Work Text:
It had been six months: approximately 180 days since the tragedy inducing killing game had met its end.
Teruko Tawaki's eyelids fluttered as she awoke, granting her a few moments of peace before the memories came flooding back in. A cruel occurrence, which happened daily.
Straightening her posture, she surveyed the room in which she resided — of course, it was always the same. This all-too familiar dorm room that she had woken up in, all those months ago, marked the start of the killing game.
At least she'd kept one promise to herself. No matter what became of this death game, she would continue living in the building given to her.
She was capable of venturing into the outside world whenever she desired. That time had not yet come to pass, however, as Teruko continued to spend her days inside the same routine.
She'd check her calendar, daily, for some sort of semblance of her past life. One small glimpse of relief, she'd found that she'd clasped when marking each day off the calendar. Perhaps this action was pointless, and Teruko knew that she was not counting down for any particular event, but simply pursuing an action that reeked of normalcy at least allowed the permanent ache in her stomach to reside.
Today, Teruko hesitated for a brief moment as she looked at her calendar, adorned with red marks which resembled all-too familiar bloody slashes. The date caused her to hover over the page, not yet leaving a mark.
25th of December. Christmas Day.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Teruko turned her back away from the calendar. She wondered if the outside world was marked by the winter season, decorated with a thick blanket of snow, frost glistening on every surface. Allowing her thoughts to be filled with surmises of what the holiday season truly meant to her, she began to recall her past.
Her memories were hazy, wrapped up inside a dusty film reel — they played back and forth, devoid of life, meaninglessly and repetitively. Litanies of those memories that seemed to puppeteer her breathing, the control over her body, and the desolate inner turmoil that resided deeply in her bones. Creating a pathway in her brain, these past happenings winded down into a long road, a journey covered in suffering.
Despite these memories being blanketed by a sordid haze of melancholia, they were able to be slightly uncovered. Bits and pieces brought themselves together in Teruko's head, like a tedious jigsaw puzzle. The picture would never be fully complete — there were moments that the girl had repressed completely, and times she would rather forget, but the jigsaw of Teruko's life, specifically regarding Christmas, appeared half-done and enervated.
Her brother was one of those figures that was just about out of reach. She could recall his name, his countenance, his character. His face did not appear in this picture drilled into Teruko's mind, however. White hair adorned his visage, but that was the limit to which she could recall of his facial features. She could not come to terms with the way his eyes, nose, lips looked, the artistry of who he was as a person was simply nonexistent. If his presence was so impactful in her life, why could she not recall his face?
Aside from these ramblings, Teruko vaguely remembered his endeavours to make her Christmases enjoyable. The orphanage was somewhat desolate; the spirit of Christmas was forlorn and often forgotten in such a place where lonely children do not wish to celebrate something that only brings them wishes of a different existence.
Teruko's brother, however, had attempted to brighten her spirits, even if for only a day. She vividly recalled his clumsy efforts, and the year he'd bestowed upon her a truly thoughtful gift.
It was a teddy bear, she remembered, and the smile that lighted her face when she opened the gift brought about such a feeling of joyful exuberance that she simply could not let go of.
To her disdain, she could not recall what had happened to it. Teruko knew that she'd broken parts of it a few times, perhaps more than what would constitute a "few", but her dearest brother was always there to lend a hand. She'd broken an eye, or a limb, and he'd come running with his sewing kit. Her bad luck infected others. Like a plague, she corrupted those who came within mere inches of her. This poor stuffed animal, and her poor brother, both fell victim to this curse she retained, again and again.
Teruko closed her eyes. She desperately wished to remember — for her past instances to quit being fogged over with the crushing weight of all that she had lost. Visualise it: the scenery, the sounds, the people, the voices, the faces.
The faces. Why can't she remember the faces?
If somebody in your life was worth remembering, the typical visualisation of this person would be to recall their face. Recount each freckle, or blemish that you would not know existed on their canvas, unless you truly looked hard enough. Remind yourself of the way their lips caught the sunlight, did they sparkle? Similar to their eyes, did they glisten in the rays of sunlight ricocheting through the cracks in the skies? Were their eyes ever lighted by the spirit of happiness, or were they empty?
