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Saki was sure there was an earthquake or something when she woke up, the way her bed was practically vibrating. Until she opened her eyes in the darkness and realized that nothing on the walls, or in the rest of the room, was moving.
“Icchan?” she mumbled, rolling over in bed. Her eyes were still adjusting, but she was pretty sure the Ichika-shape that was usually nestled under the covers next to her was now the Ichika-shape that was sitting with her knees up to her chest. It was already pretty clear then, darkness or no, that Ichika was the source of whatever the movement was.
Ichika didn’t answer, which was cause enough for concern. Saki sat up, stretching until part of her back popped. “What’s wrong? Why are you up?”
Her response was some sniffling and a shaky reply. “I didn’t mean to wake you. You can go back to sleep.”
Saki rubbed at her eyes. “Not if something’s bothering you, Icchan.” Once she was a bit more awake, she wrapped her arms around Ichika’s waist, scooting a bit closer to her.
She didn’t prompt any more; sometimes Ichika wanted to talk, sometimes she didn’t. She wouldn’t push either way. Ichika slumped against her, melting into Saki’s touch. At the same time, her hands covered her face, muffling what Saki was pretty sure were sobs. Saki held her tighter then, understanding how much whatever it was was hurting Ichika.
Although there were any number of horrible things that might’ve caused it—a phone call Saki hadn’t heart, an alarming message—she had a guess as to what the explanation really was.
“Nightmare,” Ichika eventually whispered, removing her hands so her face was buried in the crook of Saki’s neck. “I was alone, again.”
Ah. She thought so. Saki rubbed her back in circles, hoping the motion was at least partially soothing, the way it always had been for her. Ichika had confided in her about that nightmare before, one that still plagued her as an adult, all those years after middle school. The details changed from time to time, but the way it affected Ichika was always the same.
“I’m here,” Saki whispered back. “We’re both alright, we’re together. Hona-chan and Shiho would never leave either of us.” Those small reassurances were all Saki could really give her. They were similar to the ones she used to tell herself in the hospital, more proof that middle school were the collective worst years of their lives. She wasn’t sure how much the words helped.
Ichika still cried; Saki felt the fabric of her pajamas dampen. That was fine. She wasn’t letting go over some tears, not when Ichika had so clearly seen her in a worse state.
Saki shifted them so they were laying on their sides, still facing each other and hugging. She almost started crying herself, her heart hurting for Ichika, but kept stroking Ichika’s hair and whispering to her. Whatever she could do to soothe her back to sleep.