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The week before winter break, Rui had noticed a worrying pattern emerge. He wasn’t one to track the exact dates and times of his conversations with Tsukasa, but it didn’t take a spreadsheet for him to notice their interactions were dwindling in volume. Tsukasa was not outright ignoring him; he never had, not even during the week after Tsukasa’s phone was nearly fried from a particularly complicated Rui-designed stunt, when he had outright shown up at Rui’s door asking for help with a physics problem that he usually would’ve texted him about.
Such spontaneous visits were no longer a possibility. The absolute distance between him and Tsukasa had grown after graduation; their schools were an absurdly expensive train ride apart, and the travel time did not fare well for their schedules. Weekdays were filled with classes and rehearsals, weekends with workshops and performances. Free time was a scarce resource. Sometimes, there would be a brief interlude where they could convene in SEKAI, but even planning those moments was difficult. The semester had not been accommodating for any of them; even Emu, still in high school, found herself struggling just a bit to balance business management, classwork, and the typical memory-making escapades of students in their final year. She always had plenty of stories to tell about all the activities she was doing in the time she was able to save for Nene and the others, which was never long enough.
Things had changed, but the world hadn’t ended. He and Tsukasa called regularly, and the group chat with all four of them was always full of interesting photos and conversations. Even at his lows, when it felt like something higher had it out for him, when plans fell through or schedules grew hellish, he had people he could fall back on.
Rui was aware he was temporarily stuck in a valley. Finals week had no intentions of going easy on him, nor anyone else. The difficulty of his general education courses was slowly catching up to him, and while he was by no means a poor student, he was no longer in a place where he could effortlessly get by without any work. It was a surprisingly difficult adjustment.
Still, some part of him hoped he would be able to talk to Tsukasa despite everything. There had to be intermissions. He made sure to put in his half of the effort; he texted him regularly, complaining about studying schedules, or, when he was particularly desperate for acknowledgement, the presence of vegetables in the dining hall food. Rui realized he was perhaps in too deep when he found himself grateful for Tsukasa’s thousandth lecture on eating healthy and going to bed on time, smiling the whole time as Tsukasa went on and on about balanced diets and sleep schedules. It was the longest phone call they’d had all week.
Even those dwindled as things got down to the wire. Rui decided his evil tactics to make Tsukasa worry about him were not suitable for the time being, and cut them out of their conversations. One fateful day, Rui, sitting at his desk but unable to find the will to open his notebook, texted Tsukasa about plans for winter break. The reply he received was concise, prompt, and felt like a rock being tossed at his chest.
> This discussion is of the utmost importance, but I cannot give you my full attention at this time! My sincerest apologies, Rui. I will contact you at a later date!
He couldn’t explain why Tsukasa’s text had stung as it did. It was polite, and it was so very Tsukasa. But being placed on the back burner, despite it being perfectly justifiable, bugged him in a way that just made him feel worse for feeling upset.
He got very little done that evening. The words in the textbook were frictionless as he read them over and over without them clicking. In his mind, he daydreamed about the unconfirmed winter break meet-ups and pretended he was capable of being productive despite being entirely preoccupied. He wanted to ask Tsukasa more, wanted to ask what was going on, if there was anything he could help with, even though it was clear a proper conversation wasn’t feasible. After a fruitless hour of studying, he decided he had to take matters into his own hands.
—
Rui was absolutely not above spying on Tsukasa. Just a little bit. Maybe the text outright telling him to wait sat a little more heavily on his mind than he would’ve liked. And Rui, because he is sane and reasonable, took a sane and reasonable action that any regular person would take.
He dug through the old playlist on his phone and clicked on The World Hasn’t Even Started Yet.
The familiar lightness swept over him, and before he knew it, he was on his own two feet in the Wonderland SEKAI. Even though it’d been roughly two months since they all had time to meet there, the place had done a remarkable job sustaining itself. The skyline was illuminated by the same colorful lights and attractions it always had been, and he heard the faint whistle of the floating train. For a world made out of a heart that wasn’t his own, it felt strangely like home.
