Archive of Our Own

Shu knows where he is before he even opens his eyes, and instantly, dread stabs into the pit of his stomach like shattered glass. 

He knows, because he knows every one of his stage outfits down to each careful stitch, and can easily tell the difference between them on the feeling alone.  Because he knows the dance his feet follow, muscle memory perfected down to the millisecond and moving smoothly through his sudden mental freeze. Because he knows the heat bearing down from above and burrowing into the layers of cloth, dying suns bottled in metal lanterns.

Because he knows this song.

Shu opens his eyes, and his dread worsens to glass daggers piercing his gut, pushing spiralling nausea up his throat, as his sight affirms what he was already aware of. 

Before him is the familiar interior of one of Yumenosaki Academy's performance halls, the rows upon rows of seats filled with a faceless, vapid audience beyond the glare of the stage lights. Right at the edge of his vision stands Nazuna, positioned centre stage like a prized ornamental doll in a glass case, and a swift glance further reveals Mika to the side, half-cloaked in shadow.

It is impossible. He should not be back here, he doesn't want to be back here, and yet equally, the performance comes to him as naturally as breathing, a warm nostalgia filling the air like poison.

He sings his parts without difficulty, the words long since embedded into his brain like a curse of his own making, and finds that everything is perfect, running smoothly like oiled clockwork. He cannot find a single fault in his unitmates' movements, though he does internally startle at the realisation he was actively searching for one, eyes flicking to the indistinct masses of the audience with a pang of shame. He doesn't want to do that to this degree, not anymore, not anymore , but it feels so natural here, in this relic of the past.

Here, where it is all perfect, and the monster deep within him purrs with the satisfaction of a god standing atop the world, pleasure found in the seat of a throne long stolen.

Though, to call it a monster is misleading in its own right. The monster is him, and he is the monster - it is a part of him he wishes he could dispose of and clings to all the same. It is his pride, his mistakes and his regrets, ugly and stubborn and, above all, human.

The song ends perfectly, just as it began, and Shu turns his back on the audience without a hint of hesitation, sick and satisfied—

–with his needlework, Shu glances up to find Mika seated on the other side of the Handicrafts Club room.

He is working on some sort of shirt, an obviously poor imitation of Shu's own work, with rapt focus. The tip of his tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth, and he is slightly hunched forward, hair falling to curtain his face.

From a distance, Shu inspects Mika's progress, and finds himself detachedly proud of him, knowing how he will improve and grow in the future. Even now, with his lack of experience in mind, his ability and determination is admirable, and the early beginnings of Mika's unique style can be seen shining through.

But that part of himself Shu could never fully be rid of disagrees adamantly, clawing at the gaps in his ribcage with a ferocity waiting to be freed.

"You're ruining that poor shirt. The stitching is unsightly." His voice cuts through the companionable silence like a knife, and Shu is surprised by the words himself, because he hadn't even been thinking them in the first place. His surprise doesn't stop their flow though, steady and airy as if it was a mere offhand comment. "If you insist on sewing, you should at least make an effort not to make a fool of yourself - though, of course, I know that is a hard task for you."

Mika jumps at his sudden commentary, accidentally pricking his finger fiercely as his hand jolts, a noise of alarm caught in his throat. Shu flinches as a bead of blood swells from the puncture, but Mika doesn't seem to notice, both of his eyes flying up to focus dutifully on Shu. He blinks for a moment as he takes in what he said, before closing his eyes with a sheepish smile.

"Mnn, well, it's nowhere near as good as Oshi-san's stitchin', that's fer sure. But I ain't gonna get any better if I don't practise, ain't that right? Even the hard stuff…" He says, looking a tad embarrassed with the sudden attention on him, before opening eyes glazed with something akin to hope. "Maybe…maybe you can help me get m'head around all this, Oshi-san? That way, I could help you with the outfits one o' these days!"

Shu's attention, however, still remains on Mika's pricked finger, an echo of horror rippling through him at the amount of blood he is losing. It is far more than should be possible from a single needle, Shu knew from experience. And yet, in the span of a minute, a stream of crimson has begun to streak down Mika's finger, blooming grotesque roses across the perfect white of the shirt Mika had been working on.

Shu wants to get up and reach for his hand, to bandage it and press a kiss to the pad of his injured finger - at the very least, he wants Mika to realise his own bleeding and take care of himself. His concern only grows as the blood seeps further into the fabric, and yet, his body remains in his seat, heavy and unmoving like stone, so he opens his mouth to express his worry verbally.

A scoff escapes his lips instead.

"Don't be ridiculous, Kagehira. I'm far too busy as it is, especially with the recent stirring of the insects." He declares, close to mocking, as he picks up his own work again with a slight tremor in his finger. He does not recognise the outfit he is working on at all, the details blurring together into an incomprehensible mess, which is only further proof that something is wrong, because these may be his own words but he has not chosen to speak them. "Your attempts to help would only make things more troublesome for me, anyway. Don't concern yourself with things beyond you. All I need from you—"

"–failure!" Shu huffs, pausing the backing track and turning expectantly towards Mika, head spinning at his own swift movement. "What on earth was that supposed to be?"

He feels tired, muscles aching familiarly, and Mika looks much the same, standing awkwardly in the middle of the training room. To the side is Nazuna, watching the exchange carefully while maintaining his practised silence with slightly pursed lips.

Mika ducks his head downwards in apology, and the motion directs Shu's attention to the way blood is dripping from his finger to the floor, forming a small puddle that neither of the other two seem to pay heed. Mika responds instead, partly mumbled. "'m sorry, Oshi-san. Must've gotten distracted for a sec."

Shu stares at him for a moment, before shaking his head with a suffering sigh, bringing a hand up to his forehead, all an act of rehearsed muscle memory. "Your raw ability to dance is one of the very few reasons I decided to invite you into Valkyrie." He reminds him in a chiding tone, eyes narrowed. The words fall easily from his lips like water, moving smoothly past the ball of discomfort in his throat and against his will. "But if you can't even manage a routine like this, then you really are good for nothing, aren't you? I certainly have no room on my stage for a doll who can't dance to a tune correctly."

The worst thing about everything he's saying, Shu thinks, is that beneath the uncomfortable crawling of his own skin, he cannot feel an ounce of malice within him. He isn't saying this to be hurtful, he's simply saying it, a simple fact in the way he views his world fuelled by frustration, and it feels arguably worse. 

Shu knows that, even as early as now, or then, he will not remove Mika from Valkyrie even if he does, for some reason or other, forbid him from the stage for a period of time. He covets pieces of art, and even though he does not act like it, he still considers Mika one. Mika does not know this, however, and Shu watches with no little amount of guilt as a flash of fear swallows his pupils.

"Aaugh, I really am sorry!" Mika insists desperately, pouting as he glares down at his feet like they offended him. The small blood puddle at his feet sinks into the dark leather of his dance shoes, but he does nothing to acknowledge its existence. It makes Shu grimace, though the feeling of Nazuna's gaze on the back of his neck does him no favours. "It's just that one li'l bit that keeps trippin' me up, but I'll get it down in no time!" He looks back up at Shu, half pleading and half determined, clenching his hands into fists. "I promise ya, 'm all focused now! I'll be—"

"–perfect as always, my precious Nito!" Shu coos, hands fluttering around the boy in question before finally settling to fix his collar. He blinks, pausing in his ministrations as he forcefully steals a moment to orient himself.

They are backstage, no doubt preparing to go on for a show. Nazuna is before him, his beauty shamefully muddied by the dim lighting, but no less apparent. There is something soothing in seeing him dressed like this once more, in the same way there is something utterly heart wrenching. Shu has already painfully accepted he has lost him, and he has no real urge to try to get him back, more than happy for him and his future with his adopted rabbits, but that does not dismiss the sense of longing that persists in his ribcage in the same way the puppeteer does. 

