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"Hey, Icchan!"
"O-Oh, Saki, you surprised me!"
"Hehe, sorry..."
"It's fine. Ah, but did you want to talk to me about something?"
"Ah, well, have you heard of soulmates, Icchan?"
"...Soulmates?"
"Yeah! Apparently, some people are destined to meet their true love! Isn't that romantic, how the universe sets them up to be together?"
"Huh, that sounds interesting... But how do they know who their soulmate is?"
"Well, there's a bunch of different kinds. From what I've heard, they can't see in colour until they confess to their soulmate."
"That's—that's rather sad, isn't it?"
"Yeah... I guess so."
"Oh, that's the bell! Come on, Icchan, we'll be late for class!"
"Alright, alright, I'm coming."
...
"Soulmates, huh?"
The world may be colourless through her eyes, but Ichika has never really minded. What she wonders, though, is if her soulmate cares.
She's never told anyone about her condition, but she suspects her parents might be knowing a bit more than they let up on—after all, there's only so many times one purposely cuts themself off to avoid saying the colour of an object until it becomes fishy, to say the least. It's an annoyance when colours are unnecessarily shoved down her throat, but she's managed. (Saki, though, nearly fainted when she first saw her outfits.)
Still, there's a part of her that aches for colour, to see something other than a monochrome gradient for once. She wonders what it'd feel like to profess your love and watch the world explode into vivid, vibrant hues.
Ichika hopes that she finds her soulmate, soon.
Maybe it's because of her longing for love, but equally likely it's for her selfish, primal hunger for colour.
"Why are you here?" Ichika asks in lieu of a greeting when opening the door.
"And good afternoon to you, Ichika," Shiho responds, pushing herself past Ichika's body.
"My bad," she apologizes. She can't help but be a bit shocked—it's around half an hour earlier than the time that they planned, "I didn't expect you to be here so early, that's all. Honami said she was walking Shibao with her brother—"
"And Saki was going shopping with Tsukasa-san," Shiho finishes.
Ichika closes the door, clicking the lock shut until the sound echoes across the otherwise empty house. "And didn't you say you were being held back by your sister?"
"I managed to, uh," Shiho says, kicking her shoes off and setting them neatly parallel next to the wall, "escape her clutches."
"A personal best?"
"Far from it," Shiho sighs, "how does being an idol increase your grip strength?"
"Good question," she robotically pats Shiho's back, "you have my condolences."
"Don't pity me," Shiho groans.
The two make their way to the living room, Ichika grabbing some snacks from a bowl on the coffee table adjacent to the couch. She doesn't recognize the brand; it's some sort of candy that she swears been in that bowl before she was born. She tears off the wrapper and pops one into her mouth before she abruptly stops—wait, can candy expire?
"Uh, you alright?" Shiho asks.
"Oh, no, I mean, yeah. I'm fine," Ichika stutters, careful not to choke. Shiho doesn't seem to agree, but leaves the topic untouched. "Let's just, um, set everything up before they get here."
Shiho nods, taking the initiative to make her way to the drawers underneath the TV; there's no hesitation in her movements—Ichika's house is practically a second home to her. She pulls open the shelf on the bottom right, revealing a treasure trove of board games: Catan - Miku edition, Scrabble - Miku edition, Pictionary - Miku edition, Monopoly - Miku edition... "Which one do you want to play tonight?"
Ichika hums, letting the candy dissolve on her tongue. Mm, lime flavoured. "Monopoly?"
"Vetoed."
"Wha—this is my house!"
"Last time we played, you almost ripped off Honami's arm after you got a chance card that moved you directly on Boardwalk. With a hotel. That you traded to her for Baltic Avenue and three hundred dollars."
"Right, that happened," Ichika bites her lip, uneager to remember the consequences of her bad business deals, "Catan?"
"Good choice," Shiho takes the corresponding box and places it on the carpet, before pushing the drawer closed. "Is there anything else that still needs to be done?"
"Well, I've brought out the snacks, Honami's going to bring over dinner, the blankets are all on the couch, and... oh, I still need to place down you and Honami's sleeping bags."
