Archive of Our Own

“I know it’s scary. That’s part of it.”

— I Saw the TV Glow

ACT I

Dreaming of a Butterfly

“Words have always sat like dead moths and dried flowers in his mouth, unheard because no one is ever interested in what he has to say. He is not clever; he is not poetry. He is just a boy who speaks too bluntly when what he wants most is to figure out which pretty, magical words will finally make him understood.”

— C.G. Drews, Hazelthorn

“Do you ever have the feeling that you’ll die soon?”

The question hung in the air. Only the hollow howl of wind through the slit of the door replied to them. Mizuki continued, facing the covered standing mirror in the corner, “The dread is agonizing. But I know that I won’t. Maybe not, but it feels like I will.”

They rolled over, facing the ceiling. The curtain glowed a dark night-blue as stars littered their vision, sparkling and beautiful. Mizuki wanted to reach into that black void; be pulled away and never return to earth.

“I just wish this part were over. Skip to the part where I’ve figured it out—where it gets better.”

Tracing a finger along the stars, Mizuki’s eyes started to droop, settling into uneasy dreams; of being a butterfly, heavy wings moving in slow motion.

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Is it weird to crave companionship? To daydream that one day, a transfer student will arrive and approach them, saying, “Could we be friends?” Someone charming enough to make everyone jealous. Someone strong to protect them. Someone. Anyone.

Mizuki knew this to be unlikely and unrealistic, but they couldn't help but wonder as they snacked on an egg sandwich, sunlight draping calmly on their skin. Up on the rooftop, the world felt at peace. Nobody to bother them, nobody to glare. As if Mizuki were the last person left in an apocalypse. Yet that was the problem—there was nobody. In the end, Mizuki was better off alone than attempting to interact with someone who could harm them.

Before Mizuki could get another bite, someone entered the rooftop. A gruff, aged man, sweat clinging to the collar of his light-blue button-up. “Akiyama, you can’t be up here,” the school guard said, eyeing them suspiciously. “You don’t happen to have seen any other kids up here?”

“Huh? No, it’s just me…” Mizuki muttered, chewing on their sandwich. This wasn’t the first time he’s caught them sitting alone.

“Well, there have been reports of students using the rooftop to vape. Don’t suppose you’re one of those?”

Mizuki shook their head. “Never touched one, sir.”

“Good. Go back to your classroom. We’re blocking access until we figure out the situation.”

“But, I don’t have anywhere else to stay…”

He clicked his tongue and looked at them like they were roadkill. “Sorry, kid. You’re gonna have to find another spot.”

Reluctantly, Mizuki shoved the sandwich back in its plastic baggie and left the rooftop. That’s so stupid, Mizuki thought. Closing the rooftop isn’t even gonna stop them. They’ll probably just do it in the bathrooms or the back.

Now they were left with the question of where they should seek refuge during lunch hours. (Or whenever they were skipping classes, of course.)

The bathrooms were way too unsanitary, but a common choice. Problem was that the stalls were very few, and they’d most likely catch some literal smoke. Even if it was strawberry-scented.

The courtyard was also a no-go, as the guard would typically patrol there. Supply closets were too stuffy and dark. The stairwell was also an option, but easy to get spotted.

As Mizuki walked through the hallway, they stopped right in front of the art club room, a sudden idea forming. The curtains were drawn so as not to disturb the artists, and it was usually empty until classes ended. Not to mention the ridiculously large storage cabinets and unused canvas boards. Mizuki could fit themself in a corner and hide behind the canvases. Dumb? Likely, but it was a nice room to be alone in—surrounded by portraits and the smell of paint.

Reaching out, Mizuki pulled the door open. Unlocked since the door lock had been broken long ago, and the school never bothered to fix it, seeing as… nobody really cared for the art club. Convenient for Mizuki.

