Archive of Our Own

There are basically three things that will get a student of Hope’s Peak Academy called to Headmaster Kirigiri’s office.

First, if they’re in trouble…big trouble. Second, if their grades are suffering enough that they could be booted from the academy. Third, if there is news urgent or dreadful enough that it should be given privately.

Himiko is not a troublemaker. It takes too much effort to pull off the kinds of shenanigans that would warrant such a visit.

Himiko, while not an ace student, receives decent enough grades on her assignments in general classes. And she’s diligent in providing updates on her practice as an Ultimate Mage (or Magician, as the school would prefer to call her).

It does and does not surprise her, then, that the third option is why she finds herself heading to the headmaster’s office, the slow and soft tapping of the soles of her shoes echoing in the hall and in her mind as she wonders what dreadful and urgent news awaits her.

Perhaps, also, a fleeting paranoid thought that she actually HAS been called down for options one or two, and a quick wracking of her brain for an offense committed or an assignment failed.

But no indeed, it is the third, Himiko discovers, sitting ramrod straight and still in the chair across from the headmaster.

Dreadful news. Not necessarily urgent, but he felt it necessary to inform her, given her life before the academy.

***

Her master is dead.

Himiko blinks at the reveal as it washes over her and down her spine and skin.

“Oh.” It’s all she manages to say in response to the waiting headmaster.

Her hearing goes a little fuzzy as Headmaster Kirigiri elaborates—it wasn’t sudden, he’d been battling something for a long time (something terminal maybe, what exactly escapes Himiko’s hearing).

She blinks again. Blinks a few times, quickly, for Headmaster Kirigiri to come back into focus, to stop wobbling in her vision.

“I know it’s terrible news…and I hate to be the one to deliver it…” he says, after a pause to let it settle more. Vaguely, Himiko thinks to herself that he probably says this every time he has to tell a student something like this…but there’s something in his demeanor, in his eyes, that she believes him when he says it.

“If you would like to take a leave of absence…a bereavement period, if you will,” he continues, “I can talk to your teachers and let them know—”

Himiko shakes her head.

“No,” she says, though the shaking of her head should be enough answer for him. “No, I’m fine.”

“…I understand your final presentation is coming up soon, and that you’ve been very hard at work on it.” His tone is gentle with the tiniest bit of insistence in it. “But everyone would find it completely understandable if you needed to take some time to—”

“I’m fine,” she says again, voice and throat tight. “I don’t need…” Words are no longer possible, so she just looks down and shakes her head, again, a little more vigorously.

“…well…if you change your mind…”

She doesn’t think she will. Probably because the news still doesn’t feel true. Feels more like a dream she’s walking through, quite literally as she stands to leave the office, Headmaster Kirigiri closing the door behind her as her feet leads her back in the direction of the class she’d been called out of, soles once again tapping against the tile of the floor, fading in and out with the rest of the white noise in her brain.

And then the haziness and fuzziness also fade out, as if tuning the knobs of an old radio until the sound becomes clear, and her footsteps have never sounded so loud before in the empty school hallways.

It’s not a dream.

Her master is dead.

The tapping of her footsteps slows, then stops.

***

Miu’s eyes are on the notebook she’s scribbling a last note or two into rather than the hallway. She’s told herself more than once that she needs to finish writing her notes in a timely manner, and not in transit, because she always runs into something when she’s not looking—people, places, things, all the variations of nouns, really.

Today is no exception. Her pens skews across the note in a line as she collides with something in the hallways, yelping as a result.

“Why don’t you watch where the fuck you’re going!” Miu exclaims as she picks up her pen and notebook, not looking at whichever idiot she’s run into.

She can’t take the ENTIRE blame for it this time. Classes are in session right now, and the hallways are mostly empty, so if she runs into the one other person out in the hallways right now, it’s only fitting they should take some of the blame. And her frustration overrides any surprise Miu feels when she sees it’s Himiko.

“Hey, titless!” Miu snaps. “Anyone ever tell you NOT to walk in the MIDDLE of the fucking hall?!” Himiko makes no move to indicate she’s heard Miu. Though it IS a little weird that she’s not walking away from Miu to just pretend she didn’t hear her. “HEY. DONKEY LIPS. OPEN UP THOSE TINY FUCKING EARS OF YOURS.” Again, nothing. It’s…REALLY fucking weird.

Thinking back on it, though…Miu doesn’t think Himiko was actually walking ahead of her…she hadn’t heard anyone else in the hall…so…was Himiko just standing there for no good reason?

“Hey, short stack…everything all right?” Miu says, a tad more gently, walking around to the other side of Himiko, bending down to look her in the eye…

Himiko’s face is…blank. Dazed, almost. And granted, she always seems dazed to Miu, in a sleepy way. But this is…different…like a bad different. Himiko’s eyes aren’t usually this…wide or unfocused. Miu waves a hand in front of those glassy eyes. Nothing.

“Himiko?” Miu asks. She waits a few moments. “…Himi—”

Himiko’s eyes suddenly roll back before slipping shut. The name becomes an “Ah!” as Himiko’s knees suddenly buckle and she falls forward, collapsing like a marionette whose strings have been cut. Miu tries to catch her, but can only brace herself against the lockers as Himiko’s body crumples on the floor at Miu’s feet.

“Oh, shit…” Miu can only watch as Himiko’s body shakes, limbs jerking. “SHIT.” She bends down and reaches out towards Himiko, but freezes as she watches the girl convulse, afraid that she would just hurt Himiko more if she intervened.

Miu tears down the hallway, a frantic call of “TSUMIKI, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!” bouncing off the ceiling.

