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To Ena, perfection was something to be earned, restlessly achieved through all the callouses on her hands. It was the stunned silence in a debate room after she cleared the floor, doused the competition in kerosene and let something inside her howl. She did not know whether to consider these abiding moments, these marks of resolute determination, a part of her. Rather something she craved, a thing shamelessly expected of her. She was not perfection, after all. The things she did so effortlessly she was blinded towards, a matter of the fact she could not see but only spell. Nobody was perfect, that is what she told herself. For some time, when she was small enough to be naive, she seemed to believe it. However, nothing lasts forever.
Ena strived through envy. She was born into the fourth sin. She had no indignity in admitting it. Pretty words and paint-dusted fingertips couldn’t hollow out what you were made of. Nothing came to be as beautiful as proving yourself, to outshining those who surrounded you, as the studio-light kissing the gold medals. Until it came crumbling to her feet, everything she had previously worked to internalize, a blotchy painted mess of a blush on her cheeks. A girl with rose-colored curls and an endearingly strange ruffle-skirt had thrown her world off axis. She was perfection. Effortless perfection. What a horrible notion, a horrific sight, to have someone so beautiful at arm’s length. So close you could graze the surface of their universe, only to have the atmosphere bounce back at you. To love Mizuki was to realize all the things Ena wasn’t.
Mizuki and Ena weren’t alike in the slightest. Not in the way they held themselves, down to the way they sang. Ena had a firm grasp on the world, who she was. Who she wasn’t, for that matter. Mizuki hid away from who she was, teary-eyed in the girl’s bathrooms and a closet she was too afraid to step outside in. Ena spoke out of turn, bared her teeth, cracked her knuckles. Mizuki slumped in her chair, bit her lip, knitted her eyebrows. Ena believed she was envious at first, as she was towards all things she thought exquisite. The vulnerability and uniqueness of Mizuki, sprawled out in an arrangement of sakura. She wanted that openness, to feel and let everyone sit with it in their mouths. Mizuki illuminated duskfall, brought endless day upon Ena’s endless night. Ena thought of Mizuki as a deity. She was simply kneeling at the altar.
It became startlingly apparent the bubbling emotion was less spiteful, rather a thing much more agonizing. Admiration, awe, love. All the things foolish children toed around, not wanting to let slip. Here in this moment, they were not children anymore. Vibrancies of carnelian and lilac are bursting along the skyline, casting the world into an otherworldly hue. Atop the roof, you could see everything, and it gave Ena a sense of courage. They were so small in all of this. So Ena had to scream, to become something larger.
Bitter wind rocked Mizuki’s curls, she twirled a stray strand as the two leaned over the railing. Ena pretended not to have been staring. “It’s cold, Ena.” She gritted, exaggerating a shiver.
Ena rolled her eyes, snorting. “You were up here every-day of December. What’s the issue now?” She smirked, turning to look straight at her. Her cheeks were flushed the same roseate shade of her eyes, lips pouted. Her gaze lingered on Mizuki’s lips far too long than what she deemed appropriate. She scrambled to tear herself away, staring at the concrete between them.
Mizuki pierced her lips, crossing her arms sternly. “January is the coldest month of the year. You ought to know that.” She reprimanded, turning away with a hmph! “That was during school, too. We’re out for a week now.” She extended her lecture, shifting from foot to foot. “So, why are we here anyway?”
Ena coveted so immensely to play the arranged meeting off, to exclaim she was simply unbearably bored. Despite the options laid out, Ena had a sixth-sense for justice. She fulfilled her promises, even those to herself. It would not be righteous, to call for Mizuki, only to leave her perplexed on the reason. “Forgive me, Mizuki.” She pressed her palm to Mizuki’s cheek, delicately clashing their lips together. She tasted of jarring salt and pure-sugar, their noses brushing. It felt as if a gunshot to the heart, something dire and feverous erupted inside of Ena. She wanted this, truly. Always. She couldn’t bear not trying for it.
When they disunited, their fingers linger against the other’s skin. Mizuki’s pupils were blown wide, lips motionlessly narrowly parted. She was something unreadable in moments such as these, that was what Ena loved so fiercely about her. Everything Mizuki entailed, Ena cherished. “Why?-” Mizuki began, eyebrows knitted with a deep crease. “I don’t understand.” It came out pleading.
Ena did not answer, fumbling with the hem of her sweatshirt. She was so self-possessed, typically. Mizuki always had a way of leaving her stumbling. In a sudden flicker of movement, their cracked lips are caught up in each-other's again. It was not pretty, such as the first time. It was pent-up, almost a rage. They had wanted it for so long. Why hadn’t they taken it? Ena’s fingers slip into Mizuki’s perfect hair, tugging gently. The kiss was fireworks. Lightning. Oxygen in her lungs.
It could not be said who broke the embrace first, although they were left panting and breathless. “I could not forgive myself, if I did not try.” Ena mumbles through a shy glance, Mizuki cracks a gap-toothed grin. Their foreheads slump together, eyes flickering shut. “Are you glad, I tried?” She ventured, brushing a thumb over Mizuki’s sleeve.
Mizuki nods ardently, pressing her lips to Ena’s temple swiftly. “I’m so glad you tried.” She giggled. Minutes abide between them, a steady rhythm of a syncing heartrate. They were in unison, one organism now. They had always been. One could not exist without the other, even endless times before they met. Ena had found perfection, it was not exam scores or synthetic-tipped paintbrushes. It was this. The silence of lovers.