He is shaken from his thoughts with a small cough from Nazuna, who looks at him inquisitively. Right.

Shu releases Nazuna's collar, but instead of pulling away, his hands travel upwards to cup his jaw with both hands. Nazuna presses his lips together, but allows him to do as he pleases, which involves tilting his head higher to get a better look at his face.

"My apologies, I couldn't help but admire you for a little longer." A smile tugs at Shu's lips, voice melodic like a lullaby, and Nazuna looks distinctly resigned. Shu is sure his spiel would have continued if he hadn't caught the sound of shuffling off to the side, clothes shifting and a boot tap, tap, tapping away. 

His exhale is heavy with annoyance as he withdraws from Nazuna entirely and turns on his heel to cast his full attention onto Mika, who is fidgeting anxiously nearby, as he has a tendency to do when instructed to stay still.

It is at this point that Shu recognises that he is not in full control of his body. His actions look natural, but he feels like he is being pulled along by strings, and the irony is not lost on him. He is both the puppet and the puppeteer, his past pulling the strings of his future, and it is infuriating because he knows, instinctively, he can't blame anyone but himself.

Even more infuriating than the lack of control over his actions is the old words being put in his mouth, because a breath later he sharply reprimands. "How many times must I tell you to stay still until it gets through your thick skull? Especially here, where anyone will be able to see you acting improperly if they were to take the wrong door. Valkyrie has a reputation to uphold. If you continue to be an active detriment to it, then we do not need you."

Mika freezes instantly, eyes darting around as he apologises yet again. There is a pool of blood at his feet again too, larger and only continuing to grow, though with his arms tucked behind his back, Shu can't tell if the source is still his finger. Maybe it isn't, because he notices, with a wayward glance, that a similar pool of blood surrounds Nazuna's feet as well.

There is a distant but mounting horror, building slowly in his chest, and Shu doesn't know what to do. It doesn't matter, because the words are fished out of his stomach for him, dragged to his tongue with a puff of a sigh.

"You are as defective as always, Kagehira." He muses, appraising Mika's appearance before adding, with a smile not nearly as sweet as the one he gave Nazuna but not wholly disingenuous either. "Truly, you're lucky you were gifted with such a pleasant appearance, otherwise you would be completely useless."

And Mika, despite everything, visibly softens at the edges of his features, eyes adopting a shine that should not have been delivered by such a harsh backhanded compliment.

Shu recoils at the sight, nausea brushing in once more in a great wave, because he has always known Mika was like this, but it feels far more troubling to experience directly here and now.

He finds relief in the fact that they are called for their show before Mika can find a reply, and with his head held high and bloody footsteps left in their wake, he leads Mika and Nazuna—

–onto the stage.

They are in a nondescript room, and it is gradually filling with water. Shu does not need to look to know this, because he can feel the growing dampness in his shoes.

As if that wasn't bad enough, he is also surrounded by crowds of faceless masses in gaudy costumes on all sides. They buzz with an animal kind of anxiety, an anxiety that comes from fear of impending death, and Shu feels immeasurably uncomfortable, stuck right in the middle. There is a veil of disgust draping heavy on his shoulders at the mere thought of being lumped in with these brainless fools.

Though, to say he is exempt from that instinctual fear would be a bold faced lie. He hides it with a well worn bravado, but it runs through his blood like electricity, perhaps even stronger than anyone else because he has more to lose. 

He hasn't completed his masterpiece yet, and at the very least, he is not dying before then.  

There is slight comfort in the presence of Nazuna and Mika on either side, their shoulders pressed against his own due to the lack of space. Unlike the rest of the crowd, they are still and silent, and both watch him out of the corner of their eyes, as if waiting for a cue. 

Shu does not fully understand the situation they find themselves in. He does, however, know that he cannot stand to be lost in this crowd for another second. He does not belong in this pit with everyone else, panicking and clawing upwards, because he is meant to be the pinnacle .

So, with the determination of an obstinate king, he catches Nazuna's hand in his right and Mika's wrist in his left and marches his way through the crowd—

–onto the stage.

They are in a nondescript room, and the water level is up to their hips and rising. Shu's clothes are soaked and weighing him down terribly, but he ignores that, keeping a steady hold on Nazuna's hand and Mika's wrist respectively. Trails of blood stain the water surrounding both of them, but neither seem actively injured, so Shu passes a blind eye over it.

There is a violent splashing behind them, and Shu glances over his shoulder. The floor seems to slope downwards the further it goes, causing the water level to be significantly more treacherous behind them, where it is deeper. Similarly, the longer the water stretches for, the murkier it looks, dark and mingled with dirt. 

The splashing comes from the desperation of several dozen people drowning, some flapping their arms in panic while others seemingly give up and sink silently into the depths. They reach towards him, as if trying to catch the light at the end of a tunnel.

Shu stares at them dispassionately, but does nothing to try and help. It serves them right, he thinks, with an ugly hint of bitterness. 

He turns his attention back to the coming horizon, to the exit, to victory, and finds himself much calmer than before. It is a false sort of calm, one that heralds a storm that Shu refuses to look at properly, but it certainly helps that the crowd has thinned, no longer pressing in around him.

Or perhaps it is the work of the air in the room, which is thin and leaves Shu feeling breathless and heady, but calm. Whatever it is, Shu appreciates it, tightening his grip on Nazuna and Mika to the point of bruising and pushing forward—

–onto the stage.

They are in a nondescript room, and it is almost entirely filled with water. Shu holds a sliver of a breath in his tight chest, suspended in a murky blue and sinking deeper, encouraged by the weights chained to his feet.

He looks downwards. There is no floor. There is only the hungry maw of the depths, water growing thicker and dirtier until it coalesces with mud and sludge at the farflung bottom. Corpses pile up there, gaunt and unrecognisable and dressed in the tatters of gaudy costumes.

Shu is struck with a stark, icy panic, and looks up to find Mika and Nazuna floating just above him. Blood clouds the water around them, quickly dying the rest of the room red, but through the haze of colour, Shu sees them. They are both pale, teetering on the edge of unhealthy, and Shu is concerned but cannot seem to properly grasp the emotion despite his attempts to. 

He is holding onto their ankles, one in each hand, and he notices that they are very close to the surface of the water. Blood continues to saturate his vision, and Shu knows that if nothing is done, there is only a matter of time before he drowns. 

"Pull!" He orders harshly, the word bursting out of his chest with a flurry of bubbles along with his gasp of air as his expression pinches in anger. Bloody water rushes into his mouth, and he tastes faint iron, but it doesn't matter because the other two must have heard his command through the distortion of the water, somehow. They pull him—

– onto the stage –

–that Shu has meticulously crafted himself to find golden blades hanging above their heads.

There is no music, and the silence is suffocatingly heavy. Slowly, a discordant ringing begins to filter in, and Shu is overwhelmed with a surge of sheer, raw terror .

It is not caused by the situation itself, really. Of course, the ruin brought upon his perfect performance is mortifying too, but ultimately something he can recover from quickly enough. 

No, the issue is that he remembers what comes after this, with a sudden shocking clarity he hasn't regarded it with since these things happened. He can live through them once, but to live through them again?

Shu glances at the rest of the stage, where Nazuna and Mika sing a discordant attempt at filling the silence, and this is where he should join in again, but he doesn't. They are both dripping water and blood, and his heart hammers in his chest with alarm.

