Archive of Our Own ^beta

The idea, innocuous as it may have been, began as most things did — with Akiyama Mizuki running their mouth, filter tossed aside and promptly forgotten.

"Enanan."

The sound of Mizuki's voice is loud against the silence of the room, save for the sound of lead against paper and the steady ticking of their clock. Mizuki make a sound of protest when Ena doesn't respond, stretching with a yawn as their joints crack in relief. 

"Enaemon." They try again.

Still, nothing.

Mizuki holds back a pout.

"En-a-nan. Ena. Ena, Ena, Ena, Ena, Ena—!"

"Ugh, shut up already!" There is the faintest slam of an object hitting a hard surface. Ena's voice is loud and veiled with annoyance. Mizuki stifles back a laugh of delight.

"What do you want." They can already see the scowl on Ena's face, even with her camera currently switched off. Riling up Ena was always fun like that.

"I'm bored, Enanan!"

"Ha-ah? How is that my problem? I'm trying to draw here!"

"You've been trying for.... a little over an hour now though!" Mizuki peeks at the clock on their wall, squinting to readjust their eyes from the bright display of their screen to the dim lighting of their room. "Have you made any progress?" 

A pause.

Ena sighs. "No, not yet. I think I'm stuck."

The sound of defeat is palpable in her voice, as is the exhaustion. It makes Mizuki wince, feeling a little bad for teasing.

"Maybe you just need some motivation..." they hum thoughtfully, more to themselves than to Ena. 

What would motivate Ena?

Shopping. Cheesecake. Followers. Social Media.

Ah.

"That's it!"

Their sudden yell is followed by the sound of a crashing object, and then a startled yelp. A string of curses immediately after.

"What the hell, Amia! You can't just suddenly yell like tha—!"

"Enanan!" Mizuki interrupts, eyes alit with a devious gleam that they know would have Ena's brows furrowing in suspicion if she could see their face over video call. "Make a bet with me!"

"Huh?!"

The ticking clock is all that they hear for a moment, tension in the air belying Ena's curiosity — and Mizuki knows that she's curious. It's Ena, after all. Competitive and fiery and all raw determination and passion.

"Look," they wheedle, lowering their voice as though sharing a secret. "You're feeling stuck, right? What better way to overcome your limits than to do something out of the ordinary?"

Ena makes a sound of interest.

Hook, line and slinker.

(In hindsight, Mizuki thinks that this was the moment where they'd doomed themselves. They had been a fool. They almost want to strangle themselves for not detecting the undercurrent of interest in Ena's voice as interest in them, and not their proposal.)

For now though, just in this moment, in the liminal space of a call during the witching hours of a weekend morning, Mizuki listens to the way Ena's swivel chair squeaks under the weight of Ena readjusting herself, the faint hum of consideration that lingers in the quiet space.

"So?"

They draw the word out, wriggling their brows despite Ena being unable to see them.

"So." Ena sighs eventually, tired. "What's your bet?"

Bingo!

Mizuki fights the urge to cheer, leaning back on their own chair to think and peruse their options. What to do, what to do?

"Delete your socials for a week."

—is what comes out of their mouth.

"What."

The scandalous tone that leaves Ena's mouth is so disproportionate to the significance of their request that it has Mizuki doubling over in laughter.

"Seriously?" they asks, between wheezes. "With how you sounded, it's like I asked you to slap your Dad or something!"

"That might honestly be preferable," Ena mutters darkly, making Mizuki double over in yet another fit of laughter.

"Okay, okay! So what about you then? What's your bet for me?"

The laughter in the air and the easy lightness between them both makes Mizuki feels — warm. It's familiar now, that comforting thought of, ah, I want to keep this forever.

And then Ena says, "Go to school for three days. No skipping a single lesson."

And just like that — the blanketing warmth in their chest fizzles into uncertainty. The chill of it makes them choke on their next inhale.

They laugh weakly. "Um. What?"

"Go to school without skipping. And I'm even being generous, three days in exchange for my one week of inactivity."

It's an infinitely bad idea. School is always a bad idea; where there are whispers that trail at their feet, the weight of judgement on their clothes, their face, the way they act and talk and present themselves to the world.

The obvious choice would be to turn the request down. To bargain for any other bet, to tease and deflect when the inevitable questions come at their avoidance. It's the safe option – the one that would hurt the least. 

But.

But it's Ena who's asking.

And that makes all the difference, doesn't it?

Mizuki wants to at least... try, just a little bit. For Ena, who had made a promise to them, who was willing to wait despite her naturally curious disposition. Who Mizuki knows they're still fearful of letting in and letting themselves be seen.

"Mizuki, are you there?" Ena's voice sounds a little bit more concerned now, after a minute of silence which Mizuki belatedly realises means that they've missed the timing for an appropriate reply.

"Listen, you don't have to—"

"No take-backs, Enanan!" they interrupt. It doesn't come out the slightest bit sharp or unnerved, and they bite back a sigh of relief at that. "Hehe, it sounds fun, you know? Let's do it!"

Ena makes a faint noise of irritation, maybe tinged with a hint of confusion. But Mizuki doesn't budge, not until hearing that victorious sigh of defeat. 

Over the speaker, they hear the squeak of a swivel chair again, as though suddenly bearing the weight of the determination of one Shinonome Ena.

"You're insufferable," Ena says.

"I wouldn't be me otherwise!" Mizuki bites back playfully, eyes still alit with mirth.

"Alright, alright. Three days, and you win. And cheers to one really long week for me."

Ena sounds so put-out by the thought, so much that despite the dread that lingers still in the cavity of their chest, they find it in themselves to laugh.

"Thank you for your sacrifice, Enaemon~"

"Oh, shut up, Amia."

They smile, and it's little bit nervous, more than a little bit unsure; they press their hands against their chest for comfort, in some semblance of a prayer, with their wrung fingers and white-knuckled fists.

It'll be okay, right?

Right. Right. It had to be.

They breathe past the burgeoning anxiety, that ever-present uncertainty sinking its teeth into the very marrow of their bones, leaving their fingers trembling with doubt.

Just three days.

Just three.

Mizuki can do this.

The first day goes... well enough.

The stunned looks on their classmates' faces is at least expected. Mizuki holds back a snicker when a few of them, unable to hold back their bewilderment, openly rub at their eyes, as though trying to figure out whether or not Mizuki was a visual hallucination haunting their class at nine o'clock in the morning.

"Akiyama-san," Classmate A begins hesitantly. "You're in school today. And on a Monday. You're... You're... on time."

The disbelieving atmosphere in the air only grows the longer they stand in the classroom, as more and more students snap out of their groggy state of minds.

"Yep, yep!" Mizuki beams. "Hehe, even I can be motivated to learn from time to time, you know?" 

Classmate A only seems to blink more dazedly in astonishment. They catch the sight of a few more students reacting the same way, a sudden hush settling upon the classroom before a few whispers, incoherent and soft, begin to arise.

Right. 