"I never understood why Saki wanted a sleepover like this," Shiho groans, picking herself off the floor. "I'd much rather share a crowded mattress than have an indoor camping experience."
"Don't be like that," Ichika teases, "we promised to roast marshmallows over a video of a campfire, did we not?"
"Ugh."
Shiho opens her phone before disappearing with a flash of light and colourful triangles before reappearing a minute or two later, two sleeping bags in her arms. One of the many uses of the SEKAI: a pseudo-teleportation device. Doesn't work with humans though, Saki tried. Shiho walks over to where Ichika's sitting, before unglamorously dumping the sleeping bags onto her lap.
"What was that for?" Ichika glowers.
"No reason," Shiho smiles, innocently. Liar.
Ichika groans, tossing the sleeping bags off of her. She rolls over until she reaches her sleeping bag, already laid down—being the host means that she gets to remember that hers is the one closest to the dining table.
"Come on," she says, "lay your sleeping bag down already."
"Fine, fine," Shiho acquiesces, kneeling over the mess she made before she freezes. Her eyes narrow as she stares at the two sleeping bags, left and right, right and left, before her line of sight turns back to Ichika.
"What's up?" Ichika asks, puzzled.
"Nothing," Shiho says, even though there's clearly something up. She gets up, moving next to Ichika, giving her a kick.
"Ow."
"Move over."
"You can't be doing this to me," Ichika says, dramatically aghast. "You're kicking me out of my own home?"
"Yes, you're being evicted."
Ichika pouts, but begrudgingly moves over, allowing Shiho to rudely lie down next to her. "Was getting your own sleeping bag so hard?"
"Nope," Shiho shrugs, "but I like your sleeping bag better."
"The only difference is the colour!" Well, shades. She won't admit it, but Honami's and Shiho's sleeping bags look exactly the same, oddly enough. Stupidly enough.
"Whatever you say."
Ichika gasps in mock horror, but she doesn't mind the change in events at all. In fact, she'd much rather be like this—shoulder to shoulder with Shiho—even if it means half her body is splayed across the cold floor. She looks over at Shiho, taking the opportunity to thread her fingers in her hair. Shiho jolts at the sudden touch, but doesn't move an inch, so she takes that as a gesture to continue.
From what she's heard, Shiho's hair is gray, and it feels nice knowing that even with the limited amount of colours she can see, she's still able to see the true colour of Shiho's hair. It might be a little childish, but she's grateful for this faint connection of theirs.
As she mindlessly plays with Shiho's hair, Ichika still can't help but wonder about her sudden change in attitude just prior—Shiho was more than willing to get her sleeping bag, but then she stopped, as if she didn't want to make the choice. Logically, there's no reason why that should've happened; Shiho's not the kind of person to waver in her convictions, unless...
Unless she couldn't tell apart the colours, either.
Could it be?
"Hey, Shiho," Ichika whispers, softly, gently, into Shiho's ear.
"A-Ah," Shiho's cheeks darken, just a bit, as she twists her head to look at Ichika. "What is it?"
"Can you... can you also not s—"
And then the doorbell rings. Absolutely wonderful.
"Sorry," Shiho apologizes, even though it's not her fault at all, "what were you saying?"
"It's, uh," any confidence Ichika had is immediately shattered to pieces, fragments spilled across the ground like glass shards, "what I wanted to say, was—"
"Icchan!" A muffled voice rings out from behind the front door before the doorbell rings three more times. "Anyone home?"
Ichika purses her lips as she reluctantly removes her hold on Shiho.
"Saki," Shiho says, with faint amusement.
"Saki," Ichika sighs.
"Apples again?" Shiho raises an eyebrow, staring at Ichika's lunch.
"Sorry I just so happen to be good at peeling them," Ichika replies. "Besides, it's prime time for apples, anyway."
Shiho raises her head to look at the leaves—it's already the middle of October, so obviously it's harvest season. Even if Ichika can't really tell apart the differing colours of the foliage, the crumpled leaves and brisk breeze are plenty to deduce the time of the year.
(She wonders if Shiho is the same way.)
"Ah," Shiho says, curt, yet not cold at all, "you're right."
