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“So a fish walks into a bar…”
“Uh-huh.”
“And he goes up to the bartender. Orders a single-malt scotch.”
“What’s a malt, again?”
“Don’t have any idea, and it doesn’t matter. Anyway, the bartender says they’re out. So the fish asks for whisky on-the-rocks instead. Turns out they’re out of that, too.”
“Who stocked this place, exactly?”
“Shhhhhhhhh, quieeeet, you’re gonna ruin the joooooke~.”
“…Fine. Go on.”
“Right. The fish throws his fins up and asks for a beer, any beer. But of course the bar’s outta that too. He’s pretty mad by now. He says ‘what the heck am I supposed to drink around here, then?’ And you know what the bartender says?”
“What?”
“‘Well, we’re underwater. Just drink in the atmosphere.’”
Ran lies against the matte frame of the jeep, her thumbs hanging just inside of her bomber jacket’s pockets as the rest of her fingers absentmindedly drum against her thigh. “I don’t get it.”
“Boooo,” Moca moans from her throne, which happens to be the hood of the car. “You’re no fun.”
If Ran was uncool enough to smoke, she’d probably take a drag from her cigarette right about now. “It’s not that I didn’t like it, I just didn’t get it.”
“C’mooooon.” Moca flops down on the hood, like the subject of her joke. “It’s a fish? So it’s in water? It’d ‘drink in’ the atmosphere?”
Oh. So that was it. “Har har har. Good one.”
Moca puffs her cheeks up as she overextends her arm towards the just out-of-reach Ran, meagerly trying to poke or prod or otherwise punish her for her reaction. “No… fun… at… all…!”
Ran considers leaning into the lazy gesture, but figures that she shouldn’t indulge in Moca’s… Moca-ness right now. “How many cannisters do we have left to fill?”
Moca sits back up to gaze at the row of bright red jerrycans lined up between the jeep and the pumping station, counting on her fingers to keep the numbers straight. “Only two more after this one.”
Ran stuffs her hands all the way inside her pockets, crossing one leg over the other as she puts more weight on the jeep. “Guess it’s too late to start driving, anyhow.”
Sunset paints the desert horizon a bright orange-pink, the distant Sierra Nevada Mountains casting shallow streaks of shadows over the dusty hills and low-hanging trees. The cool wind of evening sifts little bits of sand around their ankles, reminding Ran of the dust devil they witnessed out the starboard car window only a couple hours prior. The sound of Beat Crusaders’ “Hit in the USA” is playing from the car speakers, just bass-boosted enough that she can feel the reverb through her bones. It’s the sort of scene that would only be complete with the addition of a passing tumbleweed – the larger the better – but the only thing moving around this ghost town is a tiny sand lizard in Ran’s periphery, skittering aimlessly around the street gutter.
Good to know that they’re not the two last living things on Earth, at least.
Her gaze drifts naturally up towards the gas station sign, reading “ARCO” in big blocky letters above a pricing number that might as well read $0.00 – partially because she and Moca are obviously going to pump the gas for free, and partially because money’s pretty much only good for toilet paper now anyway. Not that either of them have any American dollars in the first place. She almost smirks at the thought of coming here only to find a perfectly functioning society that still had money and jobs and people – instead, her grimace grows in intensity.
“Rannnnnn, Earth to Rannnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,”
In the midst of her daydreaming, Moca’s summoned the modicum of energy needed to crawl over and poke her in the cheek. Ran lazily bats her hand away. “What is it?”
Moca points back towards the gas station market with her thumb. “Wanna loot?”
Ran pokes her head inside the jeep to look at the mountain of supplies stuffed in the backseats. “We can probably hold out a while longer, honestly.”
“Awwww,” moans Moca, clasping the back of her hand to her forehead. “But we have so much room! So much extra space! Was us upgrading from a stylish motorcycle to this military hulkster for nothing?”
“Are you still hung up on that?”
“Oh, come on. The aesthetic of two girls road-tripping across America, one clinging tightly to the other’s back as the wind cuts across their hair… it’s worth soooo much more than this hunk of practical junk.”
Ran pinches the bridge of her nose. “Is it really that big a deal?”
“Boo.” Moca flops over. “Don’t pretend you didn’t love that motorcycle. I saw you smirking the whole time we were riding it.”
“Did not!”
“Did too~.”
Ran reached out to smack Moca on the arm. Aghast, she reciprocated the motion. Before long they were in a full-on slapfight, Moca rolling off the hood so they could properly wave their noodly arms in each other’s faces with anxious aggression. After a few more moments of petty fighting, they both exhaustedly lean against the bumper to catch their breath.
“So,” Moca continues, her voice still tinged with that Mocatastic cheekiness. “Looting?”