***

Himiko comes to at the sound of two voices coming in and out, sort of…echo-y, as though they’re speaking in a tunnel…something about “not a seizure” and “would be convulsing more violently” and other things that don’t quite make sense to her…

She blinks awake, squinting at the lights of the ceiling, a face shadowed by the backlighting appearing in her line of vision. She moans a little, scrunching her eyes shut as a series of sensations come into comprehension…clammy cold sweat on her skin…painful cold hard tile beneath her head and back…a need to take deep breaths in through her mouth, gulp in air to make it all stop. And her body keeps randomly twitching—her wrist, her ankle, her other wrist…

“Oh, she’s awake!” Himiko moans another little “Nyeh” and turns her head to the side as the person who’d just spoke says something to someone about getting a damp paper towel…a hand runs over her forehead, pushing hair out of her face.

“H-himiko?” Himiko opens her eyes. She’s just able, between the fuzziness and the shadowing from the ceiling lights masking most features, to make out to face of Mikan Tsumiki. Himiko closes her eyes again, stomach turning from keeping them open.

“Wh…” Himiko tries to ask what happened.

“Himiko, can you hear me?” Himiko nods. “Do you know where you are?” Himiko nods. “Do you know who I am?” Another nod.

“Wh…why am…” She wants to ask why she’s on the floor, but words are hard to come by right now.

“According to Miu, you fainted,” Mikan says. “She ran into you in the hallway and watched you collapse.”

“Scared the shit outta me,” It’s not as shrill or loud, but Himiko recognizes Miu’s voice regardless. The inventor kneels next to Mikan and Himiko, handing Mikan a ball of sodden paper towels. “Thought you were having a fucking seizure or some shit.”

“Himiko, have you skipped any meals today?” Mikan asks. Himiko shakes her head. “Have you been drinking enough fluids today?” Himiko nods. “And you don’t have a history of fainting or anything?” Himiko shakes her head, groaning again before closing her eyes…too much head shaking…makes her stomach turn…

The damp paper towel pressed against her forehead, dabbing away the sweat and cooling the fevered patches, does help some. She follows Mikan’s breathing instructions to help clear her mind and ease whatever lingering dizziness there is, and that also helps.

“The fuck’s going on, half-pint?” Miu asks. “Ran into you in the hallway. Literally. You weren’t moving or anything, just frozen like a fucking statue, and then boom—collapsed right in front of me.”

“I…nyeh…sorry…”

“…I mean, it’s not your fault, I’m fuckin’ relieved you’re okay and not, like, dead and shit, but…”

…dead…that’s right…

“Master…” Himiko breathes. The paper towel on her face stills.

“Huh?” Mikan asks.

“Master’s dead.”

***

Himiko spends the rest of the school day curled up in a ball on her bed, taken to her room with the assistance of Mikan and Miu. The only visitor Himiko allows is Mikan, who requested to check up on Himiko and ensure she was recovering from her fainting spell. Mikan brings fruit juice, crackers, some ice for Himiko’s forehead. She’d apparently hit the floor hard enough for the skin to bruise.

Miu informs the rest of their class what happened to Himiko and why it happened. Something Himiko didn’t ask Miu to do…something Himiko didn’t even necessarily WANT Miu to do…but it’s done regardless. Besides, they probably would have found out anyway, in the news or something…Master had been a prominent figure in the world of magic…it would probably make headlines…her status as an Ultimate means her name would probably be mentioned somewhere.

Messages trickle in at first before the screen of her phone flashes enough to rival the worst thunderstorm. The only person she responds to is Kokichi (“If you can read this and understand what the screen says, blink twice.” “You can’t even see me blink, Kokichi.”) Then she shuts her phone off.

Between the fainting and the shock of Master’s death, sleep comes soon and hard. She sleeps through her first class, but her teacher tells her not to worry about it. And to even take the rest of the week off.

***

Her friends mean well. She knows they do. But Himiko is fed up with nearly all of them. Lunch is unbearable.

She bites her tongue at Angie’s every mention of Atua and how her master is now safely in Atua’s embrace. She fights the urge to roll her eyes at every platitude Kaito hurls at her. She ignores Tenko’s smothering, all the “I’m so sorry’s” and “If there’s anything I can do’s” she hears ad nauseam.

(She DOES glare at Korekiyo when he suggests to her the idea of a séance, if she misses her master that much. Some magicians were greatly interested in seances. It would seem only natural if she was, too.) (He does not suggest it again.)

Kirumi’s gift of the preparation of some of Himiko’s favorite foods for lunch cannot go ignored, though. Even if she pokes at it more than eats it (though she does take a bite or two, so as not to seem completely rude.)

Their care and concern and sympathy all comes with the best of intentions, she knows, but it’s insufferable after a point.

Really, the only person who’s treating her just as he would any other given day is Kokichi.

“What’s up, Himi-kimi-kins?” he greets, sliding on to the bench next to her, leaning over to peck a kiss to her forehead over her bangs (where they hide the bruise beginning to show as a result of fainting, she notes) before stealing a grape off of her tray. “How horrendous was that pop quiz earlier this morning? Just the worst.”

“Really, Kokichi?” Tenko says with a glare.

“What? I steal Himiko’s food all the time,” Kokichi says innocently, popping the grape into his mouth. “She’s cool with it.”

“I’d think you’d be more caring of your girlfriend in her time of turmoil,” Keebo says.

“Oh? You mean walk on eggshells around her like the rest of you?” Kokichi asks. “Maybe all she wants right now is a little bit of normalcy. Ya ever think about that?”

“We’re not walking on eggshells, you degenerate male!” Tenko exclaims. “Himiko’s suffered a heartbreaking loss; she needs us to give her all of our love and support right now!”

“Is that really true, though?” Maki asks.