"See? I told you I had a good reason."
"No, you didn't. And also, for the record, the only other thing you have for lunch is a yakisoba bun."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
Shiho's expression drops to something unreadable—Ichika knows the emotion, but it just doesn't have a name. It's somewhat like disappointment, but more jaded; instead of only "I expected more of you," there's also a "but I've given up on believing."
"Ichika. This is the eleventh day in a row you've had a yakisoba bun for lunch."
Wait, has it already been that long? More importantly: "You've been counting?"
"I—" Shiho stammers, before biting her tongue, probably, "yeah. You eat the least out of any of us, anyway. It's only natural for me to take note of your interesting lunch choices."
"Wow," Ichika rolls her eyes, "how thoughtful of you."
"No need to thank me," Shiho grins.
They fall into an easy silence after that—Shiho's chopsticks clatter lightly against her bento box (she's having Salisbury steak today, when Ichika looks over), while Ichika eats her succulent yakisoba bun, even if Shiho disagrees. It's calm, Ichika realizes, so it wouldn't hurt to... pry a little.
"What kind of apples do you like?" she asks, trying to avoid the curiosity from infecting her voice.
"What kind of an icebreaker is that?" Shiho retorts, but still takes the time to mull on the question. "I don't know. Actually, I don't care, most of them look—I mean, taste the same to me."
Look? Was that a slip of the tongue, or...? Ichika doesn't let the surprise show on her face, but that's another piece of evidence that proves her suspicions.
"Don't ever say that to Honami," Ichika jokes, "she'd be appalled at your ignorance."
"Wasn't planning to," Shiho agrees.
Shiho shoves her bento box back into her bag haphazardly, moving notebooks and sheet music to make it fit, not caring if the paper gets creased or folded. That's odd, didn't she still have quite a bit of her lunch left?
"Not going to finish your bento?" Ichika asks.
"I'm not hungry," Shiho says, even though she's clearly lying. Ichika gives her the most disapproving, uncomfortable gaze she can deliver. Shiho, for her credit, lasts a total of five seconds before breaking. "Shizuku... made my rice look like bunnies with seaweed."
Ichika can't help but let out a coo, even if Shiho glares at her. Though, it's not as effective when Shiho's cheeks darken further every passing second. "That sounds just like you," Ichika says, already feeling the goofy smile on her face.
"Shut up," Shiho barks, but the heat on her face doesn't transfer into her inflection.
"I won't tell anyone," Ichika says, miming zipping her lips shut, "but you still have to eat something."
"Like what?" Shiho says, "And I'm not eating anything yakisoba related."
"Jeez, I wasn't planning to—I'm not wasting it on someone as ungrateful as you," Ichika huffs, if only to hide her smile.
Ichika grabs an apple slice, holding it to the peripheral of Shiho's face. "Want one? I'm not taking no for an answer, by the way."
"Fine," Shiho sighs, "give it to me."
Her hand reaches for the apple, but Ichika expertly dodges it at the last second. Shiho looks at her with confusion, only to be met with a smug grin in return. "Ah, ah," Ichika scolds. "Let me do the honours."
Shiho's expression jumps from bewilderment to skepticism to indignation before it finishes with averted eyes and flushed embarrassment. "J-Jeez, if that's what you want..."
Satisfied, Ichika holds the apple in front of Shiho's face, tapping her lips with it a few times before Shiho bites into it messily, causing droplets of juice to splatter against her hand. She repeats the process with another slice, and another, until there's only one more left in her lunchbox.
"So?" Ichika questions. "How'd it taste?"
"Passable—ow, don't pinch me—okay, fine. Pretty good," Shiho admits, turning her head away.
Ichika twists Shiho's head back to face her, wiping away the juice lingering on Shiho's lips, all while ignoring the blood pumping up to her head. "I'm glad, then."
"What type of apple even is this?" Shiho says, in an effort to change the topic. "Red Delicious?"
Ichika stares at the last slice in her container, analyzing the smallest bit of peel she failed to trim off. She wants to ask Shiho the colour, just to be certain, but she doesn't need the confirmation—not when she can feel how fast her heart's pumping. There's no other feeling this can be.