He looks past the glare of the stage lights to find the same rows upon rows of audience. They are not quite faceless anymore, though the only notable thing about them are their eyes, not admiring the sight before them but merely seeing. They are restless and unimpressed, and while Shu doesn't care for their opinions, their gazes taking in his weakness makes him itch.

And then, at the back of the audience, he finds the figure of Tenshouin Eichi. He stands by the exit with his arms folded like a spectre of death, and when Shu makes the mistake of catching his eye, he gives him a sly smile.

Shu balls his hands into fists, breath hitching, and he—

–can't understand what he's saying. 

Shu is in the dark of the backstage area, and Eichi is in front of him, smug and lofty. In the dim lighting, his features exaggerate and twist, something demonic peeking out behind his otherwise angelic looks. He is saying something in a hushed, taunting whisper, and Shu does not know what it is.

He knows that this is a tipping point, that it devastated him, but knowing that does not make the blur of static spilling from Eichi's lips sound any clearer. 

It doesn't matter, anyway, because the end result is mostly the same. Shu's body knows how to play this part; his knees suddenly grow weak and his vision blurs with lightheadedness. He does not collapse, not in front of this bastard , or at least he tries not to, holding himself up by strings and spite alone.

Unfortunately, Eichi does not immediately leave, like he is supposed to. Instead, he brandishes one of the blades that had been hung above their execution stage, the golden edge holding a sinister gleam.

Shu stares at him through wild eyes, but he says nothing, because one can't be surprised when they witness evilness from the devil. Eichi smiles, a thing that would look polite if it wasn't for the circumstance, and with a flash of light, the blade pierces through Shu's chest and he chokes on his own pride.

He is in his room in his family home, and it is full of water. There are no windows to let in light, so Shu only knows this by the dark silhouettes of the furniture.  

He is curled up in the corner, holding a blanket around him that is sticky and heavy around him like a second skin. His mind is foggy with the lack of oxygen, an agonising ache in his lungs and heart, but all he can think about is the stark emptiness in his arms where Mademoiselle should be, but is not.

He thinks, a little hysterically, that it is for the best. Her dress would be absolutely destroyed in this water.

Shu is submerged, and he has been for a while now, he believes. Time is strange, both too long and too short, when one is in the middle of drowning. He could try to swim upwards and break the surface, but it seems like a waste of effort. 

He doesn't need to check to know the water level goes right up to the ceiling, blocking out any traces of air. There isn't anything left for him up there anyway, now that his lovingly made world has crumbled like a sandcastle in sea waves.

Shu closes his eyes, the feeling of suffocation awful and familiar as his mind swims. If his dreamed masterpiece is unattainable, then he wants to be left to crystallise like those books at the bottom of the ocean, beauty preserved in sea salt and displayed as an artistic treasure. That would be a comforting enough ending for him.

It was, at least, but it isn't anymore. The idea feels like cold fingers digging into his skull, terribly invasive, but an old part of him yearns for it in an idealistic, romantic way. Shu cannot open his eyes either way, sealed shut with exhaustion, so he doesn't, immersed in silence so thick it feels muffled.

Until, suddenly, there is a hesitant creak of hinges rippling through the flooded room, and that is enough to give Shu the strength to force his eyes open as the sound of rushing water bursts clearly past his ears. 

His gasp is instinctual as the water level suddenly drops past his shoulders, sharp and relieving as he cannot help the way his body greedily sucks in air. He hunches forward, grip on his blanket tightening as a few wet coughs tumble past his lips, halfheartedly bringing a corner up to cover his weakness. 

Once steady, Shu's attention darts upwards to rest on the open door in front of him, where the tail end of the water drains out. It is hard to look at anything else, with the bright white light spilling in from it and stretching to lap at the edges of Shu's curled form. It illuminates an organised whirlwind, the soaked remains of design ideas and fabric and thread strewn across the floor, half dragged out by the outward flood. 

But most importantly, it illuminates the lines of Mika's figure in the doorway, an image Shu knows as well as the back of his own hand.

"Oshi-san, I'm back!" Mika whispers, though it can hardly count as a whisper in a silent room, stepping further inside with a slightly lopsided smile and a tray of tea and other tidbits Shu doesn't bother to identify. He is too distracted by how the light from the doorway makes him glow like a gift from the heavens. 

Shu's eyes adjust to the stark shift in lighting, and as it does, he notices Mika's state. He is pale as a sheet, sleepy black feathers smudged beneath his jewelled eyes. There is no more blood around him, because it has already been drained from his body, leaving him thin and inhuman. The ache in Shu's heart only worsens, festering and withering in his chest, because it is no secret that this is partly, mostly his fault.

And yet, Mika still looks at him with eyes full of clumsy, unshaking care, and Shu appreciates it as much as he can't stand it.

Mika walks forward carefully, squinting slightly, and Shu wants to get up and take the tray from him, offer his arm, but his limbs are filled with lead and tied to the ground. He watches him narrowly avoid tripping over his own feet and the odds and ends that litter the floor with a small wince. 

"Nngh, 's kinda dark in here, ain't it? I can hardly see a thing!" Mika comments with a nervous chuckle after nearly tripping over a table leg, setting the tray down before anything more disastrous can happen. "Spending a lil' time with Sun-san every day can be good for ya, yanno? Here, lemme open the curtains for ya."

He hurries over to windows that had not existed before he arrived with a stumble in his step, and Shu turns his head to watch him closely as he does. Even witnessing this devotion a second time over, he finds himself a little awed by his dedication, knowing this is not the first or last time Mika has done this dance.

Shu's hands drop to his lap to find Mademoiselle, who is still not there. It is a great shame, because he knows she would have said something to acknowledge Mika by now when Shu cannot. It feels even more pitiful, hearing Mika's one-sided commentary without her little quips. 

Mika grabs the thick red curtains in both hands, pushing them open. More light rolls in, brilliant and blinding and forcing Shu to squint—

–at the person in front of him, blinking white spots out of the corners of his vision as he raises his head from where he stands at the front of an empty auditorium.

Nazuna stands with perfect posture, hands folded neatly in front of him and chin raised just so. He is wearing the classic Valkyrie outfit of the past, the red fabric accentuating the blood that stains the inner curve of his lips, bright against pale porcelain skin. His eyes shine like marbles as he looks down at him from the stage, golden strings glittering in and out of view of the stage lights. 

"Is this what you wanted?" Nazuna asks, blood trailing out of the corners of his mouth. His voice is high and perfect, lacking the lisp and fumble that it often holds, but Shu can't appreciate it in the slightest when he notices, with a lurch of his heart, that Nazuna seems to be missing his tongue.

"Nito, what happened to you?!" Shu cries, horrified, but when he tries to jump onto the stage to look closer or offer help, he is held back with an abrupt jerk. He whips around to snap at whichever idiot had the gall to hold him back in the face of this obvious emergency, only to find nobody there. His hindrance, instead, is the loose threads of his clothing anchoring him to the nearest seats with an ungodly amount of strength. 

The fact that he has loose threads on his clothes is enough to make him near faint with outrage, let alone the fact that such a major mistake is physically holding him back, so naturally he tries to pull himself away, but to no avail. He is caught in place like a fly in a web. 

Nazuna remains unwavering in the face of Shu's struggle, expression still as stone. "Answer my question, Oshi-san." He insists steadily as Shu turns back to him, frazzled and confused. The title sounds somewhat strange in Nazuna's mouth now, even though it originated there. "Is this what you wanted?"

Shu's words spill immediately, unbidden, though this time caused by his own carelessness instead of an external force. "Of course not-!"