“Um…it IS plain to see that Himiko’s distressed from the news,” Tsumugi says. “She DID lose someone very important to her; that would be just plain devastating to anyone.”

“I do think Maki has a point, though,” Shuichi interjects softly. “It’s possible that too much support, as well-intentioned as it is, could feel…overwhelming.”

“Typical degenerate male response,” Tenko scoffs.

“Yeah, sidekick, what gives?” Kaito says. “Of COURSE Himiko needs us to help her right now. To keep her spirits up!”

“No, I agree with Shuichi,” Rantaro says. “All my sisters have different ways of coping with stress and trauma. Not everyone copes the same way.”

“How do YOU know what she needs?!” Tenko argues. “I’m closer to Himiko than anyone! I know her better than you do!”

“I’m still sitting right here, you know.”

All eyes turn to Himiko. It IS the longest sentence she’s said to anyone since the news broke.

“I can decide for myself what I need or want, you know,” she says, tone flat but frustrated. “I don’t need any of you to do that for me; I’m not a child.”

“Of course you’re not, Himiko—”

“I don’t need anyone speaking for me,” Himiko continues, stepping on Tsumugi’s words. “I can speak for myself.”

Maki shoots the crowd a cold look before turning back towards the mage.

“What is it you would like from us, Himiko?” Maki asks, in a warmer tone—a tone befitting a child caregiver.

Himiko pauses. Thinks.

“Nothing,” she finally says, standing up. “I don’t want anything else from any of you. I just want to be alone right now.” Before anyone else can say anything, she walks out of the lunchroom.

Kokichi slides Himiko’s abandoned lunch over towards him.

“Really, Kokichi?” Maki scolds. “Kirumi made that for Himiko, not for you.”

“Yeah,” Kokichi says. “I’m just stealing another bite or two and then I’m gonna bring it back to Himiko later.” He pops another grape into his mouth as through to prove his point. “Just because I’m not torn up over her master’s death doesn’t mean I’m HEARTLESS, you know.”

“Really? We couldn’t tell.”

“Ooh, you been practicing your sarcasm, Keeboy? Well done!” Kokichi offers the robot a slow clap.

“Atua forgives you, Kokichi,” Angie says sagely. “He forgives you for treating a man’s death so coldly. A man you never even met.”

“Does he now? Well, tell Atua I don’t give two shits about him or Himiko’s master.” Kokichi stabs a chopstick into another grape. “Never met him, didn’t need to. Didn’t WANT to. Fuck him.” He bites the grape off the chopstick. “Tell me this, Angie: does Atua forgive complete shitlords who treat children like shit, like Himiko’s master was`? Or does your religion have an equivalent of Hell for him to roast in?”

“Doesn’t it bother you to speak ill of the dead?” Shuichi asks.

“Just because someone is dead doesn’t mean they’re immediately forgiven for all the shitty things they did while they were alive,” Kokichi says icily. “And Himiko’s master ranks pretty high up there on the shit scale as far as i’m concerned.”

“He’s the reason she got into magic in the first place!” Tenko argues. “She wouldn’t be the mage she is today without him! She wouldn’t be an Ultimate!”

“Yeah. He also abandoned his own assistant—his CHILD assistant, need I remind you—because he couldn’t handle anyone else being more talented than him. Couldn’t handle being wrong, so he left a fucking child.” A grape rolls off the table with how ferociously Kokichi stabs at it and misses. “I have no love lost for that man.”

“He did not abandon her!” Tenko insists, though her tone doesn’t seem as strong before.

“Yeah, I know, that’s what Himiko says, anti-mages forced him into hiding, he was just practicing so he could get his powers back, that’s why he never tried to contact her again, yada yada yada—we all know that’s a lie.”

“Well, how do you know what you said is the truth?” Shuichi pointed out. “That’s not how Himiko told it to us.”

“Well, how do YOU know what Himiko told you is the truth?”

“The only one who knows the truth about Himiko and her master is Himiko,” Kirumi says reasonably. “And regardless of what that truth is, his death has affected her greatly. So Kokichi, even if you’re not as greatly affected, I certainly hope you will keep your opinions of him to yourself.”

“Of course I will, MOM,” Kokichi says, chopstick skidding across the table with the force at which it’s dropped. “Like I’ve said, I’m not heartless.”

No one says anything else to him as he picks up the tray and leaves.

***

“Himiko?”

Himiko looks up from her knees at the person who spoke her name.

“Gonta knows Himiko wants to be left alone,” Gonta begins, feet shuffling, “but…Gonta knows Himiko’s hurting. So…if Himiko needs a hug, any time, Himiko can come to Gonta. Gonta…just wants to help.”

It’s yet another thing she’s heard more than once now. From several people. But not from Gonta. And his face is so apologetic for going against her plea to be left alone that she can’t get mad at him or resent him too much for it.

“…thanks, Gonta,” she says.

“Okay.” Gonta gives Himiko a little smile. “Gonta will respect Himiko’s wishes and leave her alone now. You just find Gonta when you need hugs.” Himiko nods as Gonta walks away before looking down at her hands, folded on her knees.

Two students pass by where Himiko’s sitting on the steps, look back at her with pitying smiles. Himiko growls inwardly.

“It’s the worst, isn’t it?” Himiko turns to see Ryoma leaning against the wall. “All the pity?”

Ryoma would certainly know better than anyone else. Himiko nods wordlessly,

“You mind if I take a seat, kid?” he asks.

“Go ahead,” she says. Ryoma ambles over and settles down a few feet from her, taking out a small silver case and flipping it open with a thumb, revealing a row of thin candy cigarettes.

“Want one?” he offers. Himiko shrugs and takes one, watching Ryoma take his own and place between his lips as though a real cigarette.

“You ever lit one of these on fire?” she asks.