"Yeah," Ichika says, even if she has no idea if she's correct or not, "that's right."
She's fallen, Ichika realizes, for Shiho.
She's fallen for the way Shiho remains steadfast and confident: the backbone that she can fall on when her doubts threaten to consume her whole. She's fallen for the look of delight in her eyes when the conversation switches to music. She's fallen for how she's passionate, so passionate about her dream. About their dream.
And yet, Ichika loves how easy she is to fluster; how despite the aloof demeanor, Shiho's just a girl like her, with her own intrinsic details—say, her love for animals, or the second glances she gives whenever she passes by her favourite ramen shop, no matter how much she tries to deny it.
She's fallen, Ichika realizes, for Shiho.
But does Shiho feel the same way—is she her soulmate?
Ichika's grip on her phone tightens, squeezing it as if it were a sponge that holds the last drop of water to a thirsty traveler. She anxiously waits on the rooftop of the SEKAI, attempting to steady her breath by connecting stars in the sky. It doesn't work as well as she likes, but beggars can't be choosers.
She had just sent a text to Shiho a few minutes ago, asking if she could meet her here. Hopefully, the text was casual enough—she spent the entire day rewriting that single message to the point of grinding her brain to dust.
She hopes that if any higher being can hear her, that her wishes come true.
Her thoughts are interrupted when the door creaks open, revealing none other than the person she's in love with, Hinomori Shiho.
"Oh, you're here already?" Shiho asks, making her way to Ichika's side. "Did I make you wait long?"
"No, not at all," Ichika lies. Shiho doesn't need to know how she's been pacing impatiently on the roof for nearly an hour. "You're right on time."
"That's good," Shiho smiles, and Ichika has the sudden urge to memorize each and every detail of Shiho's face—from the creases of her cheeks to the effervescent energy of her eyes.
There's no doubt that this meeting is more than an impulsive stargazing session, but they don't approach the elephant in the room, not yet. Ichika diverts her attention to the chain link fence that surrounds the rooftop, grabbing the cold metal with her hands to counteract how sweaty her hands seem to be.
"So," Shiho starts, after Ichika discreetly wipes her hands on the back of her flannel shirt, "what did you need to talk to me about?"
"I just... wanted to ask a question," Ichika says. Shiho tilts her head, as a gesture to show that she's listening. "What colour is Miku's hair? The one in the SEKAI, that is."
It's a stupid question, and Shiho can't even hide her disbelief—her jaw partially dropping before she snaps it back in place. Ichika had thought the same, but there's an important detail that can make or break this love of hers.
Shiho pauses, before slowly responding. "It's... green, is it not?"
Ichika lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, because her suspicions are all but confirmed. From what the others have said, Miku's hair is indeed green, but that's not all—she has red highlights the exact same shade, which is why Ichika never knew about its existence before, not until she heard Rin offhandedly mentioning it when they were alone.
Given Shiho's answer, she didn't know about it either, which can only mean one thing.
"Shiho," Ichika says, yearningly, desperately, "I, uh, think you're beautiful."
"Ichika, what...?" Shiho eyes widen in confusion at the non sequitur.
"When we're together my heart can't help but speed up," she continues. "I—what I'm trying to say is—"
"I get it," Shiho says, giving a sheepish smile. "Really, I do. I-It's the same for me."
Ichika closes the distance between them until they're face to face, and she can't help but admire how beautiful Shiho looks underneath the permanent night sky. They don't move, not immediately, but before Ichika understands what's going on, she feels the warmth of another pair of lips pressing on her own. She blinks in surprise, but her body's already kissing back, craving for the embrace. She closes her eyes, desperate to extend this moment as long as she can, absorbing the sweet, intoxicating taste of Shiho's lips.
It's Shiho who breaks the kiss first, panting hungrily for the air she neglected.
"I love you, Ichika," Shiho says, between breaths.
"Shiho, I—I love you, too."
But when Ichika opens her eyes, she's greeted with a colourless world.
