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They can't breathe.
They're surrounded by deep blue, and it's quiet.
They're slowly sinking, and Shiho can determine by those four factors that they're underwater.
They feel nothing.
(That's been their normal as of late, that hollow feeling. When did that feeling become their normal?)
Their hand is above their head. It instinctively reaches upwards, even if Shiho's eyes aren't open to see it.
It's another reminder that Shiho is real. They aren't like light, only visible when one's eyes are open. Their particles don't float around aimlessly when there's no one around to see them. They are real, solid.
Sometimes, they're jealous of the light.
They hear something enter the water with them. They keep their eyes shut. They'll sting if they open them, anyway.
A hand grabs theirs. Their instincts had reached their hand upwards, and this being, whoever they are, rewarded that.
The hand holding theirs was familiar. Her soft skin, her well-kept nails.
She pulled, tugged them up. Up, all the way to the water's surface, and onto the solid ground.
Shiho gasped for air, leaning on her shoulder. Her light blue hair didn't drip water onto the wooden planks. Their hair did.
They felt her voice more than they heard it when she spoke. The tone of her voice seeped into their ears, one they hadn't heard in years. She said something along the lines of "I'm so glad you're safe," but Shiho couldn't find it in themselves to pay attention to that.
They focused on the feeling of her hair against the side of their face, her hands on their back, the warmth she emitted - despite diving into a cold lake just moments prior - and her collarbone against their forehead.
And when the wind blew again, all those feelings were gone. They shivered at the loss of warmth.
"Shiho-chan! Are you okay?" Came Saki's voice.
Shiho just nodded, and stood up.
Ever since then, Shiho talking was a rarity.
…
They sometimes see her in the reflection of the mirror.
In their dreams, they rot away in a white box.
They'd gotten used to the strain the room put on their eyes ages ago.
Their bass was at one end of the room, a computer at the other. They barely touched that computer.
A bird plush sat next to their head. Sometimes, it would talk to them.
"Waiting for something to happen?" It'll ask, "It's on you to make that something happen."
A cruel reminder of their cowardess.
They were a coward because nothing ever happened.
Sometimes, they'd stand up, and stare into the lightbulb hanging from the air. It was pitch black, the shape burning into their retinas every time they looked away.
Nothing happened. They laid on the floor - not particularly hot nor cold, just there - and stared at the vast white that was presumeably the ceiling.
They looked over to the bird plush. Light blue painted the tips of its plush wings. Its beak was the same shade.
And just like it always does, it asks;
"Waiting for something to happen? It's on you to make that something happen."
Sometimes, if they stare hard enough at the white void that are probably meant to be walls, they can see shadowy figures. They look similar enough to humans without giving off the suffocating feeling that there were people here. There was nothing to cast shadows around here, Shiho realised, so how could they be here?
The white void was decidedly not walls. It was, in fact, a void. Shiho slowly walked through the expanse, swaying slightly with each step.
The human-like figures looked at them as they walked by. The uncomfortable feeling of being watched never hit them.
Wandering pointlessly rewarded them in this world. In the distance, something glimmered.
Step after step, stare after stare, they made their way to the shining object.
It was a knife.
The wind blew through the white void. It ran through their hair, shifting their clothes around - and it spoke; "I love you, Shii-chan."
Light blue hair, soft hands, well-kept nails—
"Waiting for something to happen?" The bird asked again as they sat down. It never finished its sentence, as they aimed the knife to their chest.
No gust of wind came, nobody stopped them.
It barely hurt.
Shiho found themselves at Honami's house. It was well-kept, decorated with plants and overall felt very Honami-like.
They, as well as Saki and Honami, were flipping through Honami's photo album.
Some pictures are missing.
"Ah, um… Ichika-chan took them." Honami confessed, running her finger along the part of the page where a photo would sit. The spot around where the picture would be was more weathered than the rest of the page, forming a sort of outline - a spot for the picture to rest peacefully.
When they confronted her at the park, Ichika was alone. Unlike yesterday, when she was with a small group of buddies.
It took a lot of effort and a lot of prying (mostly Saki's doing) before Ichika reached her breaking point.
She broke down into tears, whispering her reasoning for stealing the pictures through cracks in her voice.
Saki pulled them into a group hug. It was the happiest they'd seen Honami recently.
That night, after dodging having to eat microwaved steak once again, Shiho saw her in the mirror. Every detail, down to the irritated rash on her neck. She stood behind them, an all-too innocent smile on her face.
They were young again, light-heartedly fighting over who gets the taller stool with their toothbrushes in their mouths. Their speech was borderline incomprehensible, but they found a way.
Shiho exited the washroom a bit tenser than when they entered.
They sat in the white void they called home (in their dreams) once again. They booted on their computer. It whirred like it was on its last limbs.
They read one of the bass magazines they downloaded onto it.
They powered off their computer.
They debated touching their bass.
They didn't.
They laid on the floor, their head next to the bird plush.
"Waiting for something to happen?"
…
"It's up to you to make that something happen."
Coward was left unsaid. It was in-between the lines, if you bothered to look.
Swirls and static danced in their vision as they continued staring at the void above them.
The wind spoke to them again. No more than their name passed through their ears and ruffled their hair.
Light blue hair, soft skin, well-kept nails.
They looked to their left, and saw the same glimmering knife.
"It's up to you to make that something happen." The bird said, falling off-script. It knew what would happen next.
They picked up the knife. Their face reflected back when they looked.
She was there, too. She looked at them in the reflection, her neck free of rashes. She looked happy, her light blue hair fluttering in a non-existant wind. Her nails were still well-kept, and they could only assume her skin was still soft.
(She looked happy.)
They aimed the knife directly at their heart.
(She looked happy.)
And plunged the happy into it.