Yeah. 

They probably should've seen this reaction coming, when it came to them. Especially when it came to them.

Laughter and teasing and jokes worked differently here at school, where every sentence, every word feels like aiming a weapon at themselves, giving ammunition for those around them to whisper and point.

Abruptly, they grow conscious of how their smile feels like plaster on their face, heavy and false. 

They're unable to relax, shoulders tight with tension, even as they keep smiling, laughing as the few latecomers to class walk in, only to do a double-take upon seeing them. Even as a few of them begin to engage them in conversation, even as the door slides open and it's An standing at the doorway, eyes lighting with excitement as she catches the sight of Mizuki by their desk.

They wave and they laugh and they smile. It's familiar by now — it's how they managed to survive so far, even if it's exhausting. 

I'll win the bet, Ena. 

It's the same fiery competitiveness that fuels them forward, in a way that nothing has ever really motivated before.

For Ena, they want to try. And so they'll breathe past the discomfort, the tension in their every motion.

Like this, they survive Day 1.

|| Enanan • Today at 05.23pm

How was school today?

|| amia • Today at 05.23pm

boooooring!

enanan, you're so cruel!!!!

i had to sit in class today and learn about ALGEBRA

can you IMAGINE???? 

blehgrrrrr

|| Enanan • Today at 05.24pm

I have to do those too, you know? 

Stop being so dramatic already

Just deal with it.

|| amia • Today at 05.25pm

ehhhh??? you're no fun at all, enanan!!!

boo!!! 

zero points to you >:( where's your sympathy and consideration towards me?? i think i deserve that much, at least >:((((((

|| Enanan • Today at 05.25pm

You're seriously insufferable. 

|| amia • Today at 05.25pm

i wouldn't be me if i weren't :3

|| Enanan • Today at 05.26pm

[Enanan has sent an emoticon!]

[Enanan has sent an emoticon!]

Anyway, it went fine, didn't it?

You survived at least

|| amia • Today at 05.27pm

i guess so

|| Enanan • Today at 05.27pm

So good enough.

What's two more days?

Anyway, I'm off to school

See you

|| amia • Today at 05.27pm

byebye~

|| amia • Today at 05.40pm

ah, right

are we still on for nightcord later? i think k mentioned being unable to join tonight, and yuki's still having exams...

so it'll just be us again :'D

|| Enanan • Today at 05.45pm

Who do you take me for? Of course I'll be there

Don't be late

There's an art to managing life that Mizuki lives by on principle. Not necessarily learnt by choice, not really, born more out of necessity, as a means of survival. 

It's why when they wake up on Day 2, feeling... not bad, per say, but not exactly good – with a slight discomfort beneath their skin, one that warns them of an impending spiral, it's concerning enough to have faint alarm bells ringing in their head. 

On any other day, it'd be a clear sign to stay home from school; to breathe, to wallow, to just stop thinking — just for a bit. To be honest without inherently feeling wrong about their admittance of vulnerability.

But today isn't like any other day, and Mizuki has to hold back the urge to groan at that. They have to get up. They have to win the bet, to try, at least — for Ena.

God, their head hurts.

Blinking away the sleep in their eyes, they reach out, fumbling with their alarm to stop its incessant ringing.  

Okay. So. 

Step 1: Wake up. 

Done.

A good first step, all things considered. The next step was logical too.

Step 2: Get out of bed.

Do I have to...?

Indecision rears its ugly head, petulant and whiny. It coaxes Mizuki to stay in bed, to indulge in the comforting blanket of security, cocooned in their room where their identity is shrouded with anonymous ambiguity. Where it is safe.

A chime from their phone breaks them out of their maudlin mood. 

They pursue their lips, blindly reaching for their wayward phone, squinting at the sight of a nightcord notification from Ena.

|| Enanan • Today at 06.31am

Have a good day at school today

I hope you're keeping up your end of our bet

Mizuki resists the urge to snort. 

|| amia • Today at 06.31am

yes, yes, shinonome-san

i'm getting ready for school now

and hey, shouldn't you be asleep by now???

|| Enanan • Today at 06.32am

Not until I finish this piece.

Mizuki winces. 

Ah, right.

|| amia • Today at 06.32am

tough. are you still feeling stuck????

|| Enanan • Today at 06.35am

Yeah.

Deleting my socials did help a little though. I guess I'm not stressing as hard when it comes to having to brainstorm ideas

Maybe you do have some good suggestions from time to time, huh?

|| amia • Today at 06.36am

hey, hey, hey!! what's that supposed to mean, enaemon!!!

|| Enanan • Today at 06.36am

Go get ready for school, Mizuki 

You'll be late :)

|| amia • Today at 06.36am

eh??

ehhhhh???

enanan!!!!

ena!!! come back!!!

>:(((((((((((((

alright, alright!! i'm going now :(((((

Alright. So. 

Step 2: Get out of bed.

Casting a longing glance at their computer screen, Mizuki grits their teeth and gets ready for school instead.

"Just two more days," they mumble, more to convince themselves than anything else. "After that, you can catch a break. And you can get Enanan to do anything you want."

It's a good motivator, at least.

God, the things that they do for Ena.

Why do I come up with the worst ideas?

Steeling themselves, they tie their hair into their signature sidetail, chancing a glance at the mirror as they titter around their room, packing their bag for the day.

Their smile, honey sweet and playful, fixed firmly in place. They inhale, ignoring the way their breath hitches slightly, tucking their hands into their pockets in an effort to hide the trembling in them.

"You're just you," they murmur quietly. "You just need to keep smiling."

A mantra to be heard; a prayer, or maybe a plea. All they are, all they want to be — more than the cowering shadow of an outcast unable to find their place, they want to be– they want–

(What exactly do you want from them?)

They don't have answers.

|| Enanan • Today at 07.00am

Have a nice day of school, or whatever, I guess

Just keep being insufferable 

I'm sure you'll survive

And it's fine, isn't it? Ena's right.

Life's too short to be worrying or stressing and thinking themselves into circles. 

Mizuki just needs to survive.

Their lockers are filled with thumbtacks and crumpled notes with ugly letters scrawled messily in them. Shoes with eraser shavings, harsh whispers and rumours that float across the halls; eyes on every step they take through the winding halls of Kamiyama High. Normalcy, defined by the routine of alienation, ingrained into their every day life. 

It's something Mizuki is used to by now — like the shaking hands and the utter loathing and the constant mantra of don't look at me. Don't.

Some days remain harder to swallow than others though.

I want to go home.

Today, walking through the halls feels almost like trudging through a field of glass shards, where each step is a stab to their entire being; puncturing pain, sharp and discomforting. 

Paranoia, fuelled by anxiety, making them antsy despite the cheery tune that they hum and the perfectly fixed smile on their face. A slow, slippery slide into a spiralling mess of loathing.

A boy Mizuki doesn't recognise throws them a dirty look, whispering something indecipherable to the friend beside him.