Ran sighs, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Look, I’m not going to stop you, I’m just saying it’s not a big deal either way.”
“Ohoho, even after the apocalypse Ran is playing it cool?” Moca croons. “I think I’m in love~.”
“Stop—” Ran nearly bites her tongue in her haste to respond, feeling a tiny rush of blood to her cheeks. “Look, grab all the chips and hot dogs and whatever else you want from inside, for all I care.”
“Eheheh, of course.” Moca dusts off her shoulders as she stands up. “Come with. Let’s check it out together.”
Ran rises up with a groan, trying to get the crick out of her shoulder. “If you insist…”
They’re halfway to the front doors when Moca stops and doubles back. “Ah, whoops. Forgot Rocky.”
“Oh, right…” says Ran, watching Moca run back towards the car and reach inside the glove compartment for a stone the size of her cranium. “Why did you name it, again?”
“Rocky is our one and only ally on our grand journey,” says Moca matter-of-factly, standing up proud and true as she holds up the rock – emblazoned with aerosol paint depicting a mohawk, a guitar, and the anarchist A symbol – towards the heavens. “Without him, how would we ever commit the holy and necessary ritual of B&E?”
Ran snorts. “Well, whatever entertains you, I guess.”
With a look of solemn dignity, Moca prostrates herself on one knee and presents the stone to her compatriot. “My dear Ran. I leave you with the honors.”
There are times where Ran would dismiss the notion, but what the hell? She can’t resist the urge to just smash shit up sometimes. She takes the stone in both hands, tossing it up a couple times to get used to its heft before hurling it straight at the front door.
CRASH
The glass shatters into a million fragments as ‘Rocky’ skids along the convenience store floor, finally stopped by a partition right before a fridge full of alcohol as a loud siren starts to wail in their ears.
“Always the worst part…” Moca murmurs, nigh-inaudible as she uses her gloved hands to snap off more pieces of glass and widen the entryway. “Poor Moca-chan’s gonna need a hearing aid soon.”
“What are you, a senior citizen?” Ran quips, carefully stepping inside the door to make sure she doesn’t cut herself.
“Yes,” says Moca, following behind. “An old, old soul trapped in the beautiful body of a young adult girl… who was at one point herself trapped in the prepubescent body of a snot-nosed boy.”
“Damn. You’re like a matryoshka doll of dysphoria.”
“That’s just what being an NB transbian is all about~.”
Sometimes Ran wonders how Moca can be so flippant now, after everything that’s happened. And there’s other times where she’s almost grateful for it. “Come on. Let’s find some Pocari or something.”
“Silly Ran,” chides Moca, offering a pat on the shoulder out of faux-pity as they step off of the glass-covered entry carpet. “We’re in America now. “Say goodbye to Pocky and Ramune and hello to Fritos and Gatorade.”
“What do you mean? There’s Pocky right there,” Ran mutters, pointing to a small display of chocolate- and strawberry-flavored sticks.
“Ohoho, a little taste of home away from home,” says Moca, swiping a box from the shelf. “But we should really indulge in the local cuisine while we’re here. Have you ever had Flamin’ Hot Limón Cheetos?”
That string of words was nigh-incomprehensible to Ran’s ears – the only one she got was ‘Cheetos.’ “What now?”
“I suppose a proper lady like yourself wouldn’t have.” Moca swipes another bag from the shelf, her fingers wiggling around like the dad in an American sitcom who stares at a box of donuts while licking his lips and saying ‘don’t mind if I do.’ “Ooo, Chips Ahoy… those will make an excellent dessert.”
“I had no idea you were so familiar with American snacks,” says Ran, gazing at the rows of unfamiliar brands in English letters that take her a second to pronounce out in her head.
“My mom was big on imported junk food,” says Moca, her arms starting to load up with piles of snack bags. “Almost as good as bread, in the right mood.”
“We still have baguettes in the trunk, you know…”
“We have to ration them carefully,” Moca cautions, with the most gravitas Ran’s ever heard from her. “If we run out of bread before we come across another place where I can bake a batch then I’ll start to wither.”
“Won’t it all get stale soon?”
“I made those containers airtight, Ran. And even if they grew as hard as bricks…” Moca sniffles, wiping an invisible tear from her eyelid. “I would still devour them.”
“Right.” Ran had long accepted that she would be Moca’s second greatest love in the universe, shrugging off the conversation as she mindlessly picked up a red-and-white-striped bag with a white boy and a dog on the cover. “How about this?”
“Ooo, Cracker Jacks!” says Moca, eyes gleaming. “Excellent choice. Not only are they tasty, they come with prizes.”
“Prizes?”
“Yeah. Little plastic rings or temporary tattoos or stuff like that.” Moca takes the bag and shakes it around, producing an enticing rustle. “Basically the best money can buy.”