“I don’t recommend trying it out, kid,” Ryoma says.

It’s the closest to laughing she feels like she’s gotten to since the news broke. She doesn’t, though.

“You want me to scram?” he asks after a spell. “If you wanna be completely alone—”

“No…you’re fine,” Himiko says, twiddling the candy cigarette between her fingers. “…when does it stop?”

“The pain of having lost someone important to you? Or the pitying looks and hollow sentiments?” Ryoma looks in the distance and withdraws the candy cigarette from his lips, sighing as though exhaling smoke from his lungs. “Usually after the funeral is when the world goes back to treating you normal. As for the former…” He looks over at her. “Never goes away. Not really. Just dulls with time. Except for the days where it all comes back and hits at once. Birthdays, anniversaries…some days it hurts like hell.” He sighs. “Sorry, kid. I know it’s not what you wanna hear.”

“No…it’s okay,” Himiko says. “I think I actually do need to hear that. To know what to expect.” Ryoma scoffs. “…any advice on, like…wills and things? Like, if you’re named in one?”

“…how would you put it…it’s a pain?” He glances over at Himiko, gives her a wan smile. “Get a lawyer who knows what they’re doing. Let them handle it. We’re too young to deal with that.” Himiko nods, unsure if he means the grief or the wills…maybe both. She stares at her candy cigarette for a moment before placing it between her lips.

They sit in silence, sugar melting on their tongues.

***

For whatever reason, being named in a will had never occurred to Himiko. She’s not quite sure in what manner, either…that her master would have made a will at all…that he would want to leave anything to her or name her in the first place…

…that he would DIE in the first place…she had just sort of assumed, when she was younger and under his tutelage, that he was immortal, had been around for ages, would never do something as common as DIE…

There’s also a funeral arranged, talk of notable names in the magic world gathering and putting on a performance in tribute to her master, and would Himiko like to come, she IS the Ultimate Magician, after all…

…as though the people who invited her weren’t some of the anti-mages who drove Master away…the ones that made him leave her…

…besides, the funeral is on the day she’s to her performance for finals. She can’t make it even if she wanted to. She needs to focus on finals.

Despite saying that, she can’t. Focus comes with difficulty. Her eyes blur over her notes and ideas as she pores over them, cross-legged in her bed, notes scattered everywhere.

She rests back against the pillows and sighs, letting the music she’s been listening to wash over her instead. Kaede had recently gotten into this…band, artist, anyway, some guy from America who’s good at piano…and had recorded some of his songs as instrumentals for everyone as study music.

The song on right now is maybe one of Himiko’s favorites. Something melancholy and wistful about it. She reaches over for the tracklist and glances for the name of the song.

She sits up.

After staring at the name for a long while, she looks up the song to see what it really sounds like, with vocals and everything.

She listens to the band’s actual recording of it a few times. Then she finds an a cappella arrangement. She listens to that one more than a few times.

She continues to listen to it on her frantic dash to her lab, making a beeline for a corner for a box she knows she has stuffed somewhere.

She knows what to do for her final now. And she has to get it sorted out while she thinks she has the strength to. While the idea is still fresh.

While the grief is still fresh.

***

The morning before she’s set to put on her performance for her final, Himiko receives an envelope from Headmaster Kirigiri.

It says, quite simply, her name. In her master’s handwriting. It’s nothing to do with the will, she’s told; it was just found amongst his effects.

The contents of the envelope aren’t thick, but they carry so much weight, it seems.

Her eyes keep going back to it as she prepares for her performance. She hasn’t opened it yet. Can’t bring herself to. Whatever it says doesn’t matter…not right now.

She tucks the letter into her pocket before she leaves.

***

Traditionally, an Ultimate’s “final” at Hope’s Peak Academy should be a demonstration of why this student was chosen to bear the title of “Ultimate.” Something…impressive. Grand. Over-the-top, occasionally. Said finals demonstrations are often broadcast in some manner to the public to show the world the talent Hope’s Peak Academy has to offer.

Himiko had debated several ideas that, in retrospect, would possibly have been too ambitious. But that was before the death of her master.

She probably should be more worried that it won’t be enough. But she can’t bring herself to care much.

Five minutes before she’s set to perform, waiting in the dark backstage, she opens the side curtain just a sliver to take a peek.

Her classmates and friends are all there, in the centers of the front rows. Whispering, squabbling, poring over programs. Kokichi looks up from his own program, at the closed curtain. His eyes dart to the side, in her direction. With no one else noticing, he gives her a quick wink.

It almost makes her smile. As had his good luck messages earlier in the day.

She closes the curtain and steps back into place backstage, waiting for her cue.

She closes her eyes. Remembers the most important lesson her master ever taught her about magic…that magic should make people smile.

It’s a lesson that will probably be ignored.

***

Curtains open on a dark stage. Lights in the auditorium dark so no one can tell what’s onstage.

The first light seen is the strike and flicker of a match, held by a cloaked figure. The flame sparks with the intonation of a baritone singer, flickers to greater life as a soprano joined the baritone. A candle is lit as an alto joins them. The figure lights another candle as yet another voice joins. The figure holds their hand out and moves it across the stage, and as more and more voices join in growing chords, more and more candle flames flicker into being, seemingly on their own.

When all are lit, the music pulls back some, and the stage is fully lit, the figure lowers the hood of their cape. Himiko. If one looks closely, the usual blue gem in her hair isn’t the same one seen every day…the metal of this barrette is dull with age, the gem cracked but intact.

The stage is sparse. Cluttered. Has the air of a space dusty from neglect. A painting on the left depicts a starry midnight sky lit by a full moon. She gazes around the stage, as though lost in memories. She reaches for a nearby deck of cards on a table and kneels to the floor, cape billowing behind her as she does. She regards the cards, yellowed and fraying at the edges, corners missing.