They watch as she does a double-take, seemingly reassessing her first impression of Mizuki, and — yeah, that isn't new, either.

The frigidness in their lungs makes it a little hard to breathe. 

Still, they smile, busying themselves with hurrying across the winding halls. Eventually, they catch a flash of purple at the end of the corridor, and perk up at the sight.

"Oya, oya! If it isn't Kamishiro-senpai~!" Mizuki smirks, calling out cheerily.

"Ah, Mizuki. Fufu, what a rare sight~" Rui turns, and his ever-present signature smile only grows at the sight of them, stretching into a cheshire grin. Shifting backwards slightly, something rattles noisily in his arms.

They blink at the many, many items in Rui's hands, some more concerning than others, and Rui smiles on enigmatically, even as Mizuki keeps staring. 

"Rui..." they start, unsure of where to even begin.

"Hm?" Rui hums, tilting his head, like he isn't carrying what very suspiciously looks like a flamethrower in his hands. "Is something the matter?"

A sudden chill shoots down their spine.

Mizuki grimaces. Right. There's the look of passion they're both familiar with and unfortunately fond of.

"Well. I would ask, but." They laugh, the slightest bit perturbed. "I don't think I want to know." 

Rui shrugs slightly. "Your loss."

Then, eyeing Mizuki carefully and regarding them with nothing but polite amusement, he asks, "So, is there any reason why Mizuki is at school so early?"

"My, Kamishiro-kun, is it that much of a surprise to see me at—" They squint at their phone and the tiny digits on their lock screen. "—ass o' clock in the morning? I'm wounded!"

The banter comes like second nature to them by now, as it does with Rui. Mizuki knows where to give credit where it's due – they know that Rui has likely seen through some part of their performance, practiced as it is, yet is considerate enough to not push.

"Oh, no," he says instead, tone mild yet no less amused. "I wouldn't dare presume, Akiyama-san. After all, one as good of a student as you must surely be disciplined and punctual! Would it be too much to ask if they could spare me a few moments of their time?"

Mizuki raises a brow.

Rui smiles. "It's just been a while since we've talked, hasn't it? Is everything alright?"

And maybe a part of them, the part that is ever conscious of the shoes and the thumbtacks; the whispers that don't ever stop, the ever-present guarded facade they hold onto, even here, talking to Rui — that part of them is what drives them to bristle where others might have caved.

The response is almost instinctual; perfectly cordial, maybe even the slightest bit defensive. 

They frown. "I'm the same as always, Rui."

Rui doesn't look convinced. "Mizuki, you—"

"OOOOOIIIII! RUI! THERE YOU ARE! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU STILL STANDING AROUND FOR? WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"

They both jump at the loud boom across the hall, though Rui, upon recovering, looks more amused than anything else.

"I suppose that's my cue." He chuckles.

Mizuki stares. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

It's Tsukasa-senpai, holding just as many objects as Rui, looking frazzled and out of breath. Even from here, Mizuki can see the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders.

"Fufu, a little bit. We have a show later that we planned to practice for before school was set to start. I suppose I've made Tsukasa-kun wait a little longer than intended."

Said 'Tsukasa-kun' is still waiting even now, rolling his eyes, seemingly exasperated, but waiting all the same. 

"Ah!" Mizuki backtracks hastily. "Sorry, sorry! I'll leave you two alone now then!" 

Rui seems to falter. "Mizuki—"

They don't turn around. The smile on their face feels a little twisted now, but they keep their voice light as they ask, "Hm? What is it?"

And maybe it's because Rui knows them – understanding perhaps the discomfort of being perceived, of being seen, that he has the sense to not push, especially not with them.

"We'll talk later, alright?" He tries.

Mizuki doesn't respond. There's no need to, not when they both know how it'll end. 

Inevitability. They'll walk on, leaving it all behind — running from Rui and his carefully constructed questions, the polite distance between; the thought sears into their skin, right down to the very marrow of their bones, leaving equal parts guilt and anxious fury, because they're always, always worrying those that care for them.

And there's a quiet part of them, the part of them that Mizuki hates, that whispers: I'm still the same, aren't I?

You've moved forward and changed. You've left me behind. 

It's unimaginably cruel and unkind. Surely Rui deserved better from them. They should be glad that Rui isn't lonely anymore — and they are. They're so unbelievably proud.

But as they peer from behind the wall they've fled to, watching Tsukasa-senpai and Rui gravitate towards each other like two orbiting planets— that pathetic, miserable part of them can't help but want.

It's so, so ugly.

It's a want that chokes on the fear in their throat, in the space of their lungs where every breath in is wrought with anxiety.

That want will never be reality — not with Mizuki as they currently are. Not with them refusing to tell their secret.

|| amia • Today at 08.23am

[Draft] hey, ena? i don't want to do this anymore. i don't want to go to school. i can't do this i think you win i give up i can't do thi

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It's better this way, isn't it?

Like this, the farce can be kept forever, and nothing will have to change — even if Mizuki themselves remain stagnant. Even if they have to lie.

They're willing to lie forever, to keep this.

They're willing to pretend.

A headache pounds in their head, a steady staccato beat that throbs in time to their heartbeat. The faint ache from morning had only worsened throughout the day, now a migraine that makes them bite back profanities with every wave of pulsating pain.

Mizuki collapses into bed, wincing as it sends another jolt of pain shooting up their skull, before sighing as they stare vaguely at the ceiling.

Ah... it was only the end of Day 2, wasn't it?

They stretch an arm out towards the ceiling, staring at their open palm. Then, curling their fingers in, they let that arm fall onto their face, right over their eyes. The darkness is a momentary reprieve. Suddenly, they feel heavy.

I'm so tired.

It's strange how sometimes they can go on for weeks without a single thought like this. Some days, it's easy to fall into the motions of routine and laughter, false as it might be; to live a lie, swept away by the narrative of a rose-coloured lenses, to pretend that being just them was a painless and easy endeavour.

The hours spent in front of the mirror during those agonising middle school days; crafting their smile to fit the likeness of a manufactured porcelain doll, every step crafted with intent and practiced to precision — if they forget the tiring effort and the wasted hours, maybe then it'd be easier to get used to the shame of it.

Go to school for three days.

Ena's bet, innocuous and well-meaning as it might've been, floats through their mind. They exhale sharply, abruptly feeling a wave of loathing wash over them.

God, why can't they just be normal?

It's frustrating, living like this. Not being able to go to school everyday, hating themselves, the part of them that sometimes just can't smile, not with sincerity, when someone's words cuts a little too deep and they have to fight the urge to not curl into themselves.

They want to not have to face the darkness sometimes, to be able to wake up in the morning and go to school. To not have to listen to the whispers, to smile, to not have to bear the loathing of being inherently them. 

But... just what can they do about it?

They're just them, even if they hate it. Even if they have to live with it. Turning to their side, Mizuki lets their eyes flutter open slowly. The headache throbs on. They dig through their pocket to pull out their phone.

|| amia • Today at 10.33pm

i'm going to bed early tonight

|| Enanan • Today at 10.33pm

?

