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tonight was little different from any other night of recent. boxes and papers littered kanade’s floor, disturbed only by the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan. as per usual, the lighting was dim — the monitor on her desk sat currently unused, perpetually displaying the n25 group’s general chat . normally, kanade would be partial to turning all lights off, leaving only herself and the darkness. it felt nicer that way, easier to relax, to lose what it meant to be a corporeal being with a body that required maintenance. not like she took care of herself, anyway, or didnt lose herself in daydreams and the vast collection of musical scriptures — and of course there were still sensations like hunger and exhaustion and aches and cold — but it was easier to ignore the burden of existing when you couldnt see any part of yourself in the first place. out of sight out of mind, perhaps.
what made tonight different, however, was that there were lights left on. even the lightly tattered blackout curtains she’d splurged years prior on were opened just an inch to allow some outdoor light in, even if at this time of night the only light was from the streetlights lining the sidewalks of her neighborhood. and besides the monitor, there was a clearly aged nightlight illuminating a small space on the wall in one of the only available outlets in the room, obscured slightly by one of the very many aforementioned boxes.
and aside from one particular corner of the room, occupied in part by plush stuffed animals and heavy pillows and heavier blankets, it was frigid. and comfortable.
“kanade,” mafuyu murmured, voice barely audible above the low hum of the fan, “your hands are freezing.”
well- perhaps only truly comfortable to one of them.
at present, the two of them were amongst the vast sea of bedsheets, arms and legs enveloped in the comfort of cottons and silks and worn quilts, broken up only occasionally by the occasional strewn about pillow. in the middle of it all, they held each other, kanade laying her head into mafuyu’s chest, legs entwined.
the problem lay in kanade’s hand position, nestled between mafuyu’s shirt and skin, gently placed along the middle of her back. she wasn’t even aware her hands were cold- honestly, she felt as she always did. “ah-“ she blinked, voice groggy, broken out of a state of half-consciousness. “sorry, was i preventing you from getting sleep?”
mafuyu nodded so slightly that if it werent for kanade’s position, being able to feel or hear every movement and rustle of mafuyu’s body, she would barely have registered it.
but, of course, she still would have.
after all, over the duration of time she had known mafuyu, kanade would like to think she’d become fully attuned to her body language — the way mafuyu fidgeted with her thumbs when she was most conflicted, the bow of her head that allowed for her deep mauve hair to cascade over her shoulders and a soft pink blush to spread across her cheeks when she was especially bashful. and, most importantly, the smaller gestures: the genuine soft smiles, the way her fingers brushed ever-so-softly against kanade’s when she wanted to hold the composer’s own but couldn’t put it into words, the subtle twitch of the corners of her mouth in place of laughter. eventually, hopefully, the latter would become a giggle, or even just a soft exhale with a note of genuine joy.
and even if it didn’t, kanade would keep noticing anyway, and she had no doubt in her mind that the butterflies that swelled in her stomach on those rare occasions would never go away.
she moved her hands, featherlight, gently smoothing out mafuyu’s shirt as she lay her hands over it, in the same position as before. after a few moments, she spoke softly- an inquiry. “how do you feel?”
she had become accustomed to asking this in increasing frequency since mafuyu moved in with her. it was barely a conscious question anymore, but it held indescribable amounts of meaning. every morning, after every meal, before and after every nightcord meeting, before bed and sometimes — as was the case tonight — when neither of them could succumb to sleep. it was an ‘i love you’ in place of true ‘i love you’s. and mafuyu’s answer was always the same:
“i’m not sure.”
kanade used to interpret this response humorously as an automatic response, one a computer would spit out in automated lines of code, as if the words ‘not sure’ overrode any other genuine response that may have taken place in that sentence instead. but over time it became a ridiculously offensive idea to suggest, even internally, that mafuyu was just code, moulded to be a certain way instead of consciously becoming the person she was today.
but that didn’t mean it didn’t ever hurt. every day they shared words that held so much meaning that kanade used to be convinced were only spoken in fictional stories of soulmates, but when it came down to the most earnest question of all, ‘i love you,’ ‘i love you,’ ‘ i love you ,’ mafuyu always, always gazed at her with soft eyes and a softer expression, a world of vulnerability sealed away deep in her chest, and spoke only,
“i’m not sure.”
there was no other word for what they had besides love. neither of them were ever even sure of the technicalities — romantic, platonic, ‘ a secret third thing ’ like mizuki sometimes suggested while thorizing passively with ena or rui. it had become sort of an unspoken rule that neither would ever question it. if kanade’s cheeks flushed when rereading what mafuyu wrote earnestly in her birthday card, about how ‘ whenever im with you, my heart becomes restless ,’ if mafuyu stared up at the ceiling for hours remembering over and over what it felt like to be found, even if just physically, to hold kanade’s hand for the first time at phoenix wonderland in an effort to hold onto the warmth blooming in her chest for just a few moments longer- well, neither of them were in any place to question it. much less confront it.
so for now, “i’m not sure” was enough. and as birds began chirping outside their window, precursory to the sunrise, both of them laid at ease. and if soft purr-like snoring resounded from mafuyu’s chest, kanade would never tell.
tomorrow, kanade would ask, “how are you feeling?”
and tomorrow, mafuyu would answer, “i’m not sure.”
and tomorrow, kanade would gaze a second longer at mafuyu’s expression, her lips, her hands.
and tomorrow, mafuyu would stare a second longer at the ceiling, wondering what could save her, wondering what lyrics she should write, wondering if kanade ever thought about phoenix wonderland or her birthday card.
and tomorrow, kanade would make sure her hands were warm before placing them, featherlight, on mafuyu’s skin.
and tomorrow, mafuyu would say, in lyrics and in the subtle twitches of the corners of her mouth, ‘i love you.’