"Don't lie to me." Nazuna cuts him off, but despite the harsh words, his voice is gentle and level. He cocks his head, the movement stiff and unnatural. "If this isn't what you wanted, then why did you do this to me?"

Shu wants to argue that he didn't do such a thing, that he never would, but his fingers twitch and he is suddenly very aware of the cold feeling of blood on his hands, so the words end up sticking to the back of his throat in a clump. He takes a deep, unsteady breath as Nazuna continues to stare with unblinking eye contact.

Why did I do this?

He is responsible for this situation, though he doesn't quite know how. Perhaps this is a look through a distorted mirror, a snapshot into a parallel future he can no longer have. Perhaps this is the sin of his past mistakes given form - whatever it is ultimately doesn't matter, because Shu replies anyway, quieter with an edge of uncertainty.

"Because I thought it was for the best." Then, even quieter but more sure of himself. "Because I loved you."

Because that is what most of his mistakes surrounding Valkyrie boil down to. The way Shu loves is passionately; intense to the point of smothering. As an artist, the greatest show of love he can give is to capture and preserve, forevermore, and it would do no good to preserve anything less than perfection. So he manages meticulously with no compromise, all in the hopes of a final mythical gift at the end; the proof of his love echoing through eternity.

Nazuna does not soften at that declaration, nor does he bristle. He remains as he was, impassive like a marble statue, and it is almost comical how much Shu hates it, after chasing after this ideal for so long. It is different now, after seeing Nazuna glow upon a stage that was not his own, spun from candy floss and children's dreams. Cast in a new light, it only seems ill-fitting.

There is a long silence before Nazuna responds.

"Have you ever heard," He says, with a tiny bitter twist to the corner of his lips that is the most human thing he has done throughout this entire exchange, "that to love something is to let it go?"

Shu smiles, something equally bittersweet, and—

–the golden puppet with frayed, useless strings pleads, his new soul thrumming with warmth and light in his chest, "Cut your strings, little brother. Do you truly want to be weighed down by a puppet master forever, let alone one as broken as he?"

The worn patchwork doll with mismatched button eyes frowns, and though his strings remain strong, he moves of his own accord as he snaps, driven by emotional unrest, "He's not broken! And even if he was, is that such a big sin?"

Shu watches this play, almost unseeing. He is disoriented, a fear he knew was waiting to come true finally being fulfilled, and worst of all, he wasn't able to keep the patchwork doll out of it. He brings his arms up to cradle the empty space where he is sure Mademoiselle is supposed to be, and notices the matching strings around his fingers, waiting to be pulled.

He doesn't plan to, but the patchwork doll is getting worked up and Shu does not want these two to hurt each other any further, least of all for his sake. His fingers twitch in indecision, before curling with stern intent as he—

–rubs circles into Mika's bony wrist, subtly loosening the golden strings that dig into his skin, shimmering in and out of view, before smoothly moving on to massage the joints of his fingers. They feel stiff with rigor mortis, and Shu is painfully reminded of the colour still lacking from Mika's cheeks.

"You're bein' real thorough today, huh, Oshi-san?" Mika giggles, though he remains obediently still, visibly content with the treatment. He closes his eyes, head lolling to the side just slightly as he hums. "Dunno why, though. Ain't got a show today or nothin'."

Because, in Shu's relative absence, Mika has worn himself ragged and it is Shu's responsibility to take care of him. Because, in this new light and world that has been gifted to Shu, he cannot bear to see Mika like this anymore, and feels the need to guide him to the best solution he can think of. Maybe not as an owner and a doll, but as a future partner in art. 

Shu can't admit that verbally, though. The confession is locked behind his teeth, unwilling to come out. Besides, neither of them can bear to hear it yet. It is enough of a comfort to know, with certainty, that it will be said, one day.

Things get better from here. It will be fine. Shu's mouth moves on its own, but it is far less irritating with that comfort in mind. 

"We haven't done this in a while. I have to fix the damage you've done while I was preoccupied." It is spoken half towards himself rather than Mika, Shu knows this, but Mika doesn't notice. Shu sighs, smoothing a hand down Mika's arm and idly fixing his sleeve. "Can't you maintain yourself without my guidance at all? You had no issue fussing over me without my say."

He reaches for Mika's other arm, and Mika gladly complies, setting it into his grasp without batting an eye. Shu usually starts from the shoulder and goes down, but the strings taunt him at the edge of his vision, so he starts by massaging his wrist first, carefully tugging the knot free. 

"Well, I try ma best, but it's a whooole lot easier takin' care of you 'nd the kids back home than it is myself.  That's why 'm yer doll, ain't I?" Mika says cheerfully with a silly little grin, raising his free hand to knock the side of his head. "I've got no brains up here, so ya gotta do the hard thinkin' for me."

The strings suddenly tighten around his wrist again, seemingly of their own accord, and Shu narrowly avoids getting his fingers caught. They dig stubbornly into cold skin, and Shu can see them cut through flesh, even though no blood swells to the surface. 

He has to remind himself that this was always a slow development, but it almost physically hurts, seeing a visual representation of that. 

Shu tries to say something, or point out the inconsistency in Mika's statement, but his lips stick together so he silently moves to work the stiffness out of Mika's fingers instead. It's only this frustrating because he has seen the end result of all this already.

Things get better from here, he reminds himself again. It will be fine. Eventually, Mika will grow into his own as a human and an artist. He has to believe that to be true.

The person in front of him isn't a person at all.

This is an unshakeable fact of this fuzzy universe, yet Shu rejects it wholeheartedly because the person in front of him, more importantly, is Mika .

He is draped over a chaise lounge, limp and positioned carefully, and he wears an outfit that is undeniably Shu's own handiwork, the flowy fabric fanning around him like waves of wine. His expression is picturesque, relaxed with closed eyes brushing lashes across his cheekbones and lips barely parted. Even his hair, wild though it may appear, has clearly been arranged in the way it splays across the cushions.

He looks perfect. He looks dead.

Panic stirs at the thought, and Shu rushes towards him with far less grace than he would like to admit, taking Mika's fragile wrist in hand to press his thumb into his pulse. It is an action meant to quickly reassure himself, but it only makes his panic fester and worsen, because no matter where he shifts his thumb to, he cannot find his pulse. 

He falls to his knees, and he isn't quite sure if it is out of weakness or to get closer, leaning over to search frantically for the pulse point on Mika's neck. His skin gives way, soft to an almost suspicious degree, but Shu can barely notice that when he still can't find a pulse.

Curled protectively over Mika's body with a shaking hand at his throat, Shu wonders how he hasn't fainted yet. He is certainly lightheaded, and yet he remains tethered to this hell, forced to stare at Mika's slack features. He strokes his thumb tenderly along the edge of his jaw as he wonders, as an afterthought, why he can't seem to cry when it feels like his heart has been torn out.

Slowly, as if coaxed by something, his gaze drops towards a wound he is sure wasn't there before but must have been, marring the snapshot of perfection by tearing through Mika's chest. There is no blood - instead, dark red cotton spills out of the wound, along with fabric scraps depicting dreams and ideas Mika had kept within him that were never brought to fruition. 

On second thought, perhaps blood might be easier to stomach than that. At least it would prove Shu right for realising Mika was human.

Shu would mourn the proof of a creative soul nursing prospective artworks stifled by his own hand, if he was in the right mind to. He is not, however, and rather than mourn, he finds himself awash with a desperate sort of determination.

Even if Mika is not a human now, Shu will simply patch him up and breathe life into him until he is. There is something beautiful about the idea of loving someone so much it brings them back to life, and Shu has always been the type to love intensely.

Besides, it is only right to return the favour. 