If Teruko could not recall these simple facts, did she even care about them in the first place? Did she deserve to remember and mourn and grasp and claw at her memories in such a way? Desperate, needy, helpless — she scratched and scratched and left bloodied marks, ravages upon a visage she could not quite picture.
She attempted to visualise the scenery, at best. A Christmas tree adorned the centre of the main hall, blinking fairy lights wrapped around its surface. Creating a perfect, harmonious atmosphere, they shone in reds and blues and yellows, a bewitching display of beauty. Shimmery baubles were dotted around the branches — sticking out against the harsh, pointy, straggling green — the decorations rested peacefully against the bramble. A golden star lay on the tree's peak, a typical emblem of the Christmas season. Various string lights and meters of tinsel were scattered across the hall, in an attempt to bring in whimsy to the lives of the unfortunate.
Teruko could sit here and ponder over the decorations all she wanted. But this did not satiate the longing ache in her stomach, to be fulfilled in this still life, enriched by the action of human connection, along with finally putting a past face to a past name.
She opened her eyes. The visualisation of a once jubilant time was shattered instantly, the fragments of her recollections slicing at her skin. The harsh reality was once again thrust in front of her, and she sat, solitary and forsaken, in a tiny dorm room with nobody else around for miles.
Her stomach hissed at her; all of these gratuitous ramblings caused an unnatural hunger to root itself in her stomach. Perhaps she was starving for interaction, or nostalgia, but the whims of fate could never be so graceful as to allow her to feel satisfied. Forcing herself up and out of her seat, Teruko slumped over to the cafeteria, each movement strained, as if she were a zombie. Not quite dead, not quite alive. Simply existing in a world which she could not grasp: a world that did not belong to her.
A world that was not kind to people like her.
Grabbing the nearest chair, Teruko sat, too exhausted to cook or eat anything. She lay her head upon the table, as if the mere weight of existence was enough to take a toll on her.
This kitchen brought back more unpleasant memories than nicer ones. And with a flicker of her eyelashes, Teruko was transported into the essence of another memory.
————————————————
Teruko made her way into the kitchen, hoping to grab some sort of snack. She was hopelessly bored, and what to do when you're bored aside from eat? The looming threat of the motive was hanging heavy over the heads of the killing game participants, but Teruko chose to distract herself for the remaining two to three days.
She halted in her tracks as she realised that she was not alone in the kitchen, and that somebody was standing by the appliances, seemingly baking.
That person just so happened to be Min Jeung: somebody who constantly crossed Teruko's thoughts in this place.
Min was precocious — a very careful girl whose every mannerism was carefully calibrated. Meticulously curated, Min radiated self awareness and sincerity. The extent of her knowledge was applaudable, and Teruko often felt that she did not deserve to be in the presence of somebody so gifted. Min was the Ultimate Student, talented in every aspect, exceedingly intelligent, while Teruko had nothing remarkably noteworthy about herself. Despite this, Min treated her with so much respect and kindness, a sentiment she was not accustomed to. When shadowed magenta eyes met brown, Teruko knew that she was doomed.
And so Min looked up upon hearing the door open, her beautiful eyes shadowed by her thick bangs met Teruko's gaze, as she greeted the girl.
"Oh, Teruko. Is everything alright?" Min's soft voice spoke, with that peaceful cadence reverberating in Teruko's ears as she watched the girl stir some sort of mixture with fastidious care. An array of utensils and baking equipment lay scattered around the table, while Min's hair was tied back into a loose ponytail. She wore an apron, covering her usual oversized jacket, as she manoeuvred elegantly around the kitchen, baking intently.
"Ah- hello, Min." Teruko awkwardly shuffled as she observed Min's actions — she appeared to be baking some sort of treat. Teruko surmised that Min enjoyed the art of baking; that much was learned from the interaction they'd shared a couple of days prior.