Inside, colorful paintings lined the walls, all depicting different subjects and scenery from abstract distortions of people to realistic sketches of bowls of fruit. Easels circled an empty stand, the wood caked in dried paint. Discarded brushes, palettes, and paint tubes lay on rectangular tables in the other corner, chairs haphazardly left askew.

Mizuki approached the steel storage cabinets in the corner, making space for themself in the gap between them.

They hugged their knees, backed against the wall, covered by the canvas boards. There was an odd peace to be found in here.

Mizuki relaxed, biting into their sandwich again before the door slammed open, followed by someone marching inside. A girl’s voice mumbled as she adjusted an easel. “Damn it… Poor attempt to recreate the subject’s likeness, my ass!” she cursed, footsteps thundering awfully closer to Mizuki. They held their breath, unable to see anything as they ducked behind a particularly large board.

The girl grabbed a canvas, returned to the easel, and set it up. “I’ll show him. I’ll show all of them, matter of fact! I’ll paint something so avant-garde, they’ll have no choice but to regard me!”

Slowly, Mizuki resumes nibbling on their sandwich. It doesn’t sound like she’s going to leave soon… they lamented. Not like they wanted to return to class anyway, but being cramped in a corner wasn’t very ideal either. They didn’t bother to hold their breath—her frustrated brush strokes loud enough to hide any other noises.

With perfect timing, a speck of dust grazed past their nose. As much as Mizuki tried to stop it, their nose wouldn’t stop sniffing, ready to sneeze like a triggered grenade. A loud achoo! came out of their mouth, the girl’s furious brushing ceasing.

Slow, hesitant steps stopped before Mizuki’s spot. Mizuki could only stare wide-eyed like a deer in spotlights as the canvas boards were lifted, revealing the shaking middle schooler hugging their knees.

Getting to see the girl now, she was actually… pretty. Mizuki blinked; maybe it was the light. But her round eyes glittered like stars under the light, and her short hair seemed so smooth that they were tempted to run their hand through it. Not to mention the very obvious makeup she was wearing. And as obvious as it was, her artistic talent wasn’t limited to a canvas.

“You have half a minute to explain yourself before I report you,” the girl said as her initial surprise soured into anger.

Mizuki put their hands up as if they were caught in a more serious crime. They felt like a frightened cat; both guarded and startled. “I… I was just h-hiding—I mean, um, no, that sounds bad… I was looking for a place where I can eat my lunch… alone…”

That weak explanation did nothing to placate the girl’s suspicions. “And?”

“And… what?”

“Scram!”

Mizuki gulped. “W-Wait, I… I’ll be quiet. I have nowhere else to go, so… you can put the canvases back and pretend I wasn’t here.”

The girl pinched and rubbed between her eyebrows, conflicted between pity and irritation. “Look, I know you’re here now, so it’s rather distracting. I need all the focus I can get to paint.”

Mizuki’s gaze naturally wandered to the easel the girl was using. They didn’t know whether she was developing the background or making it intentionally obscure. They looked back at the displayed portraits and made a realization—whenever they left the rooftop, they’d often pass by the clubroom, where the members would either be hunched over the tables or critically examining their canvases. Mizuki would’ve certainly noticed this girl in the same room or have found another painting with her art style.

“Well, you can’t report me either since you’re not an actual member of the art club, are you?”

The girl’s breath hitched, then her expression glowered. “Y-You! How… No, of course it’s obvious.” She groaned. “Whatever. Fine. Sit in the corner all sad like that. Not my problem anyway.”

She returned to the easel, picking up her brush again. “And for your information, all the people in this club are mere amateurs who treat art like everything needs to have some deep, hidden meaning to it. I won’t improve if I’m lumped in with them.”

Amateurs, huh? She certainly didn’t seem much better.

The canvas boards Mizuki was hiding behind were still set aside, exposing Mizuki, who remained crouched in the corner. It would’ve felt too awkward to move them by now. So, they decided to bite the bullet, intrigued by the girl before them. “What makes you say that?”