With that thought spurring him on, he sets to work with ignited vigour, stuffing cotton gently back into Mika's chest. Then, he turns towards the room at large to search for a—

–pencil taps a rhythm of frustration onto the desk as Shu frowns in contemplation. 

Shu cannot actually comment on the design itself, because it blurs and swims on the paper before him, twisting into grand, elaborate patterns and shapes, but he knows that he is unhappy with it. There is something off about it, something missing, perhaps. Trying to puzzle out the problem by staring at it alone hasn't been getting him far, and Mademoiselle's strange absence is as loud as ever, since she often likes to throw out an idea or two out whenever he hits a wall like this.

The sound of boiling drags Shu away from his silent pondering and directs him across the Handicrafts Club room to where Mika is doing a little dance from foot to foot as he waits for the water, in the middle of preparing another round of tea for the two of them. Sunset streams through the windows, which means it is well past the point for the both of them to return home, but Shu doesn't care to deal with his family this evening and Mika prefers to stay close to Shu when possible, unbothered by the actual location.

Shu pauses in his pencil tapping, looking back at the design and knowing immediately what this is. This is the first real step into their new world, or at least, one of many first attempts.

"Kagehira." He calls abruptly, and inexplicably, he feels like he is truly in his own skin for the first time in a while, instead of being strung along by his old self.

Mika startles slightly, but it is enough for him to accidentally spill hot water all over the teacups and the rest of the desk, which in turn startles Shu into scolding. "Be careful !"

"Waah, don't worry, don't worry! 've got it all sorted!" Mika insists as he sets the kettle down, though he doesn't do a great job of proving it as he scrambles for something to clean up with. It takes him a few moments to settle the mess, which Shu spends watching him with a careful eye, before he finally turns to Shu with a somewhat embarrassed grin. "So, uh, whaddya need, Oshi-san?"

"For you to not burn yourself, for one." Shu grumbles before waving Mika over, trying to ignore the way golden strings dance around him as he hurries over. He turns the paper around so Mika can see it the right way up from across the table, pointing with the end of his pencil. "What do you think of this design?"

Mika seems momentarily confused but leans over to get a better look, a smile blooming on his face as he does. "It's lookin' real pretty already! Yer work always does, but this one is especially pretty. It's gonna be perfect once ya get it made."

"Really?" Shu raises an eyebrow, setting his pencil down. "Because I disagree." He huffs, eyebrows furrowing as he casts a cursory glance back to the ever-shifting design. "There's something missing from it, but despite my efforts, I can't seem to figure it out myself."

"Well, I bet you'll figure it out soon. Yer so smart, Oshi-san, so it won't be a problem fer long." Mika chirps in wholehearted reassurance, completely missing Shu's subtlety. This routine, too, is familiar. He claps his hands together, a lightbulb going off behind his eyes for the wrong reason. "Oh! Lemme get the tea for ya, maybe that'll help jog your brain!"

"Non, dwelling over this myself has just led me in circles. Unfortunately, I need an outside perspective." Shu declares, reaching over to grab Mika's hand before he has a chance to scurry off. His skin is cold like ice, worryingly so. Mika stills instantly, eyes drawn to the firm hold on his hand. "Even the greatest artists sometimes ask for a second opinion. So, tell me what you think, Kagehira. Truly."

Mika looks away, and takes a moment to consider this.

"But…I wasn't lyin'. I meant it when I said it was gorgeous 'nd everything." He replies, a bit petulantly. Shu does not doubt him, because Mika can't help but find inherent beauty in anything Shu creates just because it was made by his hand, and Shu himself has begun to view Mika in a similar light. He does not doubt him, but that does not mean he is willing to accept that answer.

"Of course you weren't. I strive for beauty, so everything I create is beautiful. That does not mean it is automatically perfect." Shu explains with a little huff, trying to sound more patient than he feels. It is easier to do so now, the second time around. He squeezes Mika's hand, a silent encouragement as he tilts his head to make eye contact. "You said it will be perfect once it's fully completed. That must mean you recognise it isn't perfect now. So, tell me where you think the imperfections are."

And Mika stares at him, surprised and clearly trying to figure out if this is a trick question of some kind. Shu waits, though he has a feeling his impatience is beginning to show more and more on his face as the seconds pass. 

The golden strings suddenly unravel from Mika's limbs in a burst of movement as Mika's lips part thoughtfully, floating suspended in the air as if waiting for something, and Shu dares to hope. These attempts all blur together in his mind - maybe this one is the one.

But then Mika's face pinches slightly, and his smile is awkward as he shuffles in place. "Mnngh, I dunno what ta say. You know best 'nd all, so if you can't figure it out, I really don't think any o' my thoughts would be much help." 

In another flurry of movements, the strings return with an almost frantic vengeance, nearly burrowing into Mika's skin. Shu accidentally tightens his grip on Mika's hand as he feels the sting of strings pinching his fingertips too, clinging with a desperation Shu does not believe is completely his own.

Mika must misinterpret the change in his grip, because he quickly straightens up as his eyes adopt an uncanny shine, like glass beads. "Nhh, wait, wait, I get it! You're tryin' to tell me I was distractin' ya, huh? That's why ya haven't been able to figure this stuff out." He waves his free hand about as he talks, but the hand in Shu's hold remains dead weight, even as he slumps shamefully. "I'll be silent from now on, I swear! Ya won't even know I'm here. But you should've jus' told me - 'm stupid, yanno, so I don't always get it when yer bein' all subtle."

And Shu knows that too, of course, because that was precisely why he asked Kagehira for his opinion so directly. He wants to clarify, to press further for Mika's opinion, but it will happen eventually, so he doesn't. Mika's moment of hesitation is progress enough for now. It is proof of the future he knows they will see, the future he longs to return to just as much as the specks of light in the past.

Shu sighs anyway as he releases Mika from his hold, closing his eyes.

The person in front of him isn't a person at all, no matter how hard he tries.

Shu is very patient when it comes to creation and restoration, but impatience is not the problem here. The problem is that they are running out of time. He knows because he can hear the damning chimes of a grand clock, tick-tock tick-tock echoing through this fuzzy universe like a death sentence.

At the very least, there has been some progress, and that is the only thing keeping Shu from devolving into active dread. Improvements are easily counted, like the way Mika's wounds are sewn neatly shut, to the point where the stitches are unnoticeable to the untrained eye. Like the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the whisper of breath that curls between his lips and the faint but steady pulse when Shu checks his wrist.

Like the fact his precious eyes are now open, the amber and blue Shu adores so much on full display.

Unfortunately, these improvements make the remaining issue look more stark. Though Mika's eyes are open and clear, they stare ahead without any sign of consciousness, and he has not moved on his own once, not even to twitch a finger. 

He may technically be alive, but he is not truly living, not without a mind of his own.

But to solve a problem like that is much easier said than done. It is a delicate, complex process, and the evidence of Shu's effort fills the room as spools of lace and thread and glass beads scattered across the floor. It marks his hands as needle pinpricks and an ache in the joints of his fingers. 

And it is not that Shu's efforts have ever failed . They have worked, slowly, steadily, gradually sweeping dust off a brain of silk in the hopes of returning it to potential glory. But it is very much slow, and Shu is realising he doesn't have enough time to get the results he wants while being entirely gentle. It isn't effective.

The question that follows, then, is what is the alternative?

Shu ponders this as he kneels on the floor beside the chaise lounge, head resting on folded arms he set carefully on Mika's stomach, with his face angled to watch Mika's expression for any sudden signs of life with lidded eyes. His thoughts turn in time with the clockwork gears that continue to sound his deadline above his head.

"Is this what you wanted?"