The two of them, along with Eden and Rose, had baked cookies and cake together, which included Min chiming in with fun facts she had memorised regarding the process of baking specific goods. Her knowledge was meritorious, and Teruko enjoyed watching as she rambled about subjects she was passionate about, her graceful voice never once missing a beat, her tone carefully crafted as the soft-spoken words cascaded from her lips. Teruko often found herself craving more knowledge, specifically if it was given to her from Min's mouth. There was something that made Teruko feel tender, whenever she heard Min's amiable tone share her fervour with others.
"You're baking again?" Teruko asked, breaking the momentary silence as Min stirs whatever lies in the bowl she holds.
"Yes, I suppose so." She pauses for a brief moment, slightly losing her focus. She doesn't seem to mind, however. "Whenever I'm in a stressful situation, I find that partaking in a hobby, such as baking, helps to put my mind at ease. I neither lose nor gain anything from a pointless activity such as this, so it makes me feel secure. If that makes sense." Min explains, adding flour into the mix.
"I see. I'm glad you're doing something that makes you feel better." Teruko replied, coming into closer proximity with Min. Eyeing the contents of the bowl, Teruko spoke up once more. "What are you baking, exactly?"
"Ah, I'm making pastries. Specifically, these ones are cherry turnovers."
"Turnovers...?" Teruko ponders, resting her fist on her chin. "I'm slightly unfamiliar with those, but I believe they're a kind of folded-over pastry containing some sort of filling?" She estimates, praying that she doesn't appear as a fool in front of somebody so intellectual such as Min.
"Correct. I'm making the dough for them now, and the filling once they're out of the oven. Would you like to assist me?" Min asks, offering Teruko a wooden spoon. Teruko can feel her face heating up as she looks down at the utensil, and then back up at Min's friendly face.
"Uh- yeah, sure! I'm not the best at baking though... which you probably realised a few days ago." Teruko chuckles, self-deprecating as always. Min does not pay any mind to the insulting comment Teruko makes about herself, but instead hands the spoon over in a manner that suggests Min believes in her.
"I don't mind if you aren't the greatest chef. I likely won't share these pastries with any of our classmates, as selfish as that seems. So, I don't mind if they're a little messy." Min continues to stir, avoiding eye contact.
"Huh? Why don't you want to share these?" Teruko asks, Min's statement piquing her curiosity. There was something about the girl that fully intrigued her, and Teruko's constant burning hunger needed to be satiated.
"It's a little embarrassing, but... my family has this tradition. Around Christmas time, we all bake pastries together and enjoy them on Christmas Day. I take a brief break from my studies and spend time with them." Min smiles to herself, clearly transfixed by the idea of this past recollection. She speaks up once more, playing with the loose strands of her hair as she does so: a typical nervous Min habit.
"I guess I wanted to relive that nostalgia, as silly as it sounds. I am unsure about whether or not it is actually anywhere near Christmas, but I digress. Regardless of the timeframe, I just wanted to think fondly of my family, and the memories we shared together. I could die at any given moment in this killing game, so I want to live the remainder of my life to the fullest." Min pauses, looking down. Her smile grows wider, but still gentle, as she meets Teruko's eyes.
"And I'm glad to be spending this part of my life with you, Teruko."
Teruko can feel her heartbeat quicken; pounding against her chest as if it's a prisoner trapped inside a cage, threatening to break out of her body. Her cheeks flush red as she aims to collect her scrambled thoughts.
"Ah- well..." Teruko takes a deep breath, hoping that she does not say something embarrassing. "I'm happy to spend time with you too, Min."
No other words need to be spoken. A quiet, comfortable silence pervades the room, and for a moment, it was just the two of them — just Teruko and Min, in the centre of the universe together. A silent understanding marked by the action of a lingering smile the two shared. Both girls had faced hardships, within the killing game and in their previous lives, but for one second, all of that had dissipated and dispersed into the skies. All that remained was feelings of mutual respect, friendship and peace between the two.
Teruko silently prayed that it was Christmas, at this moment in time. For if it was, it would surely be the best Christmas she'd ever experienced. No presents were received, but Min's presence was a greater gift than any old junk that could be wrapped up with a bow on top. This was something entirely new — original, special, but unfortunately ephemeral.