Rui had experimented with SEKAI a handful of times. When the Hatsune Miku herself had made a habit of emerging from his phone, he had plenty of questions. Was it possible for a human to do what a Virtual Singer could do? Could he just project himself as a hologram so easily?
If there was anyone who could figure that out, it’d be Rui. Back when they’d all gone to nearby schools and met up regularly, Rui didn’t need such drastic measures. It felt too old-school, too overdone, spying on someone through their phones. It was more Rui-like to tail them with his favorite purple cat drone, and, as an unexpected benefit, it seemed to be more tolerable—Tsukasa and the others didn’t need to think twice to figure out who was behind the whirring machine following them around.
But that was no longer possible. The hardware and software that would allow him to pilot a drone over the necessary distances were expensive and laggy. It was the kind of technology entirely inaccessible to everyday consumers. Combine that with the fact that Rui was old enough to accumulate a criminal record by flying unauthorized devices in national airspace, and his typical method was completely out of the question.
That was how he justified sneaking onto Tsukasa’s phone screen. Silently, he poked his head through.
The room was empty. Tsukasa’s phone was charging on a plain wooden desk. Immediately, Rui realized he wasn’t at home. The bedroom was a lot smaller and lacked the typical frills he associated with Tsukasa’s choice of living space—a glance up confirmed a lack of skylight, to the sides, the absence of a candlestick, and down, he saw a desk chair with four legs. The only thing that reassured him he was in the right place was the star-shaped alarm clock on the nightstand.
His gaze was then drawn to a notebook left open. There were sketches, only somewhat crudely done, of a large cake. The dimensions were specified neatly, but the connection points for the panels were flimsy at best. Rui considered whether or not it was a side-project for some sort of show, and felt stung that Tsukasa wouldn’t have considered asking him to help. Completely forgetting why he had stopped to check in, he left with a frown and texted Tsukasa the link to a tutorial video about how to fabricate round shapes using cardboard.
—
Rui swore he would only monitor as necessary. But as Tsukasa seemed to be growing more and more distant, he couldn’t help but panic. He wasn’t all that aware of the cause of his worries, but going to SEKAI seemed to soothe them.
Two nights after his first visit, driven by another text brushing him off and feeling restless, Rui ended up in SEKAI again. The already-meager guilt he felt about sneaking onto Tsukasa’s phone seemed to be completely erased; it was easier to do it this time.
Given the hour, he wasn’t surprised to have found himself atop a nightstand. The room was pitch black, and he was vaguely aware of the fact that he seemed to have no perception of temperature in this digital state. Tsukasa appeared plenty warm, though, snuggled underneath a dark blue blanket. Rui couldn’t help but smile at the peaceful expression on his face, which was cast in the phone’s blue glow. Once more, he forgot what had even driven him to check in. He couldn’t possibly disturb Tsukasa when he was catching up on his sleep—it would not have even come close to making the top 10 problems he’d caused for Tsukasa, but he was trying (not really, not at all) to cut down on those. His mouth wouldn’t open to say anything that would wake him. For a moment, just a moment, Rui stood there and watched, halfway between hesitation and peace.
And then, he heard it: a faint, subtle vocalization. Maybe half a consonant. His curiosity was piqued. What did Tsukasa, dreaming about something unknowable, have to say?
“Shhh… surprise… Rui…” was all that Rui heard after standing there, waiting for each slowly-produced word for roughly two minutes. The words were mundane. Perhaps a dream where Tsukasa got revenge for all of Rui’s pranks? The thought amused him. He almost felt scammed, really, as he sat there waiting for words that would do little to clarify the situation. He wondered how much time he was willing to waste under the guise of catching Tsukasa talking in his sleep, but before he could work out a proper estimate, he heard the rustling of blankets and saw, for just a second, Tsukasa’s eyelids flutter, and instantly, he vanished. The room returned to complete darkness, and Rui was sent back into his room. Despite reappearing in reality on his feet, he promptly fell over, heart racing as he flopped onto the wooden floor. He’d flown too close to the sun.