As a tenor soloist begins to sing, she spreads the cards before gathering them smoothly into a stack before cutting the deck.

From the back of your big brown eyes/I knew you’d be gone as soon as you could/And I hoped you would…

Himiko spends the first few lines of the song focused solely on manipulating the deck in her hands…the deck her master had trained her on. Starting with the simplest tricks, the first one’s she’d learned, slowly, picking up speed, shifting into trickier sleight of hand as more voices join the tenor.

We could see that you weren’t yourself/And the lines on your face did tell it’s just as well/You’d never be yourself again…

As the chorus echoes “Again, not again…” Himiko’s cardistry comes to an end. She glances up and around, standing, cape pushing back to display more of her uniform, before she turns to set the deck back on the table, reaching for an old, worn, somewhat tattered hat that resembles her own, only smaller.

Saw you last night dance by the light of the moon…

Himiko reaches up for her own hat, holds it out to compare it to the other. The difference in sizes. The growth that happens over time. She sets them down, reaches for the tie of her cape around her neck.

Stars in your eyes, free from the life that you knew…

She sweeps the cape over her shoulder to remove it, holding it out and blocking view of her uniform…

As the bass in the choir intones “bom-BOM” with the power of a timpani booming, Himiko drops her cape at her feet. The candles on the stage flicker and burst into more brilliant flame for a moment, and as the choir explodes into chords, it is revealed that with the drop of her cape, Himiko’s no longer in her uniform, but a simple sleeveless white dress, fitted enough in the torso to give her some shape, hem of the dress hitting just below her knees. No tights, no boots with curled pointed toes…rather, her feet are bare.

They will wonder how she did that, she thinks…they will wonder how she did a lot of things, she hopes. The point of a mage, she supposes…leave them wondering.

Wondering how, upon lifting her fallen cape from the floor, a painting of a dove in a birdcage could suddenly appear. (Eagle-eyed audience members may be able to catch the signature of the artist…her master.) Or how sweeping her cape over the table and flinging it away just as quickly in time with the music could reveal more lit candles, along with a larger hat near Himiko’s hat and the smaller one (the new and largest hat being the most worn, tattered, faded). Or how Himiko can pick up the painting that’s suddenly appeared, drape her cape over the easel to cover it, and turn to crash the painting on to the table as though to shatter it. Or how, after blinking from the impact of painting against table, the birdcage and dove depicted in said painting could suddenly have taken form, canvas nowhere to be seen, frame settled around the cage still. Neither she nor the music give them any room to catch their breath.

Himiko exerts every ounce of magical energy she has in her body as she moves and casts and the music builds and builds and builds. She allows the music and magic to flow through her, pausing and closing her eyes for just a moment as the voices of the sopranos in the chorus float up to ethereally high notes, soft and gentle as the stray feather of a dove floating in the air, before they bring her back down to earth with the start of the new verse, words coming back to the song courtesy of a soprano soloist.

You’re the magic that holds the sky up from the ground…

Himiko reaches for the deck of cards again, fans them out to somewhat resemble the shape of a flower. With a flick of her wrist, the cards become yellow and white chrysanthemums.

You’re the breath that blows these cool winds ‘round…

Himiko turns in a twirl to circle with the “‘round”, the candles flickering in a circle as though a breeze blows over them with Himiko’s movements. She reaches for the latch of the birdcage opening it to let the dove fly out before reaching for the large tattered wizard’s hat. As she lifts it, more birds appear as though hidden underneath, following the first bird up and away offstage, towards the door Himiko propped open to the courtyard outside. Her eyes follow their flight up, raise higher towards the ceiling, as though into the heavens.

Trading places with an angel now…

Himiko is not a dancer. She’s not the Ultimate Ballerina or Ultimate Interpretive Dancer or anything like that. But for the next few bars of the song, she lets her body flow with the music, with the words. Reprieve from her spells. …although one could argue that dance is a form of magic in its own right.

Saw you last night dance by the light of the moon/Stars in your eyes, free from the life that you knew…

She spins and twirls and pushes up on tiptoe and back down, her silhouette playing in the candlelight. The picture onstage is reminiscent of a younger girl dancing and spinning without a care in the world, enchanted by a pretty song.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches her shadow…swears for a moment, she sees another shadow dancing with hers…one that resembles the shape of her master…

Saw you last night/Stars in the sky/Smiled in my room

The familiar shadow is gone. The music quiets. She pauses. A spell is broken.

The song explodes back into being with another “bom-BOM” and Himiko reaches for her cape, ripping it off of the easel…an easel that is no longer there. Her movements through the second big catharsis in the song aren’t quite as pronounced…a little shakier…but only a few more tasks to complete before it was all over.

Himiko picks up her own hat—the one she wears every day…the one she’d worn stepping on to the stage…and sets it back on her head. The other two hats—the smallest and the largest—are set inside the remaining birdcage. With a flick of her wrist, some cards appear in her hand. She fans them out in the flower shape again, sets the flower shape inside the cage. She lifts the frame still resting around the cage and tilts it up, props it to frame the cage more prominently. When her actions are done, she walks to the back of the table, reached over to drape her cape over it again.

With all that finished, Himiko picks up a candle and brings it with her as she walks to the front of the table, stops in front of the birdcage, blocking it with her body. She reaches for her cape and flings it back over her shoulder, one arm outstretched still, black fabric of her cape extending like a bat’s wing.

As the song comes to an end, the choir holding out the last “Ooo…” Himiko leans over to the candle and inhales, waits for the cutoff.

When the silence hits, she blows out the one candle. This action extinguishes every candle onstage.