“Huh.” Ran crosses her arms as she looks at the big white lettering that reads PRIZE INSIDE! “Sounds kinda tacky.”
“Come on.” Moca shakes the bag in front of Ran’s eyes. “You’d totally want to have some cool red flames smattered on your cheeks for an afternoon, wouldn’t you?”
Ran absolutely, positively would, but she wouldn’t admit it to Moca even if she was the last girl on Earth – which she is. “Whatever. Let’s find stuff to drink.”
“Roger that.” Moca tucks the Cracker Jacks in her arms and makes her way to the rows of fridges. “Should we get a six-pack?”
“Beer?” Ran isn’t big on alcohol – it burns her throat and always sits kinda queasy in her stomach, and she realized after three sips of it that drinking while underage didn’t make her nearly as cool as an air-karaoke rendition of Linkin Park’s “Numb” did. “Is that a good idea?”
“You’re driving tomorrow,” says Moca, reaching in to pick up a case of Corona Light. “Ah… the most American brand there is.”
“Maybe we should pick up something else?”
“If you want some of the sodas, go ahead,” says Moca, nudging her head towards the next unit over. “Don’t touch the milk, though. It’s yogurt at this point.”
“Well, that explains the smell…” replies Ran, pinching her nose.
“Hard to believe this is the first konbini we’ve hit up since coming here,” says Moca, whistling as she doubles back towards the register. “I miss the vibes. The clean, empty aisles… fingers itching to warm stuff up in the microwave… basic human contact… good times. Good times.”
Ran’s quiet as she follows her to the front. She hopes that the silence can linger for just a minute – but that can never happen when Moca Aoba’s around.
“Ran? Something wrong?”
“N-No,” Ran lies. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
Moca’s gadfly nature is the kind that could only honesty could put a stop to. “I’m just… surprised you can mention other people right now, that’s all.”
“Eheheh, Moca-chan likes remembering the good times.” So she says, but there’s an edge of wistfulness in her voice. “She can stop if you want her to, though.”
“Oh, it’s fine, it’s just…” Ran growls, unsure where her emotions are coming from or who she should even direct them at. “Nevermind. Forget about it.”
“Copy that, captain~.”
The awkwardness dissipates as they approach the front. Obviously there’s nobody at the counter, but that doesn’t stop Moca from laying down the pile of snacks on the counter and pulling out her wallet (Ran isn’t even sure why she’s hanging onto it at this point). “’Scuse me, where’s the clerk? I want to be a responsible citizen and pay for my items, please~.”
Ran never has any idea why Moca engages in the charades that she does, but it’s not as if she has a reason to stop her. She just crosses her arms and watches.
“Ah. There you are,” says Moca, pantomiming towards a nonexistent worker. “Ring it up, if you’d please. What’s that? Cash or credit? My dear sir, I’m a Triple Platinum Bread-earner. All of this should be covered by my point cards, no?” She lets loose a plastic chuckle. “Ahaha, of course. Catch you next time, my good man.” She gathers up her items and winks towards the absent figure before skipping next to Ran.
“Triple Platinum, eh?” asks Ran, walking towards the door. “How much bread did you have to buy to earn that?”
“Classified,” says Moca coyly.
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Ran grunts, pushing the door open. “It’s not like I even care—”
She stops.
The door – the one opposite of the one they’d shattered into a million pieces – had given way at a simple shove.
“Oh,” says Moca flatly. “It was unlocked the whole time.”
They stare at each other for one second. Two. Until…
“Pffft—”
“Snnnrk—"
The laughter comes from their lungs like trumpets, loud and blaring and off-tune. A couple of the snack bags drop from their arms as they struggle to remain upright, heaving over as the giggles rattle along their ribcages like a xylophone. In the end they both tumble out onto the curb, clutching their spoils weakly to their chests as they stumble to a stop.
“Hey, Moca?” says Ran, panting as she composes herself. “We’re really stupid, you know that?”
“Of… Of course I do,” Moca wheezes, wiping a tear from her eye. “Moca-chan knows everything.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ran sighs, dampening the last of the guffaws that escape her diaphragm. “You know what? That was worth it.”
“Of course it was,” says Moca smugly. “We got Cracker Jacks and a reminder of just how dumb we are. What more could we want?” Right as the question leaves her lips, her face lights up with realization. “Oh crap! I forgot Rocky! Nooooooo!”
She thrusts her snacks into Ran’s arms before running back inside with faux-dramatism. Ran watches her dash up to the rock and cradle it, giving it gentle kisses as she leaves. Even with nobody else around to showboat for… it’s Moca, same as always.
Ran thanks whatever god is out there for that smallest of solaces.
