Work Text:
~
Losing someone is never easy, but, God, why did it have to be her?
Every physical trace of Fujino’s old friend remained tucked away in her childhood home—the very spot in which the pair had spent months upon years together, crammed into a small space as they worked in comfortable silence.
Double sleepovers quickly became triple, followed by weeks of nonstop drawing throughout summer — They would lose time if Kyomoto had to walk home, right?
How Fujino missed the other’s quiet companionship.
It totally beat living in solitude, spending her days confined to an apartment that seemed both empty and devoid of warmth; of the very light in which the other’s presence graced Fujino’s sore eyes.
Why was I so mean that day?—She often asked herself, despite knowing the truth: Fujino had always acted as a mere cage, holding the other back from her dreams as she remained driven by a selfish desire to keep her friend trapped.
After all, they weren’t thirteen anymore.
Somewhere between the pair lay an unspoken codependency upon one another: Fujino craved her friend’s undying admiration, and Kyomoto helplessly needed the other to guide her until she was ready to leave the nest.
Their inevitable separation, however, payed no mind to this reliance as it inched closer, growing with age.
Kyomoto gradually seemed less interested in their work.
It was found in those small, uncharacteristic smiles and her sparked interest in a certain library book.
Though she refused to admit it, her friend’s lack of courage made Fujino feel satisfied in believing that she would not leave — The other had viewed her as a hero and saving grace for years, right?
If she tried hard enough, Fujino could still picture her friend’s outline as though it was burned into her vision.
She never wanted to forget the finest details of Kyomto — The color of her eyes and their reflection of childlike essence, the fragility of her porcelain skin, and the way that Fujino’s own fingers felt running through the other’s tangled hair.
Are her favorite foods the same? How does she busy her mind throughout mundane tasks?
Does she share her most absurd dreams with others come morning?
No, she wasn’t brave enough to make new friends — Fujino didn’t want her to be.
In her twisted imagination, the other couldn’t build enough courage to converse with her peers.
As she laid her head against the desk in defeat, Fujino pictured her old friend once more: Kyomoto’s hair was still let down, despite how often her long, tangled bangs fell in front of her eyes.
She was dressed like a professional painter with colorful stains overlapping one another, decorating her overalls.
The canvas stood taller than her body.
With a stroke of her brush, Kyomoto carefully added a small highlight to the nearly-finished scene.
What’s she working on?
It was a door — The very one featured at the beginning of Fujino’s series.
Kyomoto brought life to it, just as she had uplifted her friend through soothing praise and bright spirits.
Fujino could only picture the other in freedom; no longer confined to a childhood companion.
Was I just too blind to notice her slipping away?—She silently pondered, despite all of the voices that clouded her thoughts.
In doing so, Fujino—though far from home—reminisced on the loving sensation of skin lightly brushing against skin as the pair ran through shallow waters; fingers intertwined.
Their bodies moved in a consistent rhythm, blending with one another while the crisp early-morning air cut between them.
Before Fujino knew it, her companion’s fingers were withdrawing from the hand that had held onto hers for so long.
The lost sensation sparked a deep longing within the lonely girl as she became increasingly aware of the apartment’s chill air against the palm of her hand.
She wondered what Kyomoto was doing at this hour.
Perhaps she was sound asleep or buried in a sketchbook, forgetting the pressures of her schedule.
Whatever the action, Fujino would give anything to experience it with her again — To walk hand-in-hand with her friend throughout the course of their lives.
All that seemed to remain of this short-lived dream was an old contact, sitting untouched in her phone.
It took the strength of every fiber of her being for Fujino to refrain from sending a message to the other.
How desperate she was for rekindling, but what’s the point? — Kyomoto will never return to her open arms, no matter how much Fujino pleads.
She stood from her seat and walked to bed, utterly defeated in knowing that her—once undying—companion no longer accompanied her to the warmth of shared covers.
Years ago, Kyomoto had clung to the other as though she was her last source of oxygen, and, despite the gnawing ache of her ribs, Fujino had no intention of asking her friend to let go.
What she would give to feel that love envelop her tired body once more.
Fujino turned onto her side, bringing her knees parallel to her hips as she gripped her pillow tightly.
The cheap cushion seemed to imitate the rise and fall of Kyomoto’s warm chest in the imagination of Fujino, who found herself lulled into a gentle yet incomplete sleep.
In her reoccurring dreams, Fujino saw her friend dressed for class; the pair, however, were thirteen.
Kyomoto always waved and turned away, chasing after a tantalizing call as she was slowly consumed by the white atmosphere.
The other had tried to go after her time and time again, but she always struggled to move — Fujino’s legs resisted the desperate need to push forward.
God, this hurts.
She awoke in the morning to an alarm, followed by the aroma of cheap coffee.
If things had gone right, Fujino wouldn’t be working overtime as she bore the stress of partners who don’t put in enough effort.
Maybe, in that universe, she and Kyomoto could share coffee over a balanced meal rather than what remained of Fujino’s takeout from the night before.
If you keep dwelling on the past, you’ll be left behind with it.
Heeding her own advice, Fujino returned to the desk that held her prisoner throughout each grueling day.
She wondered if Kyomoto had felt this way for the remainder of those terribly short months in which the two worked until their final one-shot was complete.
Surely it wasn’t all bad, right?
Heartfelt moments were often buried underneath a mountain of work, but they had existed nonetheless.
Fujino needed closure; to know what drove the other away from the natural rhythm of their routine.
Unable to resist this urge, she pulled out her crappy flip phone and began to type a long string of words: “hey how r u? whatre classes like?”
With trembling thumbs, Fujino deleted her pathetic excuse at reaching out before it could even have the chance to be more than a draft.
Instead of reading what scarcely remained of older conversations—for the millionth time—she pushed it all aside to focus on drawing.
It would be the same every day; this is all that she knows.
Even if she wanted to quit, Fujino had come too far in both her series and career.
While Kyomoto got to be free, her friend was left with a broken dream that was once shared between the pair, lying next to one another in the damp grass.
That’s what I get for trying to come out on top.
Utilizing the slightest bit of motivation for her craft, Fujino returned to her own cage.
Despite holding the key, she decided to remain trapped forever.
Freedom is a small window of opportunity before the reaper catches up to you — Nothing good lasts forever.