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The sea is too still for comfort.
It stretches out like a dark mirror, untouched by moonlight, barely breathing. Sand crumbles under Mizuki’s shoes, cold and damp, and somewhere between the hush of the tide and the hum in their skull, their friends’ voices cut through the fog and hammer against her brain in usual fashion.
“I don’t really like it,” Ena mumbles, gaze cast downwards as she hands her sketchbook to Mafuyu. Mizuki’s mind tingles in curiosity, prompting them to stand up from her seat to look over Mafuyu’s shoulder.
The dim light of the lamppost shines down directly at the drawing, making the lines slightly blurry, but they see it anyway—a girl, short-haired and way too similar to the artist herself, crouched down with her head ducked between her legs. Around her, the smudged drawing of a box stares back at them in the most mocking way a lifeless illustration possibly could.
“A glass box?” they ask, placing both hands on Mafuyu’s steady shoulders. The older girl stares listlessly at the page in her hands, eyes darting around the image expressionlessly.
Ena nods, sighing as she bends over to rest her head against the wooden table. Her shoulders are drawn together and the hairs on her arms stand on end, which checks out.
It’s cold outside.
“It’s a glass box. Or, it was supposed to be,” she mutters, trying to search Mafuyu’s face for any signs of disapproval.
The girl in question nods, handing back the sketchbook back to its rightful owner and adjusting her resting glasses. “It’s good,” she says, voice smooth and steady. Mizuki and Ena exchange glances over her head, the former grinning as the latter gives a small smile.
“It’s the best you’ll get.”
“I know, Mizuki.”
They continue chatting loudly as the wild animals Mafuyu likes to say they are, which is why she prefers Kanade, apparently. Kanade, who Mizuki hasn’t seen in a minute. She said she was going inside the convenience store for drinks?
Mizuki looks through the store’s glass door, not seeing their friend anywhere inside it. Ena and Mafuyu, too distracted by discussing songs, don’t notice as they start searching, quietly but frantically, for a mop of long, white hair.
They find it by the seashore.
Kanade stands barefoot on the sand, looking at the almost black water but nothing else, as far as Mizuki can tell. Her long strands of hair flow freely, getting carried by the cold breeze that settle quietly in their bones.
“Kanade!” they scream, standing up and feeling the rush of blood in their ears. Kanade turns her head just as Mizuki, with Mafuyu and Ena hot in their heels, run towards her.
The girl startles, doing nothing but stand motionlessly as the three girls approach her at the fastest pace they can. The sand breaks and crunches under their shoes, but the girls keep running steadily until the sand is too wet to dig their heels into.
Until they reach their friend who blinks at them like they just pulled her out of somewhere far, far away.
So they run. Far, far away.
Someone laughed. It might’ve been Ena, or Kanade, or maybe it was Mizuki themself, setting free the joy of acceptance inside their swirling chest. At one moment, the four of them are standing, huddled together with the water coming dangerously close to their feet before breaking away. Mizuki barely has a moment to appreciate how the Moon looks as it kisses the horizon line before their arm is being pulled by a running Mafuyu.
“What are we running from?” they ask, shouting over the rushing wind trying to cut off their voices. She looks back; Ena’s not far away, reaching out for Kanade’s struggling form.
It’s surprisingly liquid, the feeling that bubbles up inside them as they let it all out—a laugh, a yelp, a shout; things forgotten by the bench, uncaring if the tide reaches them.
Today and tonight, they’re at the peak of the world, higher than Icarus had ever been.
“Nothing!” Mafuyu yells back, releasing their arm. It’s easier to run, like this, free in more ways than one.
“Where are we going?” Kanade exhausts, voice catching low as she raps out breaths. If Mizuki pays enough attention, she can hear Ena scolding her for not practicing exercise regularly. That’s why you’re like this, K!
Mafuyu looks back, now, but she doesn’t stop, so Mizuki doesn’t, either, and neither do the others. It’s barely a whisper that the wind carries over, too quiet to count but not quiet enough to not hear, “Nowhere,” is what she says.
Mizuki would like to go nowhere.
If they close their eyes, they can almost pretend they’re not coming back.