Solely focused on Mika, Shu very nearly jumps out of his own skin at the new voice, immediately throwing himself to his feet to dismiss his own weakness. Ironically, though, it only makes his weakness more obvious, as he throws himself up with enough force to send his head spinning. Black dots dance mockingly in his vision, and he is sure he will faint from a drop of blood pressure, but they eventually settle and allow him to see what managed to sneak up on him.

Shu's breath stills for a moment as he lays his eyes on Nazuna once more - poised, perfect and dressed in black and Valkyrie red. He stands behind the chaise, both hands placed on the back, and his gaze carries a neutral sort of chill as he stares directly at him. Blood still stains his lips in smudges, but Shu does not try to verify if he still has his tongue or not. He decides he does not want to know, even if concern stirs wildly in his gut at the sight.

"Nito?" The name tumbles up in an embarrassing sort of croak, caught by surprise, but there is far more for Shu to care about than that. "Why- what do you mean?

"You're not very good at listening, are you, Oshi-san?" Nazuna says with a stiff shake of his head, voice clear as a bell and carrying a rueful note as the corners of his red lips twitch upwards in empty humour. Then his face falls to a blank slate, gaze turning towards Mika's prone form and spreading his arms out to behold him. The angles of his elbows are perfect. "Is this what you wanted?"

For a delirious moment, Shu is filled with a need to protect Mika. Not from Nazuna himself, but rather, from what the Nazuna before him represents. 

Shu remains rooted to the spot, though, hands curled in loose fists. For one, it would be incredibly hypocritical of him, and more importantly, he is distracted by Nazuna's question, which lies before him like a landmine that he has no choice but to step on.

"Of course not." He replies, less indignant and more tired, because he knows it is not believable on some level. Even so, it is the truth in his heart - at the very, very least, he is certain he does not want this now .

There is a shadow of a frown on Nazuna's face, but he does not look surprised by this answer. He does not look much of anything, which is awful in its own right.

"Are you sure?" There is a thread of something accusatory sewn into the words, but it is so thin, Shu could have easily misheard. "If this isn't what you wanted, then why did you do this to Mika-chin?"

As if on cue, dozens of golden strings burst into the space and make their presence known, all tethered tightly to Mika, and Shu almost wants to scream. 

Why are there still so many when things should be getting better ?

He settles for an uncomfortable grimace, which grows even more uncomfortable as he watches Mika with rising horror. Bright red begins to bleed into the gold of the strings from his body outwards and Mika's vacant eyes slowly begin to close.

Shu's chest explodes with panic as their progress is reversed, and he is moving before he realises what he's doing.

 "Non! Non, non, stop that!" He tries to command, words cracking with alarm as he falls back down to Mika's side, but the strings do not listen to his pleas. He immediately starts fidgeting with the knots, but that doesn't help much either, his fingers trembling as his struggles worsen with his desperation.

"Answer my question, Oshi-san." Nazuna's voice drifts above his head, and his gaze weighs heavy over Shu's neck like a guillotine. Shu's breath escapes him in an irritated rush, trading fear for anger as he pauses in his attempts to free Mika.

"If you are going to wear Nito's lovely face, you could at least put some effort into acting even remotely like him." Shu spits, glaring daggers at the knots he has been battling with to avoid stealing a glance up at the fake Nazuna. "He would be worried sick if he saw Kagehira like this, no matter if it was in the past or present."

"If you have an issue with my performance," comes the languid reply, and Shu's attention snaps up at the change in the voice, eyes wide, "then that only means you didn't know Nito as well as you thought."

Where Nazuna once stood, Shu now finds himself; a version of himself he is trying to leave behind, dressed in the old Valkyrie costume with not a single hair out of place. Just like Nazuna, he is cadaverous but perfectly so, hollow-eyed and cutting a sharp, cold gaze. He wears the other end of those damned strings around his fingers, naturally, as if they were extensions of himself.

The air feels thicker, heavier in his presence, making it harder to breathe.

"You-!" Shu growls, a rough, harsh sound, and though he jerks forward slightly, he does not rise to his feet to meet him. He curls and hovers over Mika instead, shielding him with his arms as much as possible while still holding his head high. "I will not let you ruin our future, do you hear me?!"

"Temper, Shu. You're acting vulgarly." His past self scolds, looking utterly unimpressed. Shu is reminded distinctly of being reprimanded by his parents as a child, so much so that it makes him feel ill. "What would people think if they saw you like this?"

"Quiet." Shu hisses back with a snarl, ignoring the itch under his skin at the comment because his past self is, to an extent, right. "You don't deserve my patience so you don't get it. Now, take your strings back."

His past self does nothing of the sort. What he does is sigh dramatically, shaking his head. He brings a hand up to his face in lament, the movement causing the strings to tug and dig further into Mika's limbs. "How horrid. Have we truly fallen this far? If this is what the future holds, then perhaps-"

"I said, quiet! You know nothing!" Shu snaps before his past self can say something truly cruel, wound like a spring from stress. To retaliate, he grabs the fluttering strings in one fist, yanking on them to pull his past self halfway over the back of the chaise by the hands, prompting a rather undignified yelp as he scrambles to steady himself. It lights a strange satisfaction in him. "Now, take your strings back . I don't want them anymore."

His past self huffs in indignation, and his perfect icy image thaws just enough for his glare to burn hot. "How can I? They're not my strings."

At that, Shu's swelling anger falters, but he glares back just the same. "What do you mean, they're not yours?"

"You should know just as well as I do." His past self retorts, straightening up again and turning his head to the side in an attempt to regain composure. After a moment, he looks at Shu out of the corner of his eye, clearly judgemental, but has the courtesy to explain. "I only hold these strings because you want me to. There is comfort in having at least one thing remain unchanging, isn't there? Kagehira has remained stagnant all this time, and he doesn't seem to mind it either. So why do you have an issue with it now?"

"You may want a doll, but I want a partner." Shu argues, his grip on the strings tightening as if he could choke them out of existence through will alone. "You hurt him like this. I hurt him like this. The fault lies with me, so I have to fix it."

"And despite all that, you refuse to do the obvious." His past self locks gazes with him, and there is no light in his eyes as he smiles, thin and mean and familiar. "Isn't it agonising? For all your talk of change, you cannot bear the possible consequences. In the end, you and I aren't so different, after all."

And Shu is stunned for a moment, because it is. It aches like a stab wound, the need to remedy the damage he knows he has done while also holding on to the last thing he has yet to lose. Change is a pretty thing to talk about, but it is terrifying and difficult to implement, so people naturally want to stay with the familiar as much as they naturally change. It is a dilemma that has stunted their progress, but Shu cannot afford it anymore, because they are out of time.

A grand clock chimes a reminder in the background.

"If you have the gall to mock me," Shu whispers, dangerously low, "then at least tell me what you find to be such an obvious solution."

There is a long silence before his past self responds.

"Have you ever heard," He says, smile full of teeth and flashes of fangs, a spark of accusation in his dark pupils, "that to love someone is to let them go?"

And Shu understands, regrettably, that it really is very obvious.

So he tears his attention away from the oppressive gaze of his past, and focuses on a pair of golden scissors on the floor beside him, half hidden underneath the shadow of the chaise. He snatches it up with steely resolve, positioning the strings between open blades, and wastes no time before cutting clean through with a—

– snap!

Shu hears it echo through his ears and around the fruit parlor, catching a sigh of relief between his teeth as a weight lifts off his chest.

When he had first done this, Shu had, internally and solely to himself, been anxious beyond belief. It was the gamble of a lifetime, and even though he was relatively sure in his judgement of Mika and, therefore, the result of this endeavour, there was still the horrifying, looming fact that he couldn't be certain of it. He had once been unable to fathom Nazuna taking back his strings and wandering off too, after all, and yet it still happened.

