Work Text:
Kyoko held a small glass tube in a trembling hand. The petals of the rose floating within were the same blood-red shade they had been when it had been given to her, the glass still pristine and absent of any blemish. She could almost convince herself she was still on that rooftop - she could feel the blisteringly cold wind cut against her cheeks, and hear a bubbly voice with a nervous lilt ramble on and on as she cradled the rose in vitro in her hands.
But the palm it rested in now was covered in horrid scars. The air was warm and still and quiet. There was no one with a bubbly voice standing in front of her. She was all alone in her room, plain gray walls and plain lavender bedding and plain white bookshelves. She had been anything but plain, bringing color and excitement into her world that she hadn’t experienced since her mother died.
The cruel god of death seemed hellbent on taking all of the light from her world.
Kyoko’s fingers closed around the test tube, her hand trembling. Something stronger than anger burned through her veins. She couldn’t stand to look at that rose, with its perfect petals surrounded by perfect glass. It was mocking her, chanting out her failure in time with the pounding of her heart. She could hear it in her mind, the cynical voice over and over and over. This is all your fault. Everything is your fault. The only true friend you’ve ever had in your entire life is gone and it’s your fault.
She was lost in the raging torrent of her thoughts, spiraling down into rage and grief and self-deprecation, the never-ending chorus of your fault your fault your fault becoming the only thing she was aware of. She vaguely felt herself lift her arm, but had no idea what she was doing until a sharp crash dragged her from the depths of her mind, and she felt her heart stop.
Shards of glass littered the carpet like constellations, the rose lying among them acting as the center of a terrible, destroyed galaxy.
In a daze, Kyoko lifted her hand to her face, the hand that had been holding the rose in vitro moments earlier. Her palm was still cool from the glass. Look at what you’ve done. Her entire body began to shake, and she felt her stomach tossing and turning like a storm-ridden sea. You broke it. You destroyed it. She had given it to you and you just threw it against the wall like you threw her life away-
“Shut UP!”
There was no one there to hear her shout. It was swallowed by plain gray walls and plain lavender bedding and plain white bookshelves. It echoed in her mind, but not loud enough to cover the unceasing mantra of “your fault” that screamed from every memory she had of her. Those memories were all she had left, now, but the pain they brought was sharper than the myriad of broken glass that had once been the most precious gift she had ever received.
Kyoko crumpled to the ground, crying for the first time since her mother had drawn her last breath.
A rose in vitro.
Resting in Makoto Naegi’s outstretched hands, the flower sat suspended in the test tube, and something in the fog-shrouded fragments of Kyoko’s memory stirred. She remembered the bitter cold of winter, someone she trusted (but not yet, she would trust them and it would destroy her but not yet), and a rose in vitro passed between hands. Faces were blurred shapes beyond recognition, and voices were nothing more than the faintest of background murmurs. The only thing clear was that rose, held out to her in a scene that mirrored the present all too well.
She took it from his hands, and the memory sunk back into the murky depths of her mind. The fragile hold she had on any details vanished like wisps of a too-short dream. And for some reason that she couldn’t place, she felt a distant sadness wash over her, like the small and unsubstantial waves of the tide pulling at the shore.