Whatever ramshackle rest station town they’ve found themselves in conveniently has a motel right next door – not five-star accommodations, but certainly better than camping out in the back of the jeep again. After rummaging through the front desk for the first key they can find, Ran and Moca open up the room on the floor level closest to the street, finding tidy – if slightly musty – accommodations inside.
Moca gasps. “Why, the concierge must’ve made a mistake… there’s only one bed! A-Are we supposed to share, or…?”
Ran brushes past her, throwing snacks onto the bedsheets without a shred of hesitation. “If we got a double bedder you’d complain at me all night.”
“Well, of course!” says Moca, not losing a beat as she falls onto the mattress. “I couldn’t let my dear, precious Ran go even one night without the proper dose of snuggles.”
“R-Right.” Goddammit, is she still getting flushed? Now? After all this time? You’d think without anybody else around play it cool for Ran could just relax and be honest and open with her feelings… but somehow that’d feel like admitting defeat to her flirtatious siege.
Moca’s eyes pick up even the slightest of changes in her expression. “Aww, is someone turning red? Don’t worry – there’s nobody else around to posture for. You can be as gay as you want without judgment~.”
“Wh-Whatever,” says Ran, sitting on the opposite side of the bed with her back to Moca. “It’s not posturing, okay? I’m just… you know…”
“Embarrrrrrrrrrassed?”
Ran’s silence provides the answer.
She feels the lightest of pats on the head from behind. “It’s alright. Moca-chan understands. We live shameful lives full of decadence and greed, don’t we?”
The way it came out of her mouth was very Moca, in that it sounded very jokey in order to veil some underlying sentiment. Ran just isn’t sure which one. “What’s shameful about this, exactly?” she asks, tilting her head around.
“What? Girls making out isn’t shameful?” Moca crawls closer, till her nose is only a few inches from Ran’s own. “Trans girls making out isn’t shameful?”
Ran’s gaze narrows as she bites her lip. “Moca.”
The tension in the air cuts out as Moca realizes she’s gone too raw. “…Sorry. Guess I blurred the line between self-deprecating humor and harsh reality again. Classic Moca-chan, huh?”
“It’s alright.” It’s Ran’s turn to console her, offering a gentle rub on the shoulder as condolence. “We don’t have to worry about judgment or anything like that anymore. It’s just you and me against the world.”
Moca leans into the caress, giggling softly. “What more could we need than that~?”
The question lingers a moment too long.
They both know the answer.
Ran retracts her hand, suddenly looking towards the door. “…I feel like jamming. I’m gonna go grab my guitar.”
“…’Kay.”
Moca’s reticence is a sure sign of something weighing on her mind – and even though Ran has an inkling as to what it is this time, that doesn’t mean she knows how to talk about it. “You want me to grab yours, too?”
“Nah.” Moca leans back and falls on a pillow, hand slithering towards the remote. “I’m gonna see what’s on TV.”
“…They don’t run cable anymore.”
“Oh I know. But the on-demand movie network might still running~.”
“Ah.” Seeing that Moca’s in good enough spirits to be her usual glib self, Ran decides to not press her and instead stand up, rubbing her neck as she makes towards the door. “Be back in a sec.”
“See you~.”
Ran steps outside. It’s dark out – the sun’s vanished to the west, leaving only black desert and whispering wind in its wake. The little pit stop alongside the highway looks even lonelier now that it’s dusk; Ran can practically picture the loose signs and faded lettering in her vision, dilapidated remnants of a world that once was. But she knows the surroundings aren’t so destitute – despite the fact that no person could have possibly been here in the last few months, the only signal of a civilization lost to time is weeds poking through the sidewalk. She can still make out cars parked all along the curb, street signs unravaged by decay, open doors to the restaurant across the street (called the “Sourdough Saloon,” a place that Moca desperately wants to go for breakfast in the morning). If somebody popped up out of the next motel room over, it wouldn’t look out of place in the slightest. It was completely, totally, oppressively mundane.
She expected the world to go out with a bang, or at least a whimper, not just… silence.
She almost wants to slap herself for the thought. What, is she unhappy that the apocalypse didn’t go as she hoped it would? Yeesh. She pops open the back of the jeep to grab her six-string, trying not to feel disgusted with herself. She’s not the best at wading off her survivor’s guilt, but at least that’s all she’s got to deal with. No mutant zombies or nuclear fallout or eternal winter… just an empty, quiet, windy world.
…
Recognizing that being alone with her thoughts is the worst possible situation she can be in right now, she hastens to sling the guitar bag over her shoulder before closing the jeep and making her way back to the motel room. Come to think of it, Moca might be going through some heavy introspection, too…
“Yo, Ran. What’s up?”
…Or she could be playing rental N64 games on the ancient TV system. “What’re you doing?”