No. No—this can't—she was certain that Shiho was her soulmate, who else could it be? Shiho couldn't see colours, just like herself, but they had to be fated for each other. She loves Shiho, and Shiho loves her—how is this even possible? Was Shiho's soulmate someone else? Was her soulmate someone else? This can't be real, but she knows better than to lie to herself.
"Ichi—"
And then Ichika runs.
___
Ichika doesn't sleep, that night. She tosses and turns, but her mattress seems to stab at her with thousands of tiny pinpricks, yet her pillow is scorching hot—it's agonizing, to be stuck in a limbo of her own thoughts, unable to fall asleep for the barest respite. In spite of her fruitless past attempts, she perseveres: if she presses her eyelids shut hard enough, she'll be able to distract herself for a moment.
She gives up on sleeping at a quarter past seven.
She groggily rubs her eyes, flipping her pillow over to hide the salty tears accumulated through the night, before heading to the bathroom to get as much of her morning regimen done as she can. She turns on the light, only to be met with her reflection, ugly and terrible and gray. Dark circles eclipse the underside of her eyes, her bedhead is horrendous, and crimson red crawls through the veins leading to her pupils.
She brushes her teeth, puts on her uniform, skips breakfast—she doesn't think she can stomach eating anything without throwing it up seconds later—before grabbing her bag as she exits her house and locks the front door. With the exception of the time, this was an unremarkable morning routine, one she's performed time and time again without change. She usually finds comfort in the consistency, but there's still an awful taste festering at the back of her tongue.
The streets are too quiet for her liking, but Ichika persists: walking step after step, counting to an imaginary beat. It's a Tuesday, if she remembers correctly. School doesn't open until eight, and at her pace, she'll reach it twenty minutes too early. What's the point, anyway? There's nothing at school, nothing except for a gray-haired girl waiting for her.
Ichika doesn't want to face Shiho just yet—she doesn't want to confront the truth she ran from as she hopelessly tried to muffle out with her hands welded to her ears.
When she raises her head from the sidewalk, Ichika doesn't see a school building, but rather a small playground with chipped paint and dented poles.
Of course she went here, instead.
She scales the stairs leading to the elevated surface, each step feeling like climbing the altitude of a mountain in one go—her legs are so, so tired, and her head feels woozy, throbbing unmercifully like a sledgehammer had bashed her skull in. Once she makes it to the top, she throws her bag on the floor before she collapses like a sack of bricks, spine slamming into the metal fencing behind her.
She's feeling exhausted, her mind finally shutting down after a torturous night shift. Ichika tucks her legs into her body, using her raised knees as a pillow before the full extent of her weariness crashes down on her.
Ichika wakes up to the sound of rapid footsteps pounding against the uneven pavement.
"I knew I'd find you here," a voice says— Shiho's voice says, out of breath.
It's not surprising at all that Shiho would find her, and it hurts. It hurts how much she's wormed herself into Shiho's heart, disturbed another's chance at love with her own selfishness. Ichika waits with bated breath for the sound that shatters the ice-thin distance between them, a fiery rage that puts her on full blast for her wrongdoings.
"Ichika," Shiho says, and she braces herself for the impact, "what's wrong?
Huh?
For the first time since last night, Ichika meets Shiho's eyes—yet unlike the rage she was expecting, the tear-stricken eyes of a first kiss lost forever, but there's nothing but worry lidden under her eyelashes. Shiho's kind, much too kind towards a sinner who tormented her with a false love underneath the innocent guise of a beloved friend.
"Why are you here?" Ichika mumbles. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
"Shouldn't you?" Shiho retorts, before her tone softens. "I was worried about you—you're not the kind of person to skip class."
Shiho waits for an answer from her, and she should give one; she should stop being so selfish for once. Yet, her vocal cords lay unstrummed, hesitating to play the first note to begin her song of apology.
"Hey," Shiho says, after waiting vainly for even the basic courtesy from Ichika, "I'm sorry for yesterday. If I made you uncomfortable, that is—I'm not really good with these sorts of things."
"You didn't do anything wrong," Ichika argues, finally playing a chord, only realizing how hoarse it resonates, "but you shouldn't waste your time on me."
"I'm not going to give up on you, Ichika, no matter what it is that's bothering you."