Is everything okay???

Ena's worry is cutting, digging into their chest, as though reproaching them for their honesty. They swallow down that familiar wave of frustration, the discomforting feeling of being perceived, of the facade they'd worked painstakingly to perfect being seen through.

|| Enanan • Today at 10.35pm

Mizuki?

Is this about the bet?

You don't have to follow through, you know. I made that bet on a whim. If you're not feeling well, you don't need to push yourself.

It's the worry sometimes, the kindness offered to them that makes the cloying shame so much more potent and suffocating. They don't want Ena to worry. They don't want her kindness, for her to be able to peer through the hastily crafted masks held together by plaster and bandages, to see the real them that doesn't smile as much, that is jaded, that can be so, so ugly.

|| amia • Today at 10.36pm

enaemon~~~ you think too much!!!

i'm just sleepy rn :((( i have a headache :(((((((((

did you bring up the bet just to tempt me into backing out?? too bad lol, you can't trick me that easily

i'm going to school tomorrow and winning the bet!!!

If Ena responds after that, they don't look at it. Setting their phone aside to charge, they curl into a cocoon, willing it all away – the thoughts, the churning nausea, the reality of being them.

The darkness that greets them is a welcome escape.

And so it goes like this: 

Step 1: Mizuki wakes up.

They do, even if waking up feels like a herculean task, and the world seems to blur into a mess of feelings and ugly thoughts, monsters that sink their teeth in as they go through the motions of getting ready.

It's a good day today. It will be. It must. They're determined to make it one, even with the clawing itch beneath their skin, and they want nothing more than to get away from the weight of the stares, the whispers that they know are settled on their uniform, their ribbon, in their every mannerism.

Mizuki goes to school today. They sit through class. They smile with ease, and their laughter comes across as genuine, even with the frigidness in their lungs and the imperceptible tremble in their fingertips. Well, at least the headache was gone.

An sits by them today, watching them with a careful look in her eyes.

"You know, Mizuki," she speaks with deliberation, a sort of caution she didn't usually possess. "It's alright to take a day off from school if you aren't feeling too well."

Mizuki pauses at that. Something fractures, just slightly. A sharp pang of hurt pierces through their frozen crackling walls.

"Oh," they say, somewhat helplessly. "Thanks, An. But I'm feeling alright, you know? Just sleepy."

An casts them a dubious look. Her doubt enamates, all without her saying a single word in response. 

Mizuki's smile twitches, hands curling slightly from where they hide beneath the desk, settled on their lap.

They wonder when they became such a bad liar – to have their smile gradually become this transparent to people. Or maybe it'd just been different before, because no one had ever cared before. They wonder when they began to matter this much to people.

Just what about them had changed, enough that people could look at them now and seem to care for them? To not take one look at their messy, convoluted self, and not run the other way?

When did Mizuki themselves begin to care?

And perhaps therein lie the problem; the straw on the camel's back that had started the spiral, the swirling mess of fear and paranoia. The knowledge of how terrifying it is, sometimes, to have people looking; to be vulnerable and be noticed and to have to fight the urge to not flee and hide. To stare in the face of kindness and have no choice but to believe in its sincerity.

They tug their lips up frantically, laughing. "Hehe, I didn't expect Ms Disciplinary Committee member to encourage bad behaviour, you know~"

An's look of concern twists slightly into alarm. "Hey, hey, Mizuki! I never said anything about skipping school! Taking a day off because you aren't feeling well is totally different from skipping just because you don't want to take a test!"

"And I said I was feeling well, didn't I? You're absolutely advocating for truancy right now."

"Really?" An throws her hands up in the air with mild exasperation. The concern is there still, but layered with fond indignation. Like this, that inexplicable kindness is easier to swallow and distance themselves from.

"What am I going to do with you?" An sighs.

It's a rhetorical question, but Mizuki smiles anyway. "You put up with me, and that's more than enough! Really, if anything, I'm thankful!"

"You don't need to sound so serious." An's eyes focus on the curl in their smile, taking in the sight of the sincerity. "If you have any problems at all, you can always talk to me, okay?"

"Thank you for being kind," they'll say, as though kindness is a mercy to them — like it doesn't grate on their very nerves and make them want to tear their hair out. 

They do mean it. They mean every word; it's just that sometimes, the scariest thing to accept is the knowledge of being perceived. 

Some days, it's harder to be thankful, when the relationships they've painstakingly crafted through the act of smiling and hiding, brings with them an inevitable question: are you lying to me? When will you get tired of me? When will you leave?

Those days, they choke on the dread, struggling to breathe through the hurt that encompasses them entirely.

But however long it will last, Mizuki will smile. 

They'll say the words and smile their best smile.

It'll feel like a lie. 

Mizuki very decidedly does not turn away when they spot Rui from a distance away, standing at the courtyard with Tsukasa-senpai. They decidedly do not wince when they realise that they've caught Rui's attention, from the way his teasing grin slips slowly from his face upon seeing them. 

They do not run when they find Rui slowly make their way to them, a frown beginning to etch itself on his face as he seems to excuse himself from his conversation with Tsukasa-senpai.

They do not.

They find themselves slamming the door shut as they stumble into the first supply closet they see. 

Out of sight, out of mind. 

Mizuki takes heaving breathes as they calm their racing heart, settling their warm forehead against the cool surface of the supply closet door, sinking slowly to their knees. Why did they run in the first place? Why did they panic? 

It's a good day. A good day. 

They just need a little bit of a reminder. 

Right. 

Pulling out their phone and squinting against the light blinds them momentarily, they text Ena.

|| amia • Today at 12.34pm

im surviving the day so far, enanan~~

i hope you're prepared to keep up your end of the bet >:3

To their surprise, Ena's response comes immediately. In the space of the silent closet, Mizuki makes a small sound. It's strange for Ena to be up at noon.

|| Enanan • Today at 12.34pm

Don't act so smug now. You have a little over 4 hours left still. Survive and then reply back.

And despite everything, even with their face pressed against the closet door with god-knows-what kind of bacteria on it, even with the whispers and the eyes and the way every breath through their aching lungs hurt — they feel a little better, just a bit.

They can do this.

Taking yet another breath in, they attempt to steady themselves. They fix their smile in place, bolstered by the indignation they can hear, even over text, from Ena's message. 

As Mizuki stands, brushing off the dirt from their skirt, they wonder briefly just what Ena is doing. 

Did she go back to sleep after that message? No, the coherence in that message meant that Ena'd likely been awake for some time, and wouldn't be going to sleep anytime soon.

Probably drawing, then.

They snort slightly, amused by the image of Enanan in pyjamas, brows furrowed in concentration, hunched over her drawing tablet with the same energy as performing a life-saving surgery.

Right, right. If Ena was doing fine and going through her day as she usually was — if she was still waiting, for the day they would tell her their secret, for them to reply back with a victorious 'i win!', then Mizuki would do their best. 