Now, though, he feels calmer than he has in a very, very long time. He knows that this gamble works in his favour, and even better, this is the turning point. Things will return to how they should be.

That does not make Mika's crestfallen expression any easier to look at. He stares at him in disbelief, eyes slowly growing cloudy with unshed tears. Then, he ducks his head to hide his eyes, mouth twisting into a pinched pout as he mumbles some noises that don't string together into words, before jumping to his feet and hurrying out of the fruit parlor.

Shu exhales at his exit. It is not easy, but it is necessary. This is what will bring them to happiness.

He looks down at their unfinished fruits. Though he may be calm, his body lives in the past, with a stomach that will surely be unable to handle anything else now. At the very least, he had made sure Mika ate enough before he shooed him off.  

He gathers the plastic containers and goes to throw them away, strangely content.

Shu stands in front of a stage glowing with light and creativity and love.

Music sweetens the air, grand and glorious, swirling around him like a summer breeze. He cannot see the set or the props or the lighting in detail. It is all a blur of colours to him, with streaks of neon and gold. It is messy, and dizzying, passionately so, and it is wholly, unapologetically Mika's work.

And in the middle of it all, bright as a star, spins Mika himself. He is grinning, gorgeous eyes sparkling in the spotlight, and he is wholly, unapologetically alive, in every sense of the word.

Shu's chest finally, lovingly floods with warmth as a small, proud smile graces his face. He looks far more beautiful here than he ever did tangled in strings, he thinks. It is everything Mika deserves.

Mika slows to a stop as his gaze falls on Shu, and his grin brightens with excitement. "Oshi-san!" He calls, holding his hand out as if beckoning him forward, letting out a little giggle. "C'mon, it's lonely up here all by m'self!"

Shu hesitates, but only for a moment before climbing the stairs of the stage with quick steps to meet Mika in the middle. He takes his hand, and he can only appreciate its warmth for a second before Mika tugs him towards him, right into a dance.

They fumble a little at the start, but they fall into rhythm with each other before long, Shu matching Mika's steps. It is not perfect - it's a bit clumsy, if anything, though elegant enough to go unnoticed by an audience - but it is definitely charming, especially since Shu can see the joy Mika feels while dancing with him up close. He finds himself focusing on Mika more and more as the dance progresses, heart playing a giddy tune.

It is everything he has dreamed of. Selfishly, Shu thinks it is what they deserve. A soft, happy ending in a world of their own creation.

"Is this what ya wanted?"

The music comes to a jarring halt, making Mika's question echo even louder in the silence it leaves. Shu stumbles over his steps in surprise as their dance, too, abruptly stops, Mika holding him steady with both hands. He straightens up and blinks, the face he had been staring at the entire time suddenly looking different, in a way Shu can't pinpoint, even with his sharp eyes. 

It unnerves him. The surroundings remain bright and dreamy, but Shu is brought back down from his high, just slightly. "What are you talking about?" He asks as he pulls away from Mika, because he truly has no idea what prompted this question.

"My art!" Mika replies excitedly, gesturing at the stage he created as he looks at Shu expectantly. "Whaddya think? Do ya like it?"

The question soothes Shu, because it is something that he should have expected. He smiles, a touch fondly, looking around at an art piece he can't fully comprehend and replies with all the sincerity he can muster. "Yes, I do. Your commitment to art really has blossomed into something beautiful. You should be proud of yourself." His smile dims to give way to something sterner after a moment of pause, as he adds, "That said, you should know that the most important thing for any artist is to find self-satisfaction in their own work. I do hope you can recognise the value of your own art without me telling you."

"Mnn, that's true fer most artists, but it's different fer me, ain't it?" Mika hums, cocking his head to the side. "Since I'm doing all this 'cause you told me to."

A shard of icy dread poisons the warmth in Shu's gut, but he lets out a scoff of a laugh in an attempt to dismiss it. "Don't be ridiculous, Kagehira. You chose to pursue art on your own. I only encouraged you because I saw your potential."

"Yeah, 'nd I chose to pursue art 'cause that's what you wanted me to do!" Mika places his hands on his hips, looking rather pleased with himself as he smiles. "I wouldn't be a very good doll if I couldn't move how ya wanted, right?"

Their dream future crumbles in front of Shu like a sandcastle in sea waves.

"You're not a doll at all . You're my partner in art, aren't you? My equal." Shu presses as he places his hands on Mika's shoulders to make sure he has his full attention, trying his best to hold the sandcastle's shape together out of sheer desperation. "And you've been doing plenty of solo work recently. That is work you have chosen to do to pursue your art, independent of me, because you enjoy it yourself. I have nothing to do with that."

"Well, that's 'cause you upgraded me, Oshi-san." Mika explains, though he seems confused by Shu's reaction to his words, bringing his hands up to rest on Shu's wrists. His fingers are cold, and it sends a shiver up Shu's arms, tightening his grip on Mika's shoulders. "Strings are real high maintenance, yanno? You have things ya wanna do outside of keepin' an eye on me, so you switched 'em out for some wind-up gears so I can go 'round doing my own thing without ya. That doesn't mean I belong to you any less!"

And, to his horror, Shu finds himself picking up the soft sound of crunching gears coming from Mika's chest.

He yanks his hands back like he's been burned, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to put distance between them. This is wrong - he knows he cut Mika's strings, and that Mika has slowly become his own person. He chose to pursue art because he, himself, as a person, wanted to, not because Shu made him pursue it.

Right?

Mika's art, once so beautiful and bright, now feels glaring and overwhelming, pressing into Shu at all sides. The progress he was once so happy with seems tacky and tasteless now, but why? He had fixed everything to the best of his ability - himself, Mika, the knots and tangled threads between them - so why-

"Have ya ever heard," Mika suddenly says, as if he could hear his buzzing thoughts, cast in backlights with face shadowed and eyes closed, "that t'love somethin' is to let it go?"

Shu stands and stares and tries to reply but finds it choked away from him. He can taste blood and cotton in his mouth, drying his tongue.

"I never really believed that, t' tell ya the truth." Mika admits with a light laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, and there are quiet creaks of metal with his movements. "'Cause to me, lovin' something means holdin' onto 'em forever, and patchin' them up when they look a li'l worse for wear. That's how I know you love me, Oshi-san!"

He opens his eyes, amber and blue flashing like precious stones and cutting through the shadows in a way they should not.

"Because you've never actually let go of me, have ya? Not even once!"

And there are arguments Shu can make to this, he knows there are, but he cannot seem to find them. They are hazy and distant, and the ones he can grasp don't seem very convincing anymore, for reasons he cannot explain. Mika waits for his response, far too still, and Shu tries his best to compose himself as he takes a deep—

–breath of cold air. 

Shu does not know where he is. The surroundings are a dull smudge, clearly meant to resemble something but not important enough to register in Shu's eyes. 

Standing in front of Shu is a small ghost, thin and pale with messy dark hair and glowing eyes. He looks up at him in awe, and though the details are muddied and it doesn't quite look right, Shu knows who this ghost must be. 

"I devoted my life to you." The ghost says, voice high and slightly muffled, as if talking through glass, and Shu's heart sinks.

"Don't." Shu replies, bordering on a plea. "Please don't."

"Too late fer that now. 've already done it." The ghost says, his voice growing clearer as his accent thickens. He tilts his head to the side like a lost puppy. "Did you treat it well? M'life?"

"I'm trying to." Shu replies desperately, and when he blinks, he is only slightly taller than the ghost, and his voice is high and childlike too. "I promise you, I'm trying my best to treat it well, now."

