Work Text:
When Ena saw Mizuki Akiyama on the guest list she braced herself to see her old… friend again.
“Friends” wasn’t really the right word to describe Nightcord at 25:00, but there isn’t a better word. They went through too much together to simply be acquaintances.
Ena spots MIzuki through the sparkling crowd and makes it two steps in the opposite direction before someone pulls her back.
“Ena! Don’t run away from a friend like that,” Airi says, dragging Ena back despite her sputtered protests. “Come, let me introduce you to MMJ’s concept designer. They’re brilliant—you’ll love them.”
Ena tries to tell Airi that she knows who their concept designer is—she was the one who gave them the recommendation, after all—but before she can get anything out she's standing in front of Mizuki and she forgets how to breathe.
It’s been 10 years since she last saw them. 9 years since their last meeting together on Nightcord, a graduation party before they all moved on to bigger and better things. 8 years since her first painting was sold to a bidder, and 7 years since she became an internationally recognized artist. The years all blur together after that.
Mizuki’s maintained their composure much better, pleasantly flushed in a frilled pink dress and clutching a full flute of champagne. They haven’t touched the thing. Ena suspects that they’re only using it as an accessory.
Airi introduces them but Ena can’t hear anything over the pounding of her heart, can hardly breathe through the room’s stifling atmosphere. They make the most useless small talk before Ena starts to suffocate, and walks outside to a nearby park bench.
The city is quiet, but her mind is not.
“It’s been a while,” Mizuki says, sitting next to Ena on the bench. She doesn’t respond, choosing instead to listen to their shared breathing.. “I’ve been doing lovely, thanks for asking.”
“Why didn’t you keep in contact?” Ena blurts. She refuses to look at Mizuki. They breathe in deeply, but Ena doesn’t hear them exhale.
“Not the right timing,” Mizuki responds, as if that answers anything. “I was busy with fashion school, and to be honest, I was still recovering from Nightcord.”
“Recovering?” Ena prompts, even though she knows exactly what they mean.
“Come on. You know Nightcord wasn’t an easy thing to do, not mentally. I couldn’t handle talking to Nightcord on top of school, not when I was just starting to enjoy going to classes.”
“I know. I’m happy for you.” Ena crosses her arms. Uncrosses them. She feels too awkward. “I’ll admit that Nightcord was hard. I don’t think we would have been able to keep going after high school.”
“Ah, Ena. Honest as always.” Mizuki teases. “Any other admissions?”
“Shouldn’t you go first? I’ve already said something embarrassing.”
“Fair enough.” Mizuki looks down between the cracks in the bench, hands gripping the edge far tighter than they should be. “I wanted you, when we were in Nightcord together. I wanted to tell you for a long time.”
Then they laugh, and it’s a bittersweet thing, nowhere near as sweet and infectious as the laughter from their teenage years. Ena fights the urge to flinch. Her mind spins.
“I wish I knew you wanted me,” Ena says. She doesn’t dare look at Mizuki’s face.
“Can I… can we try?” Mizuki asks. They’re not asking to try again, to start over, because both of them know that it’s much too late for that. Ena knows what they want. Mizuki wants to see what it would have been like, if they hadn’t been stupid and young and already burdened with the weight of life.
So Ena moves closer, because she’s also curious. She’s never been good at denying these things to herself. Mizuki’s eyes brighten with something a little too close to amusement.
They lean closer. Closer. Ena bites her tongue.
Mizuki’s mouth is bitter candy and lost promises, and Ena can’t get enough. She crowds closer, closer still, desperately seeking Mizuki’s body heat in the biting winter cold. Her fingers wrap around Mizuki’s face. They lean closer, the taste of their mouth sour in Ena’s throat. Mizuki presses their tongue into Ena’s mouth and gently, lovingly, she bites down, hard enough to taste the metallic sting of blood.
Mizuki pulls back. They’re both panting lightly, breath rising in pale white puffs up to the grey sky. Ena follows her breath up to look away, pressing her tears back into her eyes.
She looks back at Mizuki. They’re staring, a little bit, lost in thought. Ena doesn’t press any further. She has the feeling that she’s not allowed to anymore.