“Saving Hyrule?” Moca replies, as if it’s obvious. “Wait, no, I forgot it’s Termina in this game. Which is like. Anti-Hyrule.”
“Cool.” Ran isn’t in the mood to get into one of Moca’s tête-à-têtes right now. “You mind turning the volume down so I can play.”
“Awww,” Moca whimpers. “But the clock tower music is so good!”
Ran shoots her a disgruntled glare.
“Alright, alright.” Moca reaches over and boinks the mute button on the remote. “Play me some Wonderwall or something.”
“I don’t know that one.”
“As if. Every guitarist knows Wonderwall.”
“Ah. Well.” Ran sits down on the bed, gritting her teeth as she zips open the guitar case. “Sorry I don’t live up to your standards.”
Her tone must be coming across more curtly than she notices, because Moca pauses and sets down the controller. “Rannnnnnnnn. What’s up?”
She tries to distract herself with tuning. “Nothing.”
Moca’s brow wiggles. “That’s Ran-speak for ‘everything, but I don’t wanna say anything ‘cuz I’m an emotionally closed off teenager who broods.’”
Ran can’t stand her sometimes. “Well, Sherlock, what do you want me to say?”
Moca scoots next to her on the bed, so close their shoulders are bumping. “Whatever’s on your mind.”
Ran glances out towards the window. The curtains are undrawn, letting the pale yellow of street lamps beam in through the glass. She feels unnerved by how many electrical apparatuses still work, from the lights in the motel to the fridges in the gas station to the video game Moca’s playing right now. They live in silence, but not darkness. And it that sort of sensory limbo, the question that’s always lurking in the back of Ran’s mind comes to the forefront. “Moca, what the hell are we doing?”
“Playing Majora’s Mask? Or guitar, in your case.”
“No, I mean like… where are we going?”
“To Vegas,” Moca replies. “We wanted to see the strip and everything, remember? It was either that or Reno. And who the hell would wanna go to Reno?”
Ran sighs and puts the acoustic on the floor, being careful to prop it properly against the nightstand. “Moca, why are we in America? Sightseeing? Touristing? Whatever the hell you call it?”
Moca shrugs. “You were the one who always wanted to go on a big USA roadtrip.”
“But that was back when…”
Ran trails off. Moca doesn’t fill the silence.
“…I know it’s not like we had any better ideas.” Ran scrunches up into a ball, bringing her knees up to her chin. “Staying home in Japan probably would’ve gotten boring at some point. But like… what are we doing here? What are…”
The trail of questions dies in her throat. Moca koalas around Ran’s body, somehow finding the perfect angle for maximum coverage, soothing her with delicate palms. Ran’s always been amazed by how soft they are. Even after she became a guitar player and developed those hard, particular calluses… Moca’s touch didn’t lose an ounce of gentleness.
“I…” Ran tries to find the words to express her feelings: her greatest talent, and her fatal weakness. “You…”
“Ran.” Moca nudges a pack of Cracker Jacks with her foot, hooking her toes around it so she can worm it up towards them. “Eat something.”
Ran takes a look at the bag wedged in Moca’s toes before reluctantly reaching out to take it and popping it open. The smell of saccharine, stagnant caramel popcorn fills her nostrils. “Is it still good?”
“Won’t expire for another week.” Moca nods. “Go on.”
Staring into the pit of candy and nuts before her, Ran tepidly reaches in and sticks a handful into her mouth. It’s more sour than sweet at this point, and has a brittle texture that cuts into her gums as she chews. She knows it’s not quite how it’s supposed to taste. But even so, she can’t help but ask: “Are all American snacks like this?”
“Why, no,” says Moca with a grin. “After all, not all of them have prizes inside.”
Ran’s hand rummages through the bag, but all she finds is more sticky caramel. “I don’t see any prize in here.”
“Whaaaaaaat?” asks Moca, in disbelief so fake-sounding that it had to be real. “No way. Lemme see.”
Ran takes a look at the bag. “It says you can redeem the QR code on the back for your prize.”
“A QR Code?” asks Moca, snatching the bag and sounding legitimately irritated for only the fifth or so time Ran’s heard in her life. “Shut up. Why would they – come on! That’s not a plastic ring worth two cents! And they call these Cracker Jacks? Disgraceful…”
“Yeah,” says Ran, smirking despite herself. “It’s not like our phones could even work right now, anyway. Internet’s kaput.”
“Oh, woe is me…” moans Moca, wilting on the spot as she sinks into her side of the bed. “I can’t even enjoy obscure foreign junk food… has the apocalypse brought nothing but misery to me?”
The phrasing of the question causes Ran to laugh. “What, did you expect good times?”
“I expected the bare minimum, at least,” Moca moans.
“I’d argue the fact that we still have breathable air and plentiful food is more than the ‘bare minimum.’”
