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"kanata...san, i beg of you just this once, please heal my sister."
"is that 'your' wish? but why 'you' of all 'people'-"
"wishes, miracles— i don't care what you call it, you can grant those right? then grant mine and find a cure!"
"i... if that's what mikejima 'wants', then i'll do it."
*
if one were to ask ryusei blue what his fondest childhood memories were, his answer came easy— it was not of wishing granting but of that of his first hero. in what was once a perpetual lifetime of false idolatry, kanata’s sole grounding force was none other than his beloved festival man.
playing house, lending magazines, dismantling believers— madara gave him a chance to experience humanity at the priceless cost of his own. such acts went over his head for the longest of time, but the shinkai family could only shelter him for so long; with his newfound freedom, kanata swore to himself, that if madara were to ask him of anything, he'd repay his debt tenfold.
“my sister is in the hospital again, let’s pay her a visit and drop off some fruits.”
it wasn’t an invitation, neither was it a wish— it was a simple request to visit the other’s sibling, but kanata found it very hard to deliver. feeling anxious at thought of meeting with other people isn't something kanata often experiences, but meeting with the person you failed to save brings about a whole different type of tension. still, he’d failed madara once before, he won’t fail again.
just thinking about it made kanata’s grip on the fruits basket tighten, and the further they made it down the hallway, the tighter his grip got. the facility’s pristine condition did little to calm him, what with spotless windowpanes and unstained flooring only serving to agitate him even further. he doesn't exactly do well with images of heavenly perfection.
taking notice, madara tapped his hand twice— a gesture that usually stood for “i want to hold hands”— drawing kanata’s attention to the stinging sensation in his left palm. switching the fruits basket to hang over his right arm, kanata expects madara to link their hands and lead the way, and he does just that, but they end up at a nearby restroom rather than a hospital room, just to treat kanata’s hand.
“hmm, i do wonder... is kanata-san nervous?” madara queried with a cheeky grin, though his genuine concern seeped through the cracks as he soaked the other’s hand in cold tap water and foamy liquid soap. kanata lets out an affectionate huff, feeling more at ease as the sensation of water hit his aching hand.
“i am ‘not’ nervous, rogue. just hurry up before i ‘change’ my mind and go ‘back’ home,” the blue-haired man retored. despite laughing in response, it wasn’t hard to miss the wistful expression that graced madara’s features.
the two head back out soon enough, fingers finally intertwined as they walk further into the hallways.
before long, the two stopped in front of a particular wooden door labelled “Room 339: Mikejima”, and at that very moment, kanata wanted nothing more than to jump out the nearest window and run far, far away— madara's grip on his hand was firm, however, squeezing ever so slightly as a form of reassurance.
“if you’re thinking about what happened when we were kids, it wasn’t your fault— at the very least, i don’t blame you for it, and neither does she,” madara assured, rubbing a thumb on kanata’s wrist to soothe his nerves. the person in question opens his mouth in an attempt to rebuff, but decides against it, opting instead to hum in response.
as madara twisted the handle at a rate so painfully slowly, the two mumbled simultaneously, "please excuse us."
the door cracked open, and as kanata peaked in, his eyes met with a stunned pair of teal, boring holes into his soul.