—
While he’d managed to fall asleep that night, he seemed powerless against the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Even as he sat on the train, eager to return to his childhood home, watching the snow fall through the window, the hopeful anticipation in his heart wasn’t able to conquer it. He wasn’t able to conceal his suspicion towards Tsukasa’s ambiguous winter plans, and he didn’t have the gall nor the distrust to outright accuse him of lying. There had to be a reason that explained why Tsukasa had told him little of importance, why Tsukasa had brushed off every attempt to plan, why Tsukasa had been acting so weird, and why every time he tried to be a little more blunt with his questions, Emu would swoop in with a “Let’s play 8-Ball!” text, which always seemed to distract him for just long enough. Curse his attention span.
The walk home from the station served to be a contemplative time for him. The outside had been covered in a fluffy layer of snow, and he carefully tightened his scarf (a present from Tsukasa last year) to stay warm. He wasn’t perfectly cognizant of the frown that was etched into his face, alongside the crease in his forehead and furrow of his brows.
Nene was, however. As Rui turned the corner onto his street, he saw her waiting for him on the sidewalk. When the smile on her face quickly turned into a look of concern, then a faint sort of amusement, he realized how ridiculous his sour expression must have looked. He tried to shake it off and greeted her anyway.
“Hey, Rui,” she said warmly. “Welcome back. Emu’s already on her way over here. Do you want to hang out for a bit?”
It wasn’t an offer Rui intended to refuse. Before he knew it, he was out of the cold and situated on the couch with a video game controller in his hands. It was just as he had remembered it, save for an extra poster or two on the wall. The familiarity was comforting.
“So, how’ve you been?” she asked. The buttons clicked softly as she drifted through a corner, seeming effortlessly calm.
“I’ve been alright,” Rui said, trying to seem just as placid as her. It did not work. He thought of the consecutive visits to Tsukasa, never quite running into him at the right time, and watched his cart cleanly fall off the edge.
Nene stifled a chuckle, giving Rui a brief sidelong glance. In the following silence, the sound of a door swinging open and something heavy rolling on the floor could be heard. Nene raised her eyebrows, then grabbed the remote and turned the TV volume up. “Really? Not a single thing happened?” she prodded.
Rui feigned concentration on the track. Internally, he chewed on his words, trying to figure out the right things to say. It wouldn’t be right to complain about Tsukasa behind his back, and he didn’t have anything of substance to mention about him. “I caught up on sleep,” he offered, knowing Nene saw right through him. It was a blessing and a curse.
“Well, that’s good,” Nene sighed. He could feel her disappointment as though it had a physical presence. He slouched just a bit. Nene did not comment.
Once more, the room’s only sounds were the music and sound effects from the game, a simple loop of energetic pop, and the occasional screeching of tires. Rui heard an oddly familiar laugh and instinctively turned his head towards the front door.
“Hm?” Nene asked, watching Rui’s odd reaction. She smiled at him, shaking her head. “It’s a sound effect. Jeez. You sure you’ve been sleeping enough? What’s got you all jumpy?”
“I did sacrifice a bit of sleep yesterday trying to figure out what to pack. I wasn’t sure which tools I already had at home, but if I brought all of mine with, I would’ve had to lug around a second suitcase. There are some modifications I’ve been planning to make to Robonene…” Rui explained, and thankfully, it was a convenient truth.
Nene just nodded, appearing to believe him enough. He could still tell she was skeptical, but being as gracious as she was, she didn’t interrogate him. He was spared.
Rui faintly heard more laughter and the rolling of wheels. He chalked it up to the background noise of the track this time. He narrowed his eyes and tried to secure his second-place victory; he’d long since given up on defeating Nene. He heard another odd sound, this time far closer. The screen of Nene’s phone lit up. Rui instinctively turned to look, but Nene snatched it quickly. He saw her sigh and paused the game.
Rui tilted his head, then opened his mouth to ask a question. Before the words could get out, Nene abruptly stood up, looking awkward, and opened the door. Behind it was a tall, towering structure, enthusiastically pushed through the frame. It looked to be a cake, though the scale was absurd. The tiers were colored bright oranges and yellows, and embedded in the frosting were star-shaped sprinkles. At the top, there was a large flag bearing a bright yellow star on an orange and pink background attached to a wooden pole.