They would try, at the very least.

Overhead, muffled slightly by the wooden surface of the supply closet door, the bell for class rings. Lunch was over, then. 

Mizuki's eyes narrows in faint determination.

Just three more lessons, and they'll be free. They'd have won their bet.

Mizuki can do this.

"Akiyama-san, wanna work together for our group presentation?"

Mizuki so cannot do this. 

In front of them, the smiling visage of their classmate greets them as they shift their focus from the teacher to her cheery self. A group presentation due right at the end of the period. Just their luck.

Why do these things only happen to me?

Hastily, they force a smile onto their face, just as An turns to them both with a pleading look in her eyes.

"Mako-chan, me too, me too! Mizuki, you're good at English, right? Please group up with us and save me. English is the worst."

"Ehhh, An-chan! Are you just trying to leech off Akiyama-san? That's horrible!"

"I don't have a choice, Mako-chan... If I want to even have a passing chance, then Mizuki is really, really my last hope..."

The laughter in the air brings with it an atmosphere that is light and welcoming. They listen, all with the smile plastered on their face, watching as An and their classmate banter back and forth.

Akiyama-san, their classmate had said, and then turned around to call An, An-chan. 

The distance should be expected. Mizuki isn't the most social of people, especially when compared to An. In the first place, they were confusing enough to people that honorifics likely didn't come easy — not like with other people.

Still, just a little bit, it stings. The sharp pang of hurt, ever-constant, flares to life as they swallow down the brief spike of envy.

"—Mizuki, are you alright? You zoned out a little."

They startle, tuning back into the conversation that they hadn't even realised has since trailed off, only to be met with the sight of dual looks of concern.

"Ah..." The silence is palpable, and there is a discomforting air to the room that hadn't been there before. They smile, somewhat ashamed. "I'm okay. Let's get started on the presentation then!" 

"Are you sure?" An asks. "You seemed a little..."

"I'm sure, I'm sure!" they interrupt, just a little bit too sharp, a little bit too anxious.

An draws back with furrowed brows, as though fighting back the urge to bite back with a retort.

"Right," she says. "Let's get started then."

The feeling of wrongness claws its way up their throat. They sink into the comfort of words; past perfect tenses and prepositions and meanings that hold no meaning. Time passes like that, formless and buoyant, and laughter spills from their lips without a second thought.

If they wring their trembling hands, trying not shrink from the weight of An's stare, if every word that they speak feels like static in their ears, then it's all the same, isn't it? 

It's just another secret to keep; to smile and pretend that all is well – even if they see the worry in An's eyes, and they just want her to stop looking. To just stop.

And they are standing in front of the class with papers in their hands. When they open their mouth to speak, not a single word leaves. Their classmate stands beside them, watching with confusion in her eyes. An angles an arm as though to steady them. 

Mizuki tries. They try to breathe past the panic, the overwhelming feeling of being perceived; eyes on their smile, their clothes, their manner of speech – even as they come to their senses and begin their presentation.

Every passing minute has the world growing a little more muted, a little more distant. Until there is nothing left other than weary exhaustion, the knowledge that there will always be someone looking, because even with past perfect tenses and prepositions and language coming easy to them in all the ways that do not matter, Mizuki themselves remains a mess of nonsense and irrationality.

They won't ever be able to find the right words to describe just what they feel, to respond to any semblance of kindness.

"With that, Group 3's presentation has come to an end." A staccato beat, stilted and heavy, yet enunciated with purpose. It takes effort. The loathing bubbles in their gut, thick and nauseating.

Beside them, their classmate breathes a sigh of relief. "I knew you could do it, Akiyama-san! An-chan was right, you really are good at English! You totally saved us there."

"Ehehe... is that so? I guess years of being active on English fandoms have paid off~" An offering in the form of a smile, even if it feels more like a grimace; even if it doesn't feel quite like their own. 

"That's amazing! You should recommend some shows to me sometime soon, you know? I could use the practice..."

Hands wrung tightly around the fabric of their cardigan, the world blurring at the edges. A smile fixed firmly in place, a perfect porcelain doll; and nothing is wrong. It's a good day. They'll win the bet.

"Mizuki."

They turn to stare. It's An, standing by the side of the class, who makes no move to leave even as the bell begins to ring, signalling an end to the period. 

"What is it, An?"

As the rest of their class slowly filters out of class, even Mako-chan, whom they wave goodbye to as she bypasses them both to head to her next class, An remains rooted in place. That perpetual frown is still on her face, even as she begins walking forward, stopping right in front of Mizuki's face.

"Are we friends, Mizuki?"

Mizuki's breathing hitches.

"Ah... of course we are, An. What brought this on?"

An's frown, tinged with concern, seems to be laced with an edge of hurt now. Frustration bleeds into her quiet words. She says, "I'm here to listen if you feel down, you know? You can talk to me, Mizuki. I swear I won't judge."

It's always like this, isn't it?

It's always the questions. Always the kindness. It always makes it all fall apart, until the web of lies they've so expertly weaved crumples like a house of cards, blown away by the slightest breeze — by even the slightest bit of concern.

(I'll wait for you forever.)

It's the same as it always is, and yet they're just so tired of it. The agonising kindness that is always, always accompanied by the knowledge of how Mizuki will inevitably let down the people they care about. 

And when the people that they love tire of kindness, of looking, of Mizuki — they'll leave again. When will that day be? What would Mizuki be left with, if nothing else than the battered remains of the heart that they'd bared to the world?

Facing that reality is hard, and so they pretend. Even if it hurts, and smiling sometimes feels like knives digging into the hollow of their chest, just because they can't face that inevitable reality, just because it hurts so, so, so, so much and they can't help but ask just what are they supposed to do?

"I'll—" They just don't have the words. "I... Sorry, An. I'll be right back— I need the bathroom."

It's the one thing they know, that they will succumb to, time and again. The instinct that pushes them towards that cocoon of safety, even as they scream: look what you're doing again.

You're just a coward, aren't you?

"Ah— Mizuki, wait—!"

Mizuki runs.

An doesn't follow them on their way out.

They come back to their senses standing in front of a quaint row of houses, snapping back with a startled jerk as they blink their eyes against the blinding rays from the afternoon sun.

Where... are they? 

Their phone is clutched in their hand, tight enough to hurt. They loosen their grip enough to peer, with squinted eyes, at the image glaring back at them from their screen. 

It takes a moment for the familiar background of Nightcord to sink in. An even later moment to truly register the knowledge that it is Enanan's message staring back at them, with a seemingly innocuous line of text on display, and it's—

It's... an address.

An address to Ena's house, and wait a minute, did they just walk to Ena's house—? 

Holding back a strangled scream, they inhale through their nose and hold their breath in, slipping their eyes shut in hopes of this all being just a Very Bad Dream.

They open their eyes.

They're still in front of Ena's house.

Great. Absolutely wonderful.