Moca whistles. “Lookee lookee at Ran the optimist. Not feeling so down on yourself now, eh?”
“Hey!”
She throws a pillow that hits Moca square in the face. The gremlin pulls it off to wink with her tongue stuck out. “Moca-chan’s masterful plan to improve your mood went off without a hitch.”
“That wasn’t…” Ran smiles and shakes her head. Always two steps behind Moca, isn’t she? “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Moca sits up and picks the N64 controller back up. “Now do you wanna serenade me while I skip through Clocktown looking for stray fairies?”
Ran looks towards her guitar. “Actually, I’m feeling pretty exhausted. I’m gonna try and get some sleep.”
“You sure? You didn’t eat much.”
“Don’t really have an appetite.” Ran climbs off the bed to get into her pajamas. “You can keep playing, though. Just keep it down.”
“Alrighty.”
Ran works through her usual nightly ritual – changing clothes, taking estrogen, brushing teeth, making sure the red streak in her hair doesn’t need a re-dye – before flicking off the light and climbing under the covers. Moca’s already wormed her way beneath the sheets, her body heat warming up Ran’s chilly skin as she gets cozy.
“…Night, Moca.”
“Night, Ran~.”
The distant glow of the television screen becomes a pale gray behind Ran’s shut eyelids, the clicks and clacks of Moca’s button presses providing percussion. The flute of the game’s music skips through her ear drums, lulling her to unconsciousness and memory…
It’s the dream.
The only dream.
Sleep’s offered her nothing else for the past several months.
The Haneoka classroom as the sun sets beyond the window, casting everything in brilliant shades of pink and red and orange, accented by thick shadows and the gentle breeze of evening.
“Let’s come up with another manga idea!”
She blinks. On her left is a familiar face: ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯. Of course. Their leader, pink and bubbly and always ready to set their minds alight with goals. She always smells like three different fruit at once: strawberries, raspberries, cherries. A familiar, long-lost scent.
“Ooooo, I’m down. I’ve been in the mood for a kickass shounen lately.”
To her right, ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮. Her hot-blooded, red-loving rival. Wearing a grin that could inspire any derelict friend to brighten up. She’d carry anyone to safety, whether physically or emotionally. Even now Ran can hear the noise she makes while slurping up noodles.
“M-Maybe we should narrow down a theme, first? J-Just so we don’t get sidetracked like last time!”
In front of her, ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣. So gentle and strong and kind… even now she’s trying to make sure everything runs as smoothly as possible. Ran never gives her the attention she deserves, does she? Even as she peers into her with those doe-brown eyes…
“Ohoho, but that’s half the fun, ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣~.”
And there’s Moca, behind Ran’s back, snaking her arms around her shoulders, lilting with mischievous moxie. She’s always so close to Ran. Is that because she recognizes that that’s what Ran wants? Or because she wants it herself? Or…
“Well, a theme sounds good,” says ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮. “What do we want? Battle? Action? Fighting?”
“Those are all the same thing!” ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ pouts. “Can’t we do romance? Pleeeease?”
“We did that last week, ▯▯▯-chan,” says Moca. “We need something fresher.”
“How about something post-apocalyptic?” suggests ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣. “Those sorts of stories always interest me.”
“Woah. Wasn’t expecting that from you, ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣,” ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ chuckles. “But I’m down for that. Let’s come up with the scariest apocalypse we can think of! Something with zombies or mutants or something.”
“Uuuuugh, why’s it always something gross?” ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ moans. “Why don’t we have like, a rapture or something? Where it’s all hot angels or demons coming to raze the earth…”
“Ahaha, I-I don’t know if that’s much better,” says ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣. “Maybe something more realistic, like a series of natural disasters wiping civilization off the map…”
“Seems a little close to home,” says Ran. “Besides, I like the demon army idea. It’s super cool.”
“Of course you’d think that,” says Moca, poking her in the cheek.
“Wh-What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re easier to read than a book, dear Ran~.”
Everybody laughs. Ran tries not to feel too embarrassed, but this kind of talk is ultimately the same as always. Nothing to get worked up over.
“But what about you, Moca-chan?” asks ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣. “What kind of scenario would you like?”
“Hmmm…” Moca paces away from Ran’s desk and towards the window, where she stares out at the twilight with a contemplative grin. “I guess the apocalypse is supposed to be the scariest thing imaginable, huh?”
“Yeah,” says ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮. “Maybe we should make them like. Vampire werewolf zombies. To be scarier?”
“▮ ▮ !▮ ▮ !▮!” ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ slaps her hand with a huff. “That’s not scary! That’s just dumb!”
“L-Let’s let Moca-chan talk, everyone,” says ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣. “Go on!”
“Oh, ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣, you’re an angel…” Moca sniffs away a fake tear. “But, hm… my apocalypse would be…”
The dream desaturates.