Why can't Shiho leave her alone? Why is she playing dumb, acting all confused when they both know what conspired between them yesterday? Does she want to hear her confession right from the source, from the traitorous siren that sang a song sickly sweet that stained Shiho's lips the colour of her own?
"What do you want from me?!" Ichika stands up, yelling with her tear-polluted throat. "Why can't you leave me alone?!"
Shiho flinches back at the sudden increase in volume, but her feet remain firmly planted on the sand. "I'm not going anywhere; I'm not leaving you behind. Not again. Please, just tell me, Ichika—what's wrong?"
"Why are you so unbothered about this?! I stole your first kiss from you! I led you on and betrayed our friendship! What do you not get about the fact that we aren't soulmates?!" Ichika cries, ignoring how the corners of her eyes are starting to well up with tears.
"I don't care about any of that! I didn't—and I still don't—lie about my feelings for you! I still love you, Ichika!" Shiho yells back. "Of course you're my soulmate, who else would it be?!"
"You're not my soulmate!" Ichika blinks, futilely trying to suck her tears back into her eyes. They drip down her cheeks, each droplet hitting the rubber floor with a ripple of a love undestined. "It doesn't work like that, Shiho!"
"What...? Ichika, we literally kissed, how are we not soulmates?"
"That's not how it works, Shiho," Ichika repeats, quieter. How does she not get it? That they aren't meant for each other, not according to whatever god cursed them to be?
"Tell me," Ichika chokes back a sob, before letting her heart scream out with the faintest grain of hope she has left. A last resort, a Hail Mary, a final rebellious attack against the universe that designated them to never be together. "Tell me what colour my eyes are."
Ichika lets out her grief, her anger, her desperate thirst for something, anything that can prove her wrong. She sees Shiho through a lens of watery tears blink once, then twice, surprised at the outburst. Shiho remains still for a moment—the only indication that this isn't some buffering video that she's playing in her dreams is the wind gently blowing through Shiho's hair.
"They're blue," Shiho says, after what seems like an eternity. "They're blue, like the night sky. They're blue like the vast, endless ocean. They're blue, like... like Miku's hair."
What?
"Obviously not our Miku, her hair is green. I was thinking more of the whole," Shiho corrects herself, gesturing broadly, "concept of Miku."
"You're my soulmate?" Ichika breathes, watching Shiho wave her hands in the arm almost randomly.
"I mean, yeah? That's what I said."
This isn't right at all. She's Shiho's soulmate, because Shiho can identify colours now, but... but she, Ichika, can't. Her soulmate isn't Shiho, but she's Shiho's soulmate—that... what? She clutches her head, her efforts to make sense of things in vain.
"That doesn't make sense," Ichika racks her brain for any kind of possible explanation, to no avail. "If you're my soulmate, how come only you can see colours?"
"Uh, what are you talking about?"
Ichika looks at her supposed soulmate the way one would look at their friend's older brother having access to an alternate world with a sapient Hatsune Miku that puts on theatre shows daily, which is to say, with incredulity.
"I'm talking about soulmates, Shiho," Shiho only stares back, eyebrows furrowed. "You know, how certain people in the world have soulmates, and only when they confess to each other they can finally see in colour? Does that ring a bell?"
"Ichika," Shiho snorts, chuckles, attempts to hide a laugh (it's not working). Ichika glares at her—couldn't she treat this moment a little more seriously? She's cried her heart out, for Miku's sake, and all she gets in return is this?
"Ichika," Shiho says once again, covering her mouth to hide any semblance of mirth (it's still not working), "soulmates—soulmates aren't real."
"Ha, ha. Don't be ridiculous," Ichika says, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "You're joking, right?"
The playground is silent, but Ichika swears she can hear Shiho's brain knocking at her skull while she shakes her head.
"Oh my god," Ichika mutters. "You're not joking."
"Wait," Shiho laughs, "you actually believed in soulmates?"
"Hatsune Miku is literally real."
"Touché. Still, soulmates? Really?"
"How else am I supposed to explain it?" Ichika interjects. "If soulmates don't exist, then... then why can't I see colour?"
