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Darkness settled into each crack and crevasse, painting the tropical paradise of Jabberwock Island into a dreamlike image. Buildings rose, eclectic, from each of five islands that formed a small archipelago. Ibuki could imagine, in her mind, taking an endless night stroll through the islands, buildings rising and falling without end.
They were stuck here, but only by self-banishment. Future Foundation couldn't actually hope to stop them from leaving, as they'd proven in the past. But they didn't want to leave. There was no space left for ex-Ultimate Despair in a world that had been ravaged by them. They all had just a small corner of the world to call their own, and it was preferrable that way for everyone.
Ibuki would be lying if she said she hadn't thought, in passing, about just putting on a disguise and trying to reintegrate into society. It was tempting, the promise of normalcy. She chuckled to herself. It was almost sacrilegious for her of all people to say so, but it was true. Jabberwock was nice, but it was small. Cabin fever was a given.
Even so, those dreams were always crushed by the wave of anxiety that rose to meet them. They had all been wronged, in one way or another. Those people who had hurt them were mostly gone, but the hurt remained, scars marring their hearts.
Ibuki knew this better than anyone, because she'd seen it in the way Fuyuhiko's face became dark when Mahiru and Hiyoko were fooling around, saw it in the way Hajime's eyes would get all shiny and sad when Chiaki was brought up.
She'd wiped that look off everyone's faces, or at least tried to, every day.
But there was one person who Ibuki couldn't seem to help. Even after they started hanging out more, and that hanging out became dates and they were suddenly girlfriends, Mikan remained... stagnant. Her demons didn't leave, or tire out, or run away. If anything, she seemed worse off the more she recovered from being an Ultimate Despair.
Ibuki exhaled with a practiced slowness.
Nighttime was the only time of day that Ibuki could shed her jovial, carefree act and ruminate in her thoughts. The wind wasn’t cold enough to be biting, even without a coat. Still, Ibuki found her feet carrying her to Hotel Mirai. An arcade game might be fun, or she could sit at the top floor and watch the sun crest through the windows.
Those plans were thrown out the moment she stepped foot inside. A quiet sniffling echoed throughout the lobby, breaking through the silent sanctity of the night. Ibuki’s well-trained ears pinpointed the voice’s owner immediately.
Mikan.
Scanning the shadows, Ibuki’s eyes landed on a small lump in the middle of the floor. Walking closer, Mikan’s sniffles grew louder and it seemed she was muttering to herself as well. Crouching down next to her, Ibuki’s eyes widened and her body froze at what she heard.
“Please…” Mikan whispered, voice quivering. “Be gentle…” Her eyes were screwed shut, tears streaming softly down her face. She was… asleep. But what kind of dream…? No, that was a stupid question. It was obvious that her dream was nothing good. Ibuki reached out and shook her by her shoulder. Mikan stirred slightly.
“No… No! Please!” Ibuki’s heart pounded in her ears, but even that wasn’t enough to drown out Mikan’s pleas. She shook harder, no longer trying to wake her girlfriend slowly. Her hand shifted until some of her fingers brushed Mikan’s neck, and her eyes flew open all at once.
“Ah!” Mikan flailed, trying to scramble away, but Ibuki caught her hand and held on with all her might.
“Mikan! It’s just Ibuki!” she called, but Mikan didn’t appear to register her words. She kept trying to tug her hand out of Ibuki’s grip, tossing her head around frantically as she did so. “Mikan, look.”
She slowly, gradually reached out a hand until she could cup Mikan’s cheek and turn her gaze. Their gazes locked, and seconds later, Mikan was flinging herself into Ibuki headlong. Ibuki soon recovered and wrapped her arms securely around Mikan’s back, rubbing in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.
“See? Just Ibuki,” she repeated, voice far quieter. “No one’s gonna hurt you here.” Mikan shook violently in her hold, breaths jagged and hiccuping.
“Th-they-“ Mikan broke off with a sob. “They wouldn’t… be gentle. Never.” She shook her head, again and again. “Never, ever. I asked and asked, and they never would.” Her voice broke at the end, giving way for more heartbreaking sobs to tear themselves free.
Should she shush her? Ibuki hated when people did that to her. It was like they didn’t want her to feel anything - or, at least, that was the impression she always got. So she settled for holding Mikan, just rubbing her back up and down and doing her best to avoid any hair. Mikan had a lot of baggage with her hair, Ibuki had come to learn, and this didn’t seem the appropriate time to test those boundaries.
Mikan cried into her shoulder, generating enough tears that Ibuki could feel her shirt soak through. But that didn’t matter. She could always buy new shirts, and it was a sleeping shirt anyway. It didn't take long for Mikan's uneasy breaths to settle back into the lull of sleep, light snoring coming from her instead.
The night was silent and calm once more, but not restful. Ibuki resigned herself to sleeping on the floor of the hotel as Mikan grew heavy against her and sleep fought to close her eyes.
They were - all of them - badly hurt by people before their time as Ultimate Despair, some more than others. But on Jabberwock, they could peacefully exist, free of those painful bonds. The memories, the scars, stayed. But they could be made hushed, edges dulled until they no longer prodded the wounds back open.
Ibuki knew there was still a long road ahead of them, but healing was happening. No one was in the same place, but then again, no one said recovery was a straightforward path. All they needed was more time. The night passed by lazily, and Ibuki let herself sleep.