Mizuki has to really, really wants to scream now. Shuffling backwards uncertainly, they stare at the brown-painted mahogany door in front of them, unsure of what exactly to do.

Do they knock?

Enanan's last message flashes through their mind. 'Survive and then reply back', wasn't it? Mizuki had been so smug about it before, too; accepting the challenge with a grace to their words, playful determination fuelling them on, as though it would be a challenge they'd easily fulfil.

Would Ena be disappointed then? That Mizuki couldn't even do something this small, like make it through just three days without a colossal freak-out. One simple, innocuous bet interrupting the predictable dynamic between them both, where Mizuki will never been seen the same way again.

This isn't something they can just deflect with a teasing grin and empty words of assurance. They wonder how Ena will respond, and if it will be kind.

Kindness sets a precedence for perceiving, and perceiving always meant that the people Mizuki trusted, would always grew tired of them, always left when they had been worn down by their constant anxiety, their desire to be seen and heard. 

The weight of Ena's kindness; distinct and prickly, but encompassing all the same, it makes Mizuki want to scream out, she's not like the others, she won't leave.

But even then, the ever constant fear and anxiety remains, because what if she does? What if it was the same with Ena? With Niigo? What if it all fell apart? 

And now they're here, standing in front of Ena's door, because god, they just can't be normal, can they? They always, always mess things up, and is this why everyone leaves—?

"Mizuki?" 

Their name is called out by a familiar voice, accompanied by the door in front of their face swinging open with alarming speed. 

Low and behold, there stands one bewildered Shinonome Ena, an expression of pure puzzlement on her face. She breathes heavily, as though having taken the stairs two steps at a time, like Mizuki would be spirited away if she wasn't there to greet them in the next minute or so.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" Ena questions, her bewilderment beginning to edge towards confusion, maybe a hint of indignation.

Busted.

"Ahaha... Surprise..?" They chuckle weakly.

Ena doesn't look impressed.

"What are you doing here? It's 2 in the afternoon. Didn't a certain someone just text me about winning a bet, or have you given up already?"

"Ah..." They shrug helplessly. "I... got bored?"

"Bored." Ena drawls, raising a brow dubiously. "Right."

Then, as though taking in the sight of their pathetically slumped shoulders, the exhausted air that they radiate, she seems to soften, letting out a grievous sigh.

Mizuki bites down on their lip. 

Don't be kind to me. Don't. 

"Well, since you're here, might as well be useful," Ena snarks, holding the door open wider for them to enter. "Get in already. It's hot outside."

Mizuki blinks, slightly taken aback. She was letting them in, just like that? Without even asking what's wrong?

They swallow down their surprise, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Choosing instead to take small, unsure steps through the threshold of the door, Mizuki tugs their shoes off at the genkan.

"Pardon the intrusion," they murmur quietly, before turning back to Ena, who seems otherwise pre-occupied bustling around the kitchen to make tea for them.

"Is no one else home?" Mizuki asks, while 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing vaguely at the photo frames displayed on the walls, the various trinkets scattered throughout the Shinonome household.

"Mom's attending a high school reunion today, so she'll probably only come back later at night. Akito's at school still, which—"She throws them a bit of a stink eye. "—you should still be at right now, so he's otherwise indisposed for the next few hours."

"So it's... just us?" The sudden surge of anxiety is wholly unwelcome, but they make due, even as their smile feels infinitely more strained than before. 

"Is that a problem?" Ena snaps, and she still hasn't asked yet, only rolls her eyes a little as she sets down a glass cup on the wooden surface of the table with a heavy thunk. 

"Drink already. I didn't make perfectly good tea for you to waste."

Mizuki chuckles, staring down at the steaming cup in front of them, before eventually picking it up. They take a sip to distract themselves from their racing thoughts, the way the intensity of Ena's gaze has them self-consciously hiking their shoulders higher and higher up.

"Fufu, looks like even Ena can make a decent cup of tea sometimes~ I'm impressed, you know?"

Ena makes a sound of indignation. "Hey, what do you mean, even Ena? And why the hell are you impressed? It's tea."

"Eh~? No need to be so prickly, Enaemon. It's a compliment! People can mess up tea, you know?" They smile teasingly, and it's strange, isn't it? 

There's an easy lightness in the air, the kind of straightforwardness that can be expected when it comes to Ena, that makes this all seem normal, somehow. 

Like it was an everyday occurrence for Ena to have to open the door to someone standing in front of her house in the middle of the afternoon. 

But it isn't. It isn't, so surely Ena had questions. 

The curiosity lingers, sitting just out of reach. Mizuki knows that the questions are right at the tip of her tongue, in the glimmer of her eyes that she tries to temper with indignation.

They remember the not-quite fight they had. The silent declaration on that distant rooftop, the determination in Ena's eyes, her promise to wait forever. Is it the same in this case? Is Ena extending the same patience once again, in choosing not to question them? Is she looking?

But even forever had to have a limit, right? 

Ena herself once admitted to being impatient. How much more would she be able to take — waiting, looking, being kind? When would it be finally be enough?

In the space of the silence, in between sips of their tea, Ena sighs.

"You're as insufferable as always, Mizuki." 

They hold back a tired laugh.

"Would I be me if I weren't otherwise?" they say good-naturedly, as though sharing an inside joke. From the look on Ena's face, it might as well be. They've had this discourse one too many times for it to not be regarded with nothing but good humour.

It's strange how it'd only really been three days since everything started falling apart — in hindsight it almost makes the perpetual exhaustion and weary cynicism weighing them down seem almost pathetic.

The feeling in their chest is reminiscent to taking an off-step on a flight of stairs, where they will stumble and struggle to regain their balance, trying to breathe past the vertigo, the disorientation of the world before inevitably falling backwards towards the ground. Towards the end of it all.

They straighten, swiping a palm over their face in order to rid themselves of the exhaustion on their face.

"Anyway, looks like I lost the bet!" They beam. "So, what's your request? I'm yours to command!"

"Mizuki... you—" Ena pursues her lips. She doesn't quite finish her sentence.

Mizuki waits, trying not to let their smile falter.

Ena casts a scrutinising gaze on them. And eventually, their patience is regarded with a thoughtful hum.

"Well, since you're already here..." She mumbles. "Let me draw you, then. That's my request."

Mizuki stops short.

Huh?

"Draw me?"

The words come out weak, strained and reedy. They imagine the weight of eyes on them. They imagine Ena looking, and they find their stomach twisting with anxiety.

Mizuki takes another sip of their tea, stalling their answer, trying to formulate a thought beyond the cloud of anxiety that pervades them, that makes just thinking so, so hard.

Ena seems to sense their discomfort. Her eyes narrow as she says, "You don't have to if you don't want to, I can think of something els—"

"I'll do it." The words leave their lips unwittingly, almost like a subconscious thought, born from the desire to do something right, for once in their life.

In the next moment though, panic completely and utterly floods their system. They inhale sharply because, um, what??? What did they just say???