For Teruko's atoms could not merge with Min's, as the two were far too different. Far too close, and Teruko knew that when she got close, she would destroy everything she touched.
And the worst part was, that Teruko knew Min relished in her presence. Min savoured her time with Teruko — her gratefulness was prominent in the way Min looked at her, as if she were trying to memorise each detail upon her face. It was evident in the way that Min shared anecdotes and facts about herself, the way she spoke to Teruko as if she were a human being deserving of love.
She felt horrifically guilty, albeit vulnerable. How, in any shape or form, was she deserving of such affection? Min was the antithesis of Teruko. Her gentle, meticulously crafted nature, contrasted in a sickeningly discernible way to Teruko's sordid, shattered heart. In no universe, no timeline, would she ever deserve such a loving sentiment. Never from Min, who deserved much more than a broken shell, an empty vessel that was once a being.
She would burn such a pure and sweet soul as Min: her essence would decay at the fiery clutches of Teruko Tawaki's unluckiness.
But for a moment, Teruko could selfishly dream of a life where she could be content with Min, celebrating Christmas together, cuddled up around the fire, and revelling in the other's presence, despite being aware of the notion that this was impossible. Min would surely become cursed, drowning due to Teruko's lack of luck.
Thus, Teruko's selfish prayers of a pleasant life had doomed Min Jeung: making her death fall into the hands of Teruko.
————————————————
Teruko raised her head, the burgeoning flow of memories causing her head to split under the incessant weight of abysmal loss.
When memories snowed, Teruko became suffocated in the frost, the coldness, the insensitivity of it all.
She reached inside her pocket, knowing what she had truly come here to do. Pulling out a small box: messily wrapped with a ribbon on its surface, Teruko’s eyes began to water.
Inside lay meaningless gifts — a pen, stationery, and anything else that she could find within the storage room inside the school. Wrapped with whatever supplies she could find, this present was truly a pathetic attempt for Teruko to pay atonement to her sins.
She placed the present on the floor, right in the spot where Teruko had dropped that cake all those months ago. The clumsy, insignificantly stupid action that had set in place a chain of events which led Min to her death. Attempting to repay Min for all her wrongdoings, Teruko dropped to her knees as she viewed her final present to Min. It reeked of emptiness.
She missed Min, gravely. She missed her so much that she wished Min had never walked into her life. Her chest hurt when she thought of the poor girl, torn apart in front of her, simply because she wanted to save Teruko's life.
Oh, Min. Don't you know that I can never be saved?
Teruko could feel salty streams begin to leak out of her eyes, and this time, she let them fall. She recalled the distant action of Min's warm embrace, which should've been all she wanted, if it weren't for Min's imminent demise that would occur seconds later.
And she thought about Min's family — the ones she had so graciously described to Teruko when baking. They must be terrified of their little girl's fate, and despise Teruko for even daring to come into contact with Min — as she was single-handedly responsible for ruining the girl's life.
Where was Min now? Teruko did not believe in the afterlife, or anything marked by religion, yet she foolishly hoped that a place like this could exist, for Min's sake. She prayed that it was a nice place, wherever Min was. And perhaps she dreamed that the two could reunite again — it had been an excruciatingly long time since she'd laid eyes on Min, and she desperately wanted to see her again.
She wondered what the others were doing now. Dead or alive: were they home? Were they celebrating Christmas with families, comforted by the warmth of their homes, enjoying buoyant festivities? She could not imagine what this sentiment was like.
Teruko would not be home for Christmas. Regardless of whatever situation she doomed herself to, the feat of her returning home was impossible.
For someone like Teruko Tawaki, home was not a place that existed. All she could do was wander, stagger throughout the streets like some disconsolate traveller, roaming and losing sight of her soul — never knowing the embrace of a true, stable, permanent home.
And so she closed her eyes once more, daydreaming of a reality in which she could share this selfish fantasy with Min: the two of them celebrating Christmas, in a warm, pleasant home, together.