"Uh, Ichika," Shiho says, attempting to pull down the biggest grin she's ever had on her face before, "that's called being colourblind."
"B-But that doesn't make sense! You couldn't tell apart colours the last few times either, and now you can!"
"Yeah," Shiho gives her a toothy grin, "I'm colourblind too. More specifically, red-green. By the looks of it, you probably can only see in shades of gray."
Was she really wrong about this concept of soulmates for her entire life? No, it can't be, but it makes sense, doesn't it? She recalls hearing about colour blindness once or twice in the past, but she's always discarded it as an exception, not the rule. Saki would never tell her stories she probably read in a shoujo manga out of context under the assumption that Ichika wouldn't naively believe in it, right?
Right?
...
Fuck.
Ichika screams in a visceral jumble of self-inflicted rage, profanities: it's raspy, not unlike the aftermath of singing practice. She buries her head in her palms and resists the urge to give her a concussion with the red or orange or yellow or blue or green playground fencing. "I'm such an idiot."
"Just realized?" Shiho says, taking the chance to move closer. Ichika scowls at her, causing Shiho to put her hands up in surrender. "Kidding, kidding."
Shiho ascends the playground stairs to lean on the fence beside her; it's unfair how cool she looks. "How'd you even come to the conclusion of soulmates, anyway? Most people would've eventually realized they were colourblind. I did, at least."
"Well, Saki tol—"
"Yeah, sounds about right."
"I didn't even finish!" Ichika bemoans, giving Shiho a gentle shove. It does nothing to stop the chuckles escaping Shiho's lips.
"Ichika," Shiho says, turning to put a hand on her shoulder, "do you not remember that time we literally had to hold you back from jumping into the river because Saki read a story about mermaids?"
"I, uh— well, look... that was in the past, okay? I was just a child."
"An easily impressionable, extremely gullible child," Shiho adds. "And you're still one."
"What? No, I'm not?"
Shiho closes her eyes, breathes in for four counts, holds for four counts, and releases for four counts, pinching the bridge of her nose in contemplation, as if she was debating with her conscience. "You still believe in Santa, Ichika."
"Yeah? I mean, what's the problem? He gave me that Miku album I wanted last year, and he always finishes the cookies and milk I leave for him under the chimney," Ichika responds, as innocently as a child who tried to jump in a river and had to be held back by three girls and two older siblings—and won, for that matter.
"Your house doesn't even have a chimne—" Shiho stops mid-sentence, letting out an exhausted sigh. "Nevermind."
Ichika watches as Shiho yawns, stretching her arms above her head—at this angle, she looks stupidly pretty, almost enough for her to forgive her rude laughter just a few minutes prior—and pushes herself off the fence. "We've been here long enough, haven't we?"
Ichika nods, reluctantly, in agreement. "I guess so. Guess we should get back to school, huh?"
Shiho opens her phone, eyes widening in surprise as she checks the time. "It's already eleven?" she hisses, before clumsily shoving her phone back into her sweater's pocket.
"Actually... since we already missed a class, why don't we just skip the entire day? We can call it our first date," Shiho offers, holding a hand out—maybe she's extending patience, or unity, or love, but Ichika's hand pauses in the air, hesitating to take the last step, strangely enough.
"We can go to that new Hatsune Miku pop-up café you've been gushing to us for the past three weeks," Shiho appends. Ichika immediately grabs Shiho's hand, the resounding clap echoing across the empty park.
"You know me so well," Ichika smiles, as they descend hand in hand down the slides.
"Not well enough," Shiho grins back, "considering how I thought 'soulmates' was metaphorical the entire time."
"Well, I'm sorry I was an 'easily impressionable, extremely gullible child,' was it? It wasn't my fault I just so happened to be colourblind."
Shiho sighs, eyes beaming in amusement. "Come on, let's get a move on before the lunch rush."
The world may be colourless through her eyes, but Ichika has never really minded, not really.
After all, Shiho's smile is colourful all the same.
"...Santa is real, right?"
"I'm going to hold your hand when I say this—"
"You already are, though?"
"On second thought, let's leave this conversation for another time."