“Tsukasa couldn’t make it,” a voice behind the cake said—Emu. She stepped out from behind it, wearing a frown. “So I got you a cake instead!”
The gears turned and clicked in Rui’s head. For a moment, he felt very, very stupid. And then he laughed.
“A cake… I see,” he said quickly, trying to compose himself. “For something of this size, you’d surely need a specialized blade. I wonder if something like a guillotine could be used. It probably doesn’t have the structural integrity to hold up against a chainsaw, though…”
“I was thinking the same thing! I think a sword would work,” Emu suggested with a smile. A quiet thud echoed from the shape behind her. “One of the giant ones a knight uses! Just take a big swing at it, like woooosh!” she beamed.
Nene put her head in her hands. Rui smiled.
“Is there anything special about this cake? Perhaps there’s candy inside? I remember you baked something like that once,” Rui asked.
“Hmmm… nope! It’s no piñata, so baseball bats are off the table!” Emu declared.
“Anything blunt wouldn’t be able to create clean slices. What a delightful puzzle you’ve presented me with, Emu. A wire would take a lot of work to maneuver through, and anything heated or something like a laser would burn it or make it catch on fire. I wonder if a normal hand saw would work.”
“Mhm!” Emu nodded enthusiastically.
“You have something like that in your garage, right? Maybe you should go get it,” Nene suggested.
Immediately, the cake clamored again. The top tier shifted around, and the very top of it slid off and clattered to the floor. Tsukasa’s head popped into view, seeming to stand up. The cake reached just below his shoulders in height. At the sight of his panicked expression, Nene sighed and kicked at the locks on the wheels of the cart. Carefully, Tsukasa grabbed hold of the sides of the cake’s middle layer and placed it on the floor. Then, he emerged from the structure, landing (with a surprising amount of grace, given the ridiculous situation) right in front of Rui.
Rui feigned surprise, eyes widening exaggeratedly. “Oh my goodness! Emu, you said there wasn’t anything special about this cake!”
Nene looked as though she was considering kicking all of them out of her house, though Rui could see the amusement in her eyes.
Tsukasa scowled at Emu, who grinned in return. He turned around and retrieved a bouquet of flowers from a pocket on the side wall of the middle tier, and looked to Rui, eyebrows raised as if debating whether or not he was worthy of the gift.
“Hmph. Some thanks I get for planning a stunt like this,” Tsukasa huffed. “A guillotine? A saw? Really?” he first glared at Nene, then at Emu, then at Rui, unsure who had wronged him the most. He shook his head and then smiled. “Surprise, Rui! I did make it!”
Rui pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. “Oh, thank goodness you escaped while you did. If you didn’t say anything, I would’ve gone to get proper power tools from my workshop,” he said.
Tsukasa hid the flowers behind his back, giving Rui a stern, disapproving look.
“It’s okay, Tsukasa! I would’ve stopped him,” Emu declared.
“You were ready to swing a sword at me!” Tsukasa argued.
“You’ve survived worse,” Nene countered. “Is a sword really that much of a concern?”
Rui laughed, putting a hand on Tsukasa’s shoulder. “Thank you for planning all this,” he said, trying to reassure him. His gaze fell to the hollow structure behind him, and noticing Tsukasa used the technique he’d recommended to him, he couldn’t help but smile. “It looks well-made. Did you do all this yourself?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“I did! Thank you,” Tsukasa said, finally seeming to be cheered up by the acknowledgement. “It took a lot of work. I picked up a lot just watching you build things, though, so it wasn’t too bad. The random video you sent helped, too… What was the deal with that?” Tsukasa noted, brows furrowing in confusion. Hesitantly, he held the flowers out to Rui, lost in thought.
Rui patted him on the back as he accepted the bouquet. “Don’t worry about it.”
(He’d come clean another day. It didn’t seem the sort of thing Nene would let him live down.)