Their laugh comes out as a little bit unhinged. Well, no take-backs now. Not with the surprised look in Ena's face, and the pleased flush on her face that her scowl can't quite seem to hide.

"I'm serious, Ena! I'm down to be your model!" They push, and maybe that came across a little bit too strong, because for the second time in less than an hour, Ena squints, looking suspicious. 

"...Right." She drawls, standing from her seat. "Well, if you're that excited, I'll go set up my easel while you finish off the rest of your tea. Take your time."

They're left in the sitting room, accompanied by only the ticking clock and the remnants of the tea set a little ways off the table. 

Like this, in the silence, they let their smile slip, expression slipping into something colder, something more nonchalant. The frigid apathy remains in their lungs, mingling with their every breath in.

"Right." Mizuki slips their eyes shut, trying to steady themselves. There is a tension in the air that has their shoulders tensing, lungs tight from the effort it takes to even breathe.

Why did they even come here in the first place? What exactly were they looking from Ena? 

The fear makes it hard to think, to do anything more than sit in silence, stewing in their anxiety. To have Ena draw them – Mizuki wonders if she'll notice; the sharpness of their features, the broadness of shoulders, the way their clothes don't fit them quite right. It all paints an ugly truth, one Mizuki can't run from, no matter how hard they try.

"Are you done with the tea?"

They jump at the sound of Ena's voice, barely holding back a yelp. Ena stands at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the second floor, tilting her head in a gesture for Mizuki to follow.

"Ah... hahaha! Right, yeah—" They stumble to their feet, smiling awkwardly. "I'm ready! Lead the way, Enanan!"

They take awkward clamouring steps up the stairs, and find themselves, for the first time, at a loss of words. They're unable to tease, even with Ena swinging her door open and displaying her room to the world.

"Nothing to comment?" Ena raises a brow. "Don't you usually have a lot to say?"

The blood roaring in their ears and ever-constant flood of panic makes it hard. Mizuki smiles weakly, even as their mind remains cruelly blank. Their sight fixes on the first thing that manages to catch their attention long enough for them to process what exactly they're looking at.

A set of paint tools scattered beside a messy workstation, where a white canvas on an easel has been set up.

"That is a lot of supplies. Do you use all that?"

"What do you take me for?" Ena snorts, pushing the door open to sidestep past them. She snatches her apron off a hook to put it on. "Of course I do!"

Mizuki's heart twists, shifting their gaze from Ena's workstation, filled to the brim with crayons and acrylics and watercolour, to Ena herself — a mess of colours, coordinated chaos and vibrancy, filled with so much personality. 

Truly, it fit Ena perfectly.

There is honesty there to be accorded, a vulnerability that Ena has undoubtedly offered, for her to let Mizuki see this part of her, privately tucked away.

Gratefulness is accompanied by guilt. So much of it, because even now, they can't be honest, and it still feels like they're living in a lie, crafting words that remain meaningless, smiling a smile they don't quite know is real or not. Mizuki still feels like a fraud, trapped in the grips of a fabricated tale of ribbons and honeyed lies.

"Then," they say quietly, still smiling, still with that frigid apathy in their lungs, the overwhelming panic and the weary exhaustion. "What will you use to draw me today?"

Ena's brows furrow in concentration. She murmurs quiet words under her breath, as though in consideration, switching her focus between her spread of supplies and Mizuki themselves — who tries not to tense under her scrutiny, not to let their smile waver even as Ena eventually makes a sound of assent, shuffling past them to dig out her stash of half-empty oil paints.

Guess this is it.

Without saying another word, Mizuki saunters towards Ena's desk chair, plopping down onto it rather inelegantly.

"Is me sitting here fine?" They grin. "Or does Enanan have any more special requests for lil' ol' me~?"

"Oh, just sit there and be your usual annoying self!" Ena groans, taking her own seat behind her easel as she glares at them. "Don't. Move. That's your one and only job."

"Tchhh, so fussy... Well, I'll be in your care then!"

"Yeah, yeah, stay still already!"

The minutes tick away to the faint scratching of lead on canvas. The lack of conversation, the weight of Ena's eyes on them — it leaves them with an itch under the skin. A quiet sort of discomfort that, though not overwhelming, feels wrong all the same.

Their cheeks ache from the force of their smile. Their hands are wrung tight, white-knuckled and twisted tight enough to cut off circulation. It hurts, just a bit, but it grounds them all the same.

"So–" Mizuki clears their throat, throwing Ena a shit-eating grin after ten quiet minutes. It only feels the slightest bit forced. "–how's the progress?"

Ena throws them the dirtiest glare they've seen in a while. "It was fine, until a certain someone decided to open their mouth."

"You can't just expect me to be quiet for a few hours!" Mizuki whines, dropping their smile theatrically into a pout. 

They don't expect Ena to suddenly go still, brows furrowing firstly as though in confusion, before her expression twists into a frown, a stubborn set to her pursed lips.

Unease finds its way into their gut, as they catch the sight of Ena tightening her grip on the dripping brush in her hand. Their shoulders begin to tense.

"What is it?" They try to feign nonchalance. "Is there something on my face—"

"You shouldn't smile if you don't feel like it," Ena interrupts.

Mizuki freezes in place, before laughing, almost helplessly.

"Huh? What's gotten into you, Enanan?" they ask, straightening from where they'd previously been slouched on their desk chair. Their honeyed words are laced with muted apathy; just enough to come across as distant and uncaring, even the slightest bit cold.

"I smile when I want to, don't I?"

The buzzing in their ears, vision blurring at the edges — the smile that they've fixed perfectly in place, despite the crawling anxiety, the nauseating self-loathing that twists in their gut. It's the only thing that fits right, in the end, more than the pink and the frills and the cutesy facade they like to portray.

Ena has stopped painting now. The paint on her brush drips in a steady trail, gradually staining her apron pale pink.

"You're lying again," she presses, still with determination in her eyes, sure of her place in Mizuki's world – sure of what Mizuki is like, and how laughable is that?

They'll only let her down.

Don't be kind. Don't.

"What would Ena know about me, to be so sure that I'm lying?" They bite out cruelly, watching the hurt flare in Ena's eyes as she inhales sharply.

"I smile because I'm happy, I dress in cute clothes because I want to be cute, I'm living life enjoying everyday. You're overthinking it, Enaemon~"

It's the person they want to be seen as – to the world, to their friends, and most of all, to Ena. The type of person that is always cheerful and dependable and happy.

Maybe then, they can learn what it's like to be honest, to be truthful. Now, with Mizuki as they are and with the secrets they keep, the concerned eyes set upon their guarded frame, the kindness doled out hand in hand with pity only tells a cautionary tale warning them of the inevitability of goodbyes, where Mizuki will always be left behind.

Don't be kind.

(Don't leave me alone.)

"Just let it be, Ena. I'm fine, I swear! Fufu, your eyebags though... Hehe, what happened to your oh-so-amazing skincare routine, Enanan-san?"

