs of her sleeves. OWN knew it was a nervous habit of hers, and yet she still sighed in relief when Mizuki reached back up to stroke her thumb over her cheek.
"No," Mizuki said again. "Of course not. She is perfect, just… not in the way that you think she is. The image you have of her in your mind? No one could live up to that. That's why I don't want you to beat yourself up, trying to be like her. She wouldn't want to see you like this, either."
OWN flinched as though she'd been slapped across the face.
What would you know about Yuki's wants? she nearly snapped. Or mine?
She regretted it an instant later when she saw the gentle look on Mizuki's face. She looked at the both of them so kindly that it was difficult to believe she'd tried to doubt her. Mizuki knew Yuki just as well as she did. If not even better.
She loved her too, after all.
Even putting that aside… somewhere, deep down, OWN knew that Mizuki was right. She knew. She knew, she knew, she knew, and yet it remained a remarkably tough pill to swallow.
Instead of answering her, she let her eyes squeeze shut, and allowed Mizuki to brush away some of the strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes. She pretended that that was the reason she'd been rendered into silence, instead of the hurt.
"Hey," Mizuki murmured.
She started coaxing her to look at her, to no avail. Her mouth continued to move, and words continued coming out, but OWN didn't hear a single thing. She couldn't, too lost in the maze of her own thoughts. Mizuki peered at her like she was expecting a response, or at least some form of acknowledgement that she'd heard, but—
OWN just couldn't find the right words to say. Did they even exist?
She looked away from Mizuki's lips to stare mindlessly at the window. She watched quietly as scattered beams of light slipped through the glass and danced across the walls, acutely aware of the pair of eyes that had glued to the side of her face.
She was just about to apologise for being so easily distracted, when Mizuki nudged her gently to try and regain her attention.
(Now that she thought about it, Mizuki wasn't the type to give up on other's so easily, was she?)
"OWN?"
OWN still only hummed lazily in response. She was too tired to respond with anything else, and her thoughts were preoccupied with everything Mizuki had said.
"Would you like it if I finished cutting it for you?"
Oh.
Oh?
Now that caught her attention.
OWN's head jerked toward her in surprise. Her mouth fell open—either in shock, or to answer her, though no words ever left her lips. Her eyes skittered towards the scissors on the floor, still laying just inches from her feet, and nearly gasped.
(So Mizuki had realised, then. She'd realised, and still wanted to…?)
"It doesn't have to be much," Mizuki rambled, waving her hand about. "I can just trim the ends a bit! Whatever you want, really. I just… wondered if it would help you feel a little more comfortable. You know?"
OWN considered her for a moment. She supposed that she did. To feel more comfortable in her own body—hadn't that been the entire reason she'd wanted to cut her hair in the first place?
She nodded slowly.
She hadn't intended to answer her any more than that—she still didn't quite know what to say, and yet—
Before she could really comprehend what she was agreeing to, or the consequences, a voice that wasn't quite her own slipped past her lips and answered for her. A voice that sounded much too like her, that was far too happy to take the olive branch she'd been offered.
"Yes."