When the stage lights come back up, the setup in the cage is gone. In its place is a framed picture of a very young Himiko, smiling brightly for the camera. Her master stands behind her, a hand clasped firmly on her shoulder, smile distinguished and proud. In front of the picture rests a small bouquet of yellow and white chrysanthemums.

Himiko herself is nowhere to be seen.

***

Himiko manages to slip back to her room without anyone in the auditorium or halls stopping her. All thanks to the invisibility spell she cast on herself. Full invisibility…not half.

Once the door is shut behind her, she turns and leans back against it, breathing in deeply and pushing all the air out in one single heavy sigh. Her entire body feels drained—of MP, of general energy…of emotion, even, it seems.

She brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose, press her thumbs into the corners of her eyes. Wonders briefly if the funeral for her master is till happening…has already happened…how other mages and magicians are paying their tributes…if those who dared to ever mock him are suddenly revering him as thought they’d never played a hand in defiling his name…

She presses at her eyes harder, pushes away from the door.

The white dress falls to the floor in a crumpled heap, resembling the balled-up paper scattered around the desk. Himiko reaches for her dresser drawer, pulls out a faded t-shirt she’d stolen from Kokichi long ago, pairs it with some cotton shorts. Her hat joins her dress on the floor, falling off as she dons her shirt. She doesn’t even bother to step over or around the clothes, though she pauses when somethings crinkles beneath her feet.

Sticking out of the pocket of her cape, she sees the corner of an envelope.

The letter from Master…

She reaches down for it, stares at it for several long moments. Even as she throws back the covers and slips into bed, her eyes never leave the envelope. Never leave her name in his hand.

She grapples to remember the last letter she’d ever received from him…if she ever had…she had to have, some sweet message before or after one of their first performances together…the penmanship is so familiar and yet not familiar at all…elegant but shaky.

Her fingers tighten slightly on the envelope, the paper rustling the slightest bit from the pressure. But she makes no move to open it…just stares at it…

…even when she hears the familiar sound of her dorm room lock being picked, she doesn’t look away.

She only does when a firm and familiar hand grasps her shoulder, turns her away from facing the wall to roll on her back, to look up at her intruder, who promptly pokes the tip of her nose.

“Kirigiri’s a little miffed you didn’t stick around for comments from teachers and junk,” Kokichi says, fingertip trailing off her nose to trace along her face, trail up to her temple, push her bangs back to reveal the healing bruise—less purple now, fading into sickly greens and yellows. “He understands, though. Won’t make you talk to anyone out there if you don’t wanna.” He kisses the tip of his finger and lightly brushes it against the bruise.

“Nyeh…he’s right…don’t wanna,” Himiko mumbles, glancing away from Kokichi and back down at the envelope.

“…you’re S.O.L. with me, though,” Kokichi says, and even though she’s not looking at him, Himiko can hear the smirk. “I’m not leavin’.”

“Nyeh…” Himiko blinks at the push to her shoulder.

“C’mon. Budge over. We can cuddle.” She relents and scoots back until her back meets the wall so there’s enough room for Kokichi to settle down next to her. “…actually, turn the other way; we can spoon.”

“You ever consider I might wanna be the big spoon?” Himiko asks dryly.

“Never crossed my mind.”

“Nyeh…”

She doesn’t have the energy to argue so she just rolls over to face the blank white wall, mattress shifting with the addition of Kokichi’s body weight

“Big spoon life is good.” Kokichi sighs, puffs of warm breath tickling the back of her neck. “Gotta love that big spoon life.”

“Nyeh…you don’t gotta rub it in my face,” she grumbles.

“You liiiiiiiiike the little spoon life, we both know it,” he teases, arm slowly tucking around her waist to squeeze her gently. She just lets out another little “nyeh” as she feels him peck a kiss to the back of her head. Her eyes focus on the envelope again.

“…is that from him?” She’d been waiting for Kokichi to ask. She nods.

“I haven’t opened it yet,” she mumbles. “I don’t know…” Kokichi’s fingers begin to comb through her hair, play with strands.

“You don’t know what it says because you haven’t opened it?” Kokichi prompts her.

“I don’t…I don’t know a lot of things,” Himiko finally says after long moments of thought in which she tries to grasp for the right answer.

“What kinds of things do you not know?” She waits for him to add to his question—something cheeky along the lines of “like…the meaning of life?” or “like what 47 multiplied by 592 is.” It doesn’t come.

“I don’t know if I want to open it,” she finally says in what ends up being a beginning. “I don’t know if I wanna know what it says. I don’t know if I wanna know what he left for me in his will or why he did. I don’t know if I should have gone to the funeral or not, if I should’ve performed in a tribute or not… I don’t know if I should have made my performance all about him…I don’t know if it even was because I still don’t know how I feel about all of this.” She pauses for a breath. Kokichi’s hand in her hair stills. “I don’t know if he would have liked it or hated it…if it would have made him proud or…jealous…enraged…I still don’t know what I did to push him away, to make him abandon me like that. I don’t know what I did to make him…resent me or…hate me or…whatever made him stop wanting to teach me or… I don’t know if knowing whether or not he did would make it hurt worse or not.” Her voice shakes, inhale of breath shudders. Kokichi’s arm tightens gently around her waist, pulls her back and closer to him. “I don’t know if there isn’t some tiny part of me deep down inside that…resents or…HATES him for leaving me the way he did…or that I wouldn’t hesitate to forgive him completely if he’d ever apologized…I don’t know if I like that I would…” She blinks. Tears drop and hit the side of her nose, her pillowcase. “I don’t know why no one told me he was dying. What he was dying of. I don’t know why HE never told me, why he never reached out to…make amends or…just tell me how much he hated me or my talent if that’s what he needed before he died. Why DIDN’T he, why did he, I don’t—”

Kokichi’s gentle shushing cuts her off, along with her own choking breath as more tears fall. Kokichi cradles her even closer, rocks her gently as she reaches down to clutch at his arm as she finally cries. Cries for all the mourning and all the confusion of her own memories and emotions.