“Quiet.”
“Quiet?” Ran repeated. “What do you mean?”
Everything’s gray now, except the sun – a single half-circle of pink on the periphery of Ran’s vision. Moca’s smile is wide, and toothy, and so, so, sad.
“It’s like this,” Moca continues. “Imagine the world. All the same buildings, landmarks, cities, all that… but there’s no people in it. Just you, alone with everything else.”
“But… h-how does that happen?” asks ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣. “How does everybody disappear?”
“Who knows?” Moca replies. “Doesn’t really matter. You can’t figure it out. All you know is that it’s just you and the rest of reality as you know it, devoid of human contact.”
“Huh.” ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ scratches her head. “So there’s no monsters or anything?”
“Nope. You probably don’t have to worry about food or shelter or anything else – the whole world’s your oyster, and your oyster alone.”
Beat. “I dunno, that seems kinda… nice to me,” says ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯. “I could take all the spa days I wanted!”
“Maybe,” says Moca with a half-smirk. “But you wouldn’t see any of us. ◎◎◎◎◎◎◎◎◎ wouldn’t exist. Nor would any of your other friends. You would be completely, utterly, totally alone. Left with only the sound of your own thoughts.”
The room’s quiet, save the sound of ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ gulping.
“What would you do, in a world like that?” asks Moca. “What would you live for? Why would you keep going? What would be the point, without people you care about by your side?”
“Th-That’s a scary thought…” says ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣ ▣. “I don’t want to think about that sort of possibility..”
Moca’s expression – which has been slowly hardening into something stern – relaxes itself. “Well, that’s just one idea. I personally think vampire werewolf zombies are much more fun~.”
“Fun! Yes! Fun!” ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ ▯ yelps. “L-Let’s go with the fun idea, okay everyone?”
“Roger that!” ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ ▮ replies.
Ran stares at Moca.
She looks into her dopey, grinning face and finds herself matching it. Comforted by the knowledge that they would all be there for each other, no matter the time, no matter the place.
That’s always how the dream ends, even when Ran wishes it didn’t.
She awakes in the dead of morning.
Her eyes open to darkness, outlined only by a sliver of light around the distant curtains. Everything is hot and humid. The sound of ragged breath fills the air. Sweat slicks the bedsheets.
It takes her a moment to realize it’s not her own.
“Moca…?”
Her hands are gripping onto Ran’s, shaking and convulsing with a terrible weakness. It’s so unnaturally violent that Ran presumes she’s in the throes of a nightmare – but somehow, through the nigh-absent lighting, she can make out Moca’s eyes, crinkled and glazed with tears.
In spite of the intense warmth, Ran moves closer. “H-Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you—”
“Ran.”
Her voice is a violin string stretched to its breaking point, on the verge of cracking into nothing.
“Wh… What are we doing?”
In spite of the fear clogging her throat, Ran steels herself. “Y-You said it yourself, didn’t you? We’re going to Vegas. We’re gonna—”
“They’re gone, Ran.”
The pit in her stomach that she’s constantly trying to ignore opens up.
“Himari, Tomoe, Tsugu, everybody… every last person on Earth… they’re gone.”
“Moca—”
“Why are we here?” Her cries come between shuddering coughs. “There’s nothing left for us. Sightseeing, foreign snacks, whatever other bullshit we come up with… what the hell does any of it mean? Why do we keep going?”
“You know damn well what the answer to that question is,” Ran barks, biting back her own tears. “There’s nobody left but each other. So I live for you, you live for me. That’s how it—”
“What if you disappear, too?”
The pit’s swallowed her whole, enveloping her with inky-black doubt.
“What would I do then?” Moca asks. “Without you, or Afterglow, or anyone… how could I keep going? Who would I have to live for then?”
Ran holds on tightly to Moca’s hands, feeling the corners of her eyes begin to sting. “Then you live for yourself, goddammit. Your life, your rules, your way.”
Moca laughs – it’s hoarse and dry and gut-wrenchingly pathetic. “Yeah… I-I guess it’d be easy for you, huh, Ran? You’ve always been able to blaze your own path forward, after all.”
Ran’s biting her lip so hard she can taste iron.
“But me… even now, I’m just following you. After everyone disappeared, you were the one who decided to travel. You were the one who wanted to go to America. You were the one who pushed ahead, even when you told me how hopeless and afraid you were.” Her hand reaches out to stroke Ran’s cheek. “I’m not like that. I can’t—”
“Moca.”
She knew she couldn’t keep it together for much longer. She knows there’s always a time where the feeling in her gut builds up so much that she just has to scream it out loud for everyone to hear.
“You think I can live without you?”
Moca’s hiccups slow.