"So ya didn't treat it well before?" The ghost says with a frown, confused but without any hint of accusation.

Shu doesn't know how to respond.

It doesn't feel right at all, to say he treated his life well before, but it was what he thought was best at the time. That does nothing to excuse it, of course, but it was out of love, of some kind.

It was, right?

Shu knows that he has the capability to be more than cruel, but this- all of this was never because of that. It wasn't. He knows it wasn't, because he cares for Nazuna and Mika deeply enough that it is etched into his heart, even now.

And regardless of the reasoning, how can he say that to the face of this ghost of Mika's past? A ghost that looks at him like he hung the sun and stars in the sky - how can he possibly tell him that he very nearly ruined his life?

That he still could ruin his life, because Shu cannot help but hold, and hold, and hold on to the point of smothering . 

Shu's vision blurs with tears, and his little body shakes in great tremors, and it only makes him more distressed because he should be better than this. He grips his shirt in trembling fistfuls and tries to calm down but he can't, can't, can't-

A delicate hand rests on his shoulder and Shu jumps with a bolt of fright, whipping around. He looks up to find a young lady, dainty face framed with blonde curls, and gasps—

"–Shu-kun!"

–as he jolts awake, eyes flying open to stare blankly at the abyss of his ceiling. His breath rattles in his lungs, and it takes him a few long moments to get it back under control as he fumbles for the bedside light, bathing the bedroom of his Parisian apartment in a yellow glow.

"Shu-kun." Mademoiselle's voice is soft in the stillness of night, her presence a soothing balm that calms Shu further. He turns to face her where she is sitting comfortably on his bedside table, blinking the blurriness of unshed tears out of his eyes. "You had a rather terrible nightmare. Do you remember any of it?"

It has happened before, where Shu has woken up shaking and teary, with no recollection of the nightmare that caused such a reaction. It is both easier and harder, when that is the case.

"Yes, unfortunately." Shu sighs, readjusting his blanket. "...How much do you know about it?"

"Not much. I only saw the very end clearly. You know you don't like me in your nightmares." Mademoiselle admits, a reassurance and an apology in one. "Do you want to talk about it?"

This routine of questioning is a familiar aftermath of nightmares, as it helps him focus and assess how he is. For a moment, he seriously considers the offer, as he always does. 

"No." He decides after a moment, shaking his head lightly. "I'd rather not. It was only old memories, anyway."

Mademoiselle hums in acknowledgement, with a slight edge of concern, and does not press further. "You haven't had a nightmare this bad in quite a while." She comments instead, casual as if discussing the weather. "You must be more stressed about the upcoming deadlines than we thought."

"I suppose so." Shu mutters, because she is right. Nightmares, especially fierce ones, only rear their ugly heads when he is particularly stressed.

Shu moves, not fully of his own volition, to pick Mademoiselle up and gather her comforting weight in his arms, before settling to lean against the headboard of his bed. He gently hugs her closer to his chest, tilting his head to stare up at nothing as he focuses on his steady breaths.

Mademoiselle hums to fill the silence so he does not get too lost in his thoughts, and she always means well, but she is humming the same tune Mika does when he is absentmindedly busying himself with something or other, which does not help as much as it usually does. She must notice that, because soon enough, her humming trails off entirely, leaving the silence to be disrupted by the muffled sounds of traffic outside. 

"...Do you think it was selfish of me," Shu murmurs eventually, eyes still trained on a random spot on the wall, "to expect Kagehira to be my partner in art after everything?"

Mademoiselle does not reply immediately, and when she does, he can tell she's worried. "What do you mean by that, Shu-kun?"

Shu does not reply immediately either, but that is fine. They are both used to these disjointed conversations with long pauses, because it is often difficult to word the things they discuss in the dead of night.

"I want him to become an independent artist equal to me, but by principle, the continued existence of Valkyrie tethers us and our past together, even with this physical distance between us. If-" Shu chokes on his words for a moment, tongue frustratingly thick. "If I truly want to encourage his growth, would it not have been better for me to cut ties entirely?"

It is a clumsy, inelegant and choppy way of trying to describe the crux of his thoughts, but Mademoiselle knows him well, and she can fill in the gaps easily enough. "You don't usually worry about these sorts of things." She says, simply, though her tone is understanding.

"I don't." Shu agrees, finally looking away from that spot on the wall to glance down at Mademoiselle, stroking a hand over her hair. "In the morning, I will most likely think this was all nonsense too, and go back to being sure this was the ideal solution for the both of us."

The ' but' goes unsaid, and fills the space loud and clear. But now, in this unstable stretch of time between midnight and morning, on the dredges of a nightmare, these concerns feel unbelievably strong and, even worse, possible. This, too, happens from time to time - hypothetical worries he would usually pay no mind to and dismiss immediately are elevated by nightmares and stick with him even after waking.

"Well," Mademoiselle declares, rather sure of herself, "we don't have to wait for the morning because I'll remind you why this is all complete nonsense right this very second."

Despite himself, Shu manages an attempt at a smile at her little show of dramatics. "That would certainly be appreciated."

"Even if it was selfish, this solution has ultimately benefitted both you and Mika-chan. You have both grown so much over a short period of time, and you have done so together. Regardless of what motivated it to begin with, the end result is still positive." Mademoiselle explains, her voice turning softer with patience as she continues. "Besides, you know Mika-chan. If you had tried to cut ties with him completely, he would have been too heartbroken to create anything, which is the opposite of what you wanted. Or, Mika-chan would simply gravitate towards you again sooner or later, because regardless of whatever state you're in, Mika-chan considers his life better for having you in it. Why deprive him of that, especially now, when you are doing your best to improve?"

Shu exhales slowly as he processes her words, idly fixing her dress as he does. "You do make a convincing argument, Mademoiselle." He says, and while it isn't enough to dismiss the heavy feeling weighing over him, it does help him feel better.

"Fufufu, I'm only repeating what you yourself told me back then, Shu-kun. " Mademoiselle chirps back, and Shu's hands hug her closer still, cradling her close to his chest. "Your nightmares are startlingly good at convincing you of things you don't believe in at all."

"It's ridiculous." Shu huffs, but can't really say much more on the matter. It is frustrating, and it is something he cannot help. At the very least, it never lasts more than that night.

They sit there together for a while longer, with Shu occasionally bringing up another thought that they discuss together, until finally, Shu feels steady enough to heave a large sigh and lean over to place Mademoiselle back on the bedside table.

"Are you going back to sleep?" Mademoiselle asks as Shu takes a moment to fuss over her, fixing her curls and positioning her comfortably.

"I might as well try." Shu stifles a yawn with his hand as he leans back, satisfied that Mademoiselle is well placed for the rest of the night. "Unfortunately, I am doing my best to keep healthy habits, and that involves sleeping enough."

"You must be tired too." Mademoiselle reasons, before adding with a little sniff, "I certainly am! This is no time for a lady to be awake, you know."

"It isn't, is it?" Shu sighs ruefully, settling himself back into bed and pulling the blanket up around him. "Then we really should be going back to sleep." He reaches a hand out for the bedside light, but hesitates before he can turn it off, lingering fear keeping him reluctant to actually return to sleep.

"...You've never had two nightmares in one night." Mademoiselle reminds him gently, coaxing him as he carefully thumbs the switch. "And even if you do, I'll still be here when you wake up, so there's nothing to worry about, is there?"

"Of course not." Shu smiles, just slightly, exhausted, before turning off the light and laying back down to try and sleep.

And when sunlight begins to stream in through his curtains, he will, indeed, think it was all rather nonsensical of him