Tenko and others have told Himiko so many times that crying is a beautiful catharsis. That it feels good to cry it out if that’s what you need.

It doesn’t feel beautiful or cathartic. It feels draining. Wretched. Ugly in her gasping desperate wails that leave her throat raw. Draining of every feeling left in her body before she sinks into sleep heavier than any sleep earlier in the week.

She’s tired…she’s so tired…grief is exhausting…

***

When Himiko comes back to waking, Kokichi’s not in her bed anymore. She groans, blinks, reaches up to rub an eye, crusty with remnants of tears. She swears she smells food…something hot and starchy, maybe rice…

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

Himiko rolls over, away from the wall, sees Kokichi sitting at her desk, setting a book down to smile at her.

“Well…evening, actually,” he clarifies.

“How long did I sleep?” she murmurs around a yawn.

“Three days.” Himiko blinks. “Okay, three hours.” She groans. That long…she looks over at the window. Sun’s just going down. Despite how long she slept, Himiko still feels as though sleep won’t be a problem tonight. Her head flops back on to the pillow and she closes her eyes again with a sigh. She reaches over for where she thinks the envelope is, feels rumpled sheets instead.

“It’s on the desk.” Himiko opens an eye and glances over at Kokichi. “I didn’t read it. Promise.” She hums a little. Kokichi stands, sock-covered feet padding against the carpet as he walks over to her, sits on the bed next to her hip. “You fell asleep with your barrette in again.” He reaches out to carefully unclip it and pull it away from her hair, trying not to snag any strands away in the catch. “You always do that and it always leaves a mark.” He pushes her hair back, as though doing so will prove his point even though he knows she can’t see it.

“Explains the headache…at least there, it does,” Himiko says, closing her eyes as Kokichi’s hair falls into her face when he leans down to kiss her forehead. Keeps them closed as Kokichi’s lips travel from her forehead to one closed eye, then the other, in feather-light kisses.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice hushed. She leans her cheek into the palm of his hand.

“Like I got hit by a truck,” she finally says. His thumb strokes the skin beneath her eye, wiping away an invisible tear.

“Yeah…crying hangover, definitely,” he says. She opens her eyes again, reaches up for his hand, tugs at it.

“You should cuddle me,” she says. “We never got to do that earlier.”

“Excuse you,” he argues while acquiescing to her request. “I seem to recall us spooning for a few minutes before you broke down.”

“Nyeh…not the same as cuddling and you know it.”

“Spooning is a form of cuddling.”

“Still…I like the cuddling where I can look at you while I talk to you.” A pause. “Even though I probably look awful right now.” She grimaces. “I’m an ugly crier. And I’m ugly after crying.” Kokichi reaches up to brush a hand against her face, studying her. She can’t imagine what she’s going to see when she looks in a mirror…how red and bloodshot and puffy her eyes must be.

“I’ve seen worse,” Kokichi finally says. Himiko lowers her head and buries it into Kokichi’s shoulder, his arm snaking around her to tuck her closer into him. Her arms loop around his waist and she sighs. A sigh that almost sounds content.

(Whenever she’s had a bad day, it’s hard for things not to feel at least a little better with Kokichi’s arms around her.)

“I would’ve gone with you, you know,” he says after a time.

“Hmm?”

“To the funeral. I know it was today.” His fingers drum along her arm with no discernible rhythm, as light as raindrops. “If you’d pushed back on your finals performance and decided to go, and asked me to go with you, I would have.” She looks up at him, craning her neck a little. She can’t see his full face from her current angle, but she sees enough to know he means it.

“Well…too late now,” she says, looking back down. “Besides, I wouldn’t have made you go if you didn’t want to. And I know you didn’t want to.”

“…did you want to?”

“I stayed here, didn’t I?”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t want to go.”

“…too late now,” she repeats in lieu of a real answer.

A finger presses under her chin, tilts her head up. Kokichi’s shifted in bed slightly to face her better.

“You didn’t lie to yourself about not wanting to go, did you?” he asks.

“No,” she says, a little defensively. “It’s just…it doesn’t matter anymore. The funeral’s over. No sense in dwelling on it.” She looks down, head drawing away from Kokichi’s hand. “Besides…he probably wouldn’t have wanted me there anyway, so…”

She feels Kokichi brush her hair away from her face, combing it back, fingers traveling over her scalp soothingly.

“He did write to you,” Kokichi says. “You were on his mind in some respect near the end.”

“Hmm…”

They lay in silence for a moment, Himiko breathing in deep, taking in the familiar and comforting scene of Kokichi—cottony fabric softener of his shirt, traces of soap on his skin, c\something in his shampoo that always tickles her nose…

“What do you think is in that envelope?” she asks after a time. The hand in her hair stills for a millisecond before continuing.

“I don’t know,” he finally says.

“You can give a joke answer, if you want,” she offers. “Like… ‘a piece of paper’ or ‘a letter’ or something.”

“I know I CAN; I just don’t know if I SHOULD,” Kokichi says. “Doesn’t feel right.”

“I’m okay with it.”

“…well, maybe I’m not.”

“…then you can give me your honest answer. What you think he wrote.” Himiko looks up at him, reaching up to pull Kokichi’s hand away from her hair and hold it in her hands. “I know you have a very different opinion of him than I have, but—”

“And that’s why I don’t want to answer,” Kokichi interrupts. “Because…an honest answer might hurt you. But also, I honestly don’t know what he could have written because I never met or know him, and…that feels like the safer honest answer to give you.”