“Whenever I’m away from you for even a minute, I feel the despair begin to claw from inside my ribcage like some sort of beast.” Ran’s voice, too, is wavering. “Whenever you crack jokes or goof off or tease me it distracts me from the horrible, awful feelings lurking in the back of my mind. And I… I need that. I can’t just get rid of them on my own. I can’t…”
Her thoughts crumble. But she can’t keep them down. She summons every last iota of her indefatigable willpower and keeps going.
“I-I’m scared too,” she mewls, bringing her moisture-slicked body even closer to Moca. “I have no idea what I’m doing ever, unlike you. I have no idea how to get anywhere, unlike you. If I were alone… I would have nothing. Less than nothing. Without Himari and Tomoe and Tsugumi here I already feel like I’m a quarter of a person. And I…” Her grip tightens. “I don’t want to become less than I already am.”
“Ran…”
“W-We can’t say whether we’ll be here tomorrow, or the next day, or the d-day after that,” Ran heaves, giving in to the flood of emotions pouring out of her. “That’s why we’ve gotta stick it out, together, for as long as we can. So don’t you dare give up on me, alright? Cuz if you do, I’ll… I’ll…”
She turns her head to bury her face into the pillow.
“I’ll never forgive you.”
What follows is what’s followed them for their past eternity in this world, nipping at the heels, coiling around their neck, voiceless in their ears:
Silence.
The touch of their wet, overheated hands melds together until they can’t discern where one of them ends and the other begins. Sobs come in waves, complementing and playing off one another in tandem. Breath hitches, and sputters, and loosens, until the two are left there in drained sorrow, staring at the ceiling with shared sentiments.
“…Sorry,” Moca finally says. “I… I’m tired. I let my feelings get the better of me.”
“’S fine.” Ran sniffs. “We… We just need to get some sleep.”
A tiny chuckle. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that anytime soon.”
Ran’s eyes pan to the instrument lying right beside her. “…I might be able to help with that.”
She slinks out of bed, her fingers slipping from Moca’s grasp with a marked hesitancy before moving towards her guitar. It’s the one thing she’s taken proper care of after all this time. Might as well make the most of it.
“Ran, I…”
“Shhhh.” Ran twangs a stray note. “I know just the right lullaby. Okay? Just… relax.”
Moca, for once in her life, listens.
With a deep breath, Ran launches into the chords.
C, A5, F. The sounds of a lonely, desperate heart in the dead of night, hoping for a single moment of comfort – of release. Her hands glide over the strings, strumming so softly that the vibration of the strings plucks at her own heart. And as the sounds echo into the night, the words come gentle and raw from her throat.
When you sleep
No one is homeless
When you sleep
You can't feel the hunger
When you sleep
No one is lonely in a dream
She feels her hand tighten around the frets.
Without classes
Without nations
Hiccups have all but disappeared from her lungs. Moca is quiet. Ran loses herself in the rhythm of her blues.
When you sleep
She's standing there with open arms
And one night
could last forever
And if you asked her
She'd never let go
Moca’s grinning face fills her mind, filled with warmth and pleasure and confidence.
And you'd stay forever
She can hear Moca’s guitar accompanying her. Despite the fact that it’s stored meters upon meters away in their jeep, and Moca’s lying in bed… it’s like the harmony’s right in her ear.
And the sun's always rising
In the sky somewhere
And if young hearts should explode
From all the lies they've been told
Let the new night bring you peace
She feels the tears and sweat mix on her face, spurring her fingers onward.
And the promise of tomorrow
The room – their world – is now sound and sound alone.
Where we can wake to a new beginning
Tomorrow I
'll all but have lost their faces
My friends and family
Memories of all we had
Pink, red, brown. Colors that tear holes in her soul.
And the times we should have lived
She has to stop herself for a brief moment
before continuing.
And tomorrow
the world we know just might fall apart
Tomorrow
tell me
Where will you wake up?
Beyond title, beyond these careers and laws
Something more
than borders on a map
Her shoulders slump. Her fingers can barely struggle to reach the proper notes. Bleariness tugs at her eyes as her voice dampens even further.
And the sun's always rising in the sky somewhere,
And if young hearts should explode
From all the lies they've been told
To live through one night like this
The last chord echoes across the walls of the room, accompanied by only the sound of Moca’s breathing. Light. Gentle. Snug.
Ran closes her eyes, barely able to muster the consciousness required to put her guitar to the side before crawling back into bed. Her eyes, adjusted to the dark, look into Moca’s sleeping face, pacified for this one night.
Ran smiles before huddling closely with her, so tight as to leave no room for doubt, no chance that they could be separated in their slumber.
And there, entwined with her beloved, right as sleep whisks her away, the song’s final lyrics fall like feathers from her lips.
I would trade it
for the silence.