"You—!" Ena snaps, her expression shifting into that of fury. She slams down her brush, uncaring of splattering paint leaving splashes of pink on her clothes, the floor and even her face. There is nothing remotely soft about the way she glares down at them, still standing over them seated in their swivel chair.

"Do you think I'm an idiot, Mizuki?" she asks, still looming over them, angry and hurt. "I said it before, didn't I? I said I would wait for you! That I would be here if you ever decided to talk to me! That I wouldn't push, even if I'm bad at waiting! So why are you shutting me out now, Mizuki? What on earth do you want from me?!"

Fury, tinged with hurt and concern and — despite everything, kindness. So much of it, spilling into those heart wrenching words, seeping into every crevice, every nook, right into the chasm of their chest, until it leaves them shuddering and straining from the weight of it.

Mizuki laughs. They laugh and laugh, and— "I just want you to leave me alone!"

They don't mean to say it. They never meant for any of this to happen. What had seemed like an innocuous bet just three days ago has quickly proved to be the tipping point of no return.

"Like hell I am! Why can't you just be honest with me? I just want you to stop pretending, Mizuki! Don't smile if you don't want to. Don't laugh just because you feel like you can't do anything else!"

It all comes to a head, ballooning and building until everything breaks down and crumbles into pieces. They're left with stifling silence in the aftermath of it all. Inevitability. 

"I don't know how to be anyone else, Ena." 

They let their eyes slam shut, all to not see the expression on Ena's face anymore — to not have to face the world. "And– And maybe that's the problem, isn't it? Maybe I just want you to stop looking."

If they see through your smile, what'll be next? How much more of the real you would they be able to accept? It's a question they've asked, time and again, and this time, just like so many times before, there just are no answers.

"Who even am I, Ena? I don't know how to be honest. I'm scared you'll hate the person you see. I'm scared you'll regret it."

Even if they try, over and over, to convince themselves that they're just Mizuki — who are they even trying to be? For the people they care about, who have always been endlessly kind; for them to have taken a closer look at Mizuki and seemed to hate what they saw — doesn't it speak for itself how horrible a person Mizuki must surely be?

If they told Ena, 'I'll tell you my secret', what would be left? What would change? Mizuki doesn't know what they'll find peering back at them in the aftermath of the truth, where there will undoubtedly be no going back.

A hand reaches out for them, tugging their wrung hands and loosening their clenched grip. Warm and slender fingers shift to swipe the bangs out of their face, nudging their eyes open.

Ena says quietly, "But you're here, aren't you? Isn't that enough?"

Her left cheek is still smeared with paint. She stares at them still with that furrow in her brows. She looks just like she did that day on the rooftop.

"Don't smile if you don't want to. Not with me. I said I'd wait, didn't I? It's the same for this too."

Is it really that easy?

Is it really okay?

They bite back their uncertainty, averting their gaze. For Ena, they do want to try. Just a little, they want to be honest.

The exhaustion that sets in as adrenaline runs its course leaves them sagging tiredly backwards into the swivel chair, very nearly falling off. 

"Okay," Mizuki whispers. They sigh in defeat, lips quirking up in good humour, a facsimile of a smile. "You win, Ena."

Ena scoffs slightly, though the look in her eyes holds nothing but relief, not even the slightest bit of contempt. 

"Duh," she says. "I always win."

Mizuki shakes their head. They're tired. So, so tired. Their cheeks hurt from the effort of smiling. They feel scraped raw, like their insides have been wrung out and displayed to the world. An admittance of vulnerability — one that before, they would've run from.

But they're still here now, aren't they?

Their next breath out comes out as another exhausted sigh. They loosen the tension in their shoulders, no longer fighting the grimace that twists their carefree expression in a more severe expression. Something colder, more cynical; void of their usual veneer of exuberance to dull the pale pallor of their face, the unease they wear like an ill-fitting garment.

They watch as Ena looks at them. Really looks. They see the way her fingers twitch, as though curling around an imaginary brush — as though holding back the urge to draw. 

They fight the way the fear threatens to swallow them whole, and each breath they take seems to get shallower and shallower.

To be seen, to be perceived; it's a scary, scary thing. Even now, after everything, deep inside, something screams — don't be kind to me. 

Don't leave me.

They fight the urge to run away.

"Weren't you—" Mizuki averts their eyes, desperate for a distraction. Their voice crackles painfully at the edges. "Weren't you going to draw me?"

Their gaze falls on the forgotten easel, still settled in the corner of the room. They're sure that the expression on their face has flickered into wary guardedness. They don't want to talk anymore. Not about this.

It's funny how just moments ago, they'd been so reluctant about having Ena draw them. How three days ago, they would've never expected this to have happened — not with their innocuous idea to help Ena out with her creative block.

Guess she's not feeling stuck anymore, huh?

A quieter, more vehement part of them whispers, though even that part of them bristles more in self-loathing than anything else.

Ena's looking, and there's nothing they can do about it. It's... inevitability, isn't it? Whatever comes next, they might as well follow through.

Even if it hurts.

Even if Ena chooses to be kind. Even if she chooses to say goodbye.

They steel themselves and turn towards her as she sighs, stumbling back to her spot behind the easel.

"Ugh. Right." Groaning at the faint splatters of paint on the floor, remnants of her fury just moments ago, Ena seems to still for a moment.

"Do whatever you want, or something." She puts on an unaffected disposition, settling the paintbrush in her hand again; the very picture of artistry, an air of distracted annoyance around her. "Talk or something. Move. Take a nap. I don't care."

It's such a contrast to her snippy tone from just moments ago.

"What happened to 'Don't move, or else'?" 

"Do you want me to strap you to the chair or something?"

"Tch... Touchy."

"Insufferable."

"As established."

From where they sit, they can see the rhythmic motions of Ena's brush, painting broad strokes against the blank canvas.

"You're a good person, Mizuki," Ena says quietly. Her voice and brush both do not once falter, even as Mizuki startles from their place on the squeaky swivel chair. "You're kind."

They don't say anything back. Unable to muster up the courage to believe her. The part of them that whispers, not yet, not yet. It's not time to tell her yet. 

Inevitability, that they will succumb to one day. One day, there'll be no more running. They're be no more lies — not anymore, and things will have to change.

Still, that kindness in Ena, that she sees in Mizuki, despite looking, even after looking —

It's because it's you, isn't it?

They stare back at Ena, softening, even as they don't say a word.

It feels a little bit like being honest.

"Here, tell me what you think."

A landscape of pink, ribbons intertwined between their fingertips as the Mizuki in that painting sits, leaning back on a swivel chair with their hands clung tightly onto their chest. They hold within it an aching heart that beats on, waiting.

There's a smile on their face, wry and soft. It's unlike the ones they've practiced, time and again, in front of the mirror.  

So this is what you see when you look at me.

Mizuki smiles.

"I think it looks kind," they say, and maybe that isn't such a scary thing after all.

Ena smiles back.