“…then…if you want to lie—”

“A lie would hurt you, too.”

“It’s not like you’ve never lied to me, Kokichi.”

Kokichi stares at her for a few moments before squeezing her hand.

“Yes, I’ve lied to you. And I’ll probably continue to lie to you,” he finally says. “But never about things that are truly important. I’ll only lie to you about little things. Like…saying your hair’s a mess when actually, it looks nice. Or whether or not I’ve seen your hat, or if I took your favorite pen on accident or drank the last of our secret Panta stash.” Kokichi cracks a small smile. “Remember your birthday last year, when you wanted to spend the morning and afternoon with me and I said I couldn’t because I was busy with other things that couldn’t wait? And then that night, you went to the park and found me waiting there with a surprise picnic?” Himiko nods. “I’ll lie like that again for birthdays to come…anniversaries, Valentine’s Days, any other holiday where I feel like surprising you and have to throw a little deceit your way in order to pull it off.”

“That was a really good birthday,” she can’t help but interject, drawing a wider smile from Kokichi.

“So yes…I’ve lied to you and will lie to you.” He cups her face. “But only the lies I know won’t hurt you.” He runs a thumb over her cheek. “I know I’ve hurt a lot of people with my lies…and I don’t want you to be one of them. Not anymore. Because I know I probably have in the past and…”

Himiko reaches up to cover his hand with hers, turns her face to press a kiss to his palm.

“I forgave you for those a long time ago, you know,” she says. He nods. “And I know you’ve never meant to hurt me.”

“Yeah…but this has hurt you so much already…I can’t risk adding to it.” Kokichi shifts closer, his hand slipping out from beneath hers, only to take it so he can press a kiss to the back of her hand. “I have a list of things I will never lie to you about.” He counts “one” on her pointer finger. “How I feel about you.” Second finger. “What I think of your magic shows.” Third finger. “How beautiful you are.” Fourth finger. “Everything to do with your master.”

“So…if I asked you what you think he would’ve thought of my performance today?”

“Another question I don’t know how to answer.”

Himiko nods.

“…and if I ask what YOU thought of my performance today?”

Even when Himiko has told herself time and time again that what Kokichi thinks of her spells doesn’t matter all that much…his opinion actually means the world to her. So she can’t help but hold her breath waiting for an answer from him.

“…you are a stone cold fox in that white dress.”

Something in the flatness of his tone and the seriousness in his eyes results in a “Pfffft!” from Himiko that is the closest to a real laugh she’s expressed in days.

“Kokichi!” she tries to scold, tries to remain serious, but the corners of her lips quirk upwards. “Serious answer, please.”

“I’m dead serious,” he continues, same tone, same expression, and that just makes it harder not to smile. “That is now required date attire for you.”

“Kokichi.”

“You were amazing.”

Himiko’s about to tell Kokichi to give her a serious answer again, when she realizes he has.

“Sometimes, I can guess how you cast your spells,” Kokichi says, “I feel like there’s always at least one in any given show where I can figure out how you do it. Today, you had me completely baffled. Completely captivated. And I love that I was.” Himiko finds herself breathless again, the serious expression on Kokichi’s face giving way to a soft smile…one of those smiles only she gets to see. “I’m so incredibly proud of you and in awe of you.”

He tilts his head forward the tiniest bit, brushing their foreheads together.

“…and also still the stone cold fox thing.”

Himiko reaches up to ruffle his hair, which he tries to push away with a laugh. But he seems to relent when he hears her softly giggling.

“I missed that sound,” he sighs.

“Me too…” She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.” There’s so much those two small words cover…she could go on and on about all the things she could thank him for…for supporting her as much as he does, for making her laugh and smile again, for holding her when she cried, for thinking she’s beautiful…

…instead, she leans in and presses her mouth to his, feeling that can encapsulate everything she could say.

From the way she feels him smile against her lips, he knows what she means.

When she feels him begin to pull away, she chases his lips and captures them again, hand fisting into his shirt, eager for him to stay where he is, to make it more if he wanted, to stay in this content feeling and approach something resembling happiness again, something that’s felt lost the past week, but she’s finding again in the warmth of his body and the gentle grip of his hands and the softness of his lips (he’s been stealing her Chapstick again, she can tell)…

But then her stomach growls in protest. And that sufficiently kills any building mood.

“I guess we should go get something to eat,” she says, a little embarrassed by just how loud her stomach has been.

“We don’t need to,” Kokichi says. “Kirumi made us dinner.” He gestures towards a couple of bowls, clouds of steam billowing from their contents, in spite of however long it’s been cooling.

“Thought I smelled something when I woke up,” Himiko says.

They shuffle out of bed and eat at the desk, while Kokichi recounts to Himiko some of their friends’ reactions to her performance. As they eat and Kokichi talks, Himiko’s eyes stray towards the envelope time and time again, but she tries to put the focus back on Kokichi. He says nothing about it, just continues talking like there’s nothing amiss or concerning.

He steps out for a moment to drop their empty bowls off to Kirumi. When he leaves, Himiko stares at the envelope with little guilt. Reaches for it. Slowly slides it towards her. Her finger plays with the wax seal…Master didn’t keep candles on hand just for magic…she runs her thumb over the familiar imprint, remembering times where she’d pleaded to let her press the seal into the puddle of wax…

“You gonna read it?” She looks up to see Kokichi closing the door to her room behind him. “…if it’ll help, I can read it to you.”

“No…that’s okay,” she says, looking back at the envelope. “But…I do want you here while I read it, though.” Kokichi nods, walking over to squeeze her shoulders before settling on the bed, away from the desk, to afford her the right to read the words only to herself.

She steels herself with another breath.

She tears the envelope open.