Chapter Text
Homura took a sip of her hot chocolate, setting it down on the tray in front of her.
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“No!” A scream of agony.
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She took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling of the café. What… What was she supposed to do?
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“Madoka! Stop, don’t—“
“It’s okay, Homura. I want to help you.”
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She put her head in her hands.
How many times had it been? Thirty? Fifty? She had stopped keeping track of the repetitions when she realized it wasn’t really worth wasting her energy. She needed to focus on improving her skills to defeat the Walpurgis Night.
Alone.
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“It’s okay, Homura! I know you said that wishing isn’t good, but it was worth it to help you.”
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Why, why, why! Why did Madoka have to be so helpful? Why did she put herself in harm’s way every time, just to protect others? People she barely knew.
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Homura knew. She knew that each time she restarted the timeline she was around Madoka less and less.
In the beginning, they had spent so much time together. Kyoko, Sayako, Mami, Madoka… Homura still couldn’t believe that Madoka had saved her, but she knew that they had grown so close over that time. She had grown close to Madoka many times…
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It was getting harder. Trying to balance defeating the witches, training for Walpurgis Night, and keeping Madoka from contracting with Kyubey. She was stuck. This was her fate, and she was resigned to it. If it meant saving Madoka, she would relive every day for a century. But… But was it so selfish of her to want some of that time to be spent with the person she was protecting?
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Homura ordered a hot chocolate, and the cashier noted that it was a bit out of season for that.
“I know.”
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She was getting farther and farther from the Madoka she knew. Each time she went back, she could feel her bond weaken, and that was the most painful part. The strong, confident girl that Homura fell for was disappearing and being replaced with someone who believed herself to be weak.
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She knew, too, that it was her fault. Madoka was getting weaker because Homura was preventing her from growing strong in battle.
Even still, to protect her, it was worth it.
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How many times had she come here, ordered the same drink, and thought thoughts that, while not the same, were similar enough to blend into one another like the whipped cream melting into her hot chocolate? She didn’t know.
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Homura was getting colder, cooler, and stronger. She had done this so many times. Yet it still wasn’t enough to save Madoka. She had grown so much without ageing a day, but it didn't change a thing.
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She often felt hopeless. Looking back on the things only she remembered. The conversations she’s had that no longer exist. It can get to be too much.
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“Oh, hello Homura! It’s nice to meet you.”
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But, even in those moments, when she knows that Madoka will never see her the way she sees Madoka, and that her feelings have grown to an unreciprocatable degree, she can take comfort in the crinkle around Madoka's eyes, and the soft reverberation of her laughter.
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Homura placed her cup on the return table, and watched it slide away back into the kitchen to be washed and used again.
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Though she might feel hopeless, she has not lost hope.