A bright peal of laughter rings through the air, and then they’re both laughing, neither of them sure who started it. And then Ena is 16 again, having the time of her life in the dead of night, surrounded by people who are not quite her friends, people who know just enough about her that it makes her uncomfortable.
“That was awful,” Mizuki says, wiping away tears from how hard they’re laughing. Ena wipes hers away as well. She’s already forgotten whether they were tears of pain or joy. “Truly awful. I thought people were supposed to get better at kissing as they aged.”
“It’s not like I went around kissing people at random,” Ena snaps, falling easily into this familiar rhythm.
It’s like forcing your feet into an old pair of shoes that no longer fits, Ena thinks. Sure, Mizuki’s incessant teasing and her sharp retorts are warmly familiar, bringing back the biting cold of nostalgia, but it’s a little wrong, slightly out of place. They’re older and they’re different, new lines around their eyes, a new weight on their shoulders, new experiences stored in their hearts.
Ena knows it’s selfish to try, but still she pushes harder, fighting for this liminal space where Mizuki and her are teenagers again, laughing their heads off, hearts out for the world to see.
Mizuki falls silent, gaze dropping to their gloved hands. Ena’s about to suggest that they go inside, but—
“I think I was in love with you,” They pause. Tilt their chin toward the sky. “When we were teenagers, I mean.”
“I know,” Ena says. “I know.”
“But it was all these things, you know, Mafuyu’s SEKAI and Kanade’s dad, your dad, my entire—” They sniffle. Ena doesn’t think it’s due to the cold. “My entire life, I just wanted someone to love me as I am. And I thought that with Nightcord, I had finally found my people, the people I wanted. K never really said anything about my identity to me, and Mafuyu was too caught up in her own identity issues to care at all, but I thought I struck gold with you.”
Something is slightly off-putting about the way Mizuki talks about Nightcord. Ena exhales and motions for Mizuki to keep going.
“I mean, there you were, smart and beautiful and so determined to do something with yourself, with what you had. I was almost a little jealous. And then somewhere along the way, that jealousy mixed with admiration and then I was stuck loving you.”
“Stuck?” Ena asks, her voice tight and too small for her chest. “What do you mean, stuck? You act like it’s a bad thing. Am I truly so unlovable?”
“Ena, you know that’s not what I meant—”
“Isn’t it? I was so coarse and insecure and then you fell in love with me anyway, and then 10 years later here you are, lamenting the fact that you fell in love with ugly old me.”
“That’s not what I meant! God, can’t you ever listen to me and not get so caught up in yourself? You’re so fucking selfish, you know that?”
Then Ena can see it, how things would be if they were still in love with each other. After years, they would grate on each other’s edges, because Nightcord was never meant to be a permanent solution to the deep sense of loss all of them had been facing. And Mizuki and Ena would have followed the same ending, pushing and pulling each other around until they both snapped.
Ena can see the future Mizuki was trying to see, can see how mean they are to each other, how their fights become more and more frequent until the walls crumble with the force of slammed doors. It hurts, badly, and then Ena is glad that Nightcord fell apart, because the other ending would have been a thousand times more painful.
She sits down on the bench, suddenly too tired to say anything. Mizuki takes the spot next to her.
It’s not worth apologising. After today, they’ll probably never see each other again.
Maybe Mizuki will spot pictures of Ena’s paintings in the news, cut out pictures of them and hang them up in their house. Maybe Ena will still listen to the music that Mizuki works on, watch some of the music videos that they design.
Or maybe not.
She hopes not, because it’s better that they forget each other.
“You’ll miss me,” Mizuki asks, not really a question.
“No, I won’t.” Ena breathes, pressing her fingertips into her kneecaps.
“No, you won’t.”
They both stand up, walking back towards the event centre. Their heels click sharply against the rough concrete. Ena stops Mizuki at the entrance.
“It’s better if we forget.” Ena says. Mizuki doesn’t need to ask, forget about what? and Ena doesn’t say anything else. They both understand all too well.
Mizuki and Ena turn their backs to each other and disappear into the crowd.