“What would you like to know?”

It was a good attempt.

The girl stayed silent as she continued to assault the canvas with her brush strokes, splashes of paint flying everywhere. Though as she painted, the subject began to make sense. It was an oil painting of a girl reaching out into a black sky, a singular bright star hanging right above her.

“What are you making?” Mizuki couldn’t help but ask.

The girl scoffed. “What happened to being quiet?”

Mizuki almost laughed. Strangely, their usual walls felt thinner, as if some instinct knew this girl wasn’t any threat, nor did it seem she cared for their reputation. Did she even know who they were? Whatever the answer, Mizuki had the upper hand. But the more they thought about it, the more they decided to stay quiet, looking at the floor. They shouldn’t push it.

After a minute of silence, the girl relented with a sigh. “If you’re so curious… I don’t know what I’m painting. It’s just… a spur-of-the-moment thing. I guess it represents what I’m feeling right now.”

That was surprising. Was she actually someone Mizuki could trust, if only a little, after all? Given that the girl snuck into the art room by herself and Mizuki has never seen or heard of her before, she must not be too popular either. Probably not as bad as Mizuki—she certainly had the bark to fight back, but whether she had the bite was unclear. Neither did she seem like much of a conversationalist, but it wasn’t like she had hidden intentions. After all, she let Mizuki stay, although via an equal threat.

Mizuki didn’t know what to think, so they remained in silence.

The girl groaned again and dropped the brush. She grabbed the canvas, tossing it across the room as she exclaimed, “I can’t fucking do anything right!”

Mizuki jumped, instinctively backing up, ready to take a blow… but the girl noticed Mizuki tense, and deflated. “I… I’m sorry for that outburst,” she said, slowly sitting on the floor to be on eye-to-eye level with them, as if coaxing a frightened cat. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. You can stay here, I’ll leave…” With that, she got up, dusting herself off. She glanced one last time at the tossed painting before heading for the door.

“Wait…!” That word. Mizuki didn’t know how it came out or why they shouted it. The words spilled like water from a tipped glass; unstoppable in their caused motion. “I-I mean, I’m okay with you being here, too. I wouldn’t mind it…”

The girl paused, recalibration clear on her face when she turned back. “Um. Thanks, but I don’t want to paint anymore. I’m done here.”

And with that, the girl was gone.

Mizuki looked at the discarded painting. If they left it there, the art club would definitely find it and get suspicious. So, they picked it up and took it home.

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The following day, Mizuki was in the art club again, huddled in the same corner when the door cracked open, the girl peeking in and surveying the room. Spotting Mizuki, she sighed, then entered, closing and locking the sliding door behind her. “You’re here again,” she said, grabbing a new canvas.

“Aren’t they gonna notice someone’s been using up their canvases?” Mizuki asked.

“Sucks for them,” the girl replied, setting it on the easel.

Her pure ego stumped Mizuki. Who in the world was this girl to march into a clubroom that wasn’t hers and use their supplies without a care?

More awkward beats of silence passed before the girl grumbled. “Are you seriously just going to sit there and watch me?”

Mizuki shrugged. “Not sure what else I can do.”

“Entertain yourself, or something, I don’t know. I can feel you staring—It’s distracting.”

Mizuki checked their pockets for their phone and found them empty. “I left my phone at home.”

The girl huffed as she started painting the background in dark, muted colors, almost sealike. “Then you can at the very least talk to me normally. The dead air is worse than merely observing me.”

“It would help if we were on a first-name basis. I’ve just been referring to you as ’the girl’ in my head this whole time.”

“Fine! It’s Ena. There. Happy?”

“I assume you know mine?” Mizuki asked out of precaution.

“Obviously not!”

Really? Well, whether she was lying or not, Mizuki hoped that she didn’t know them.

“It’s Mizuki.”

Ena scoffed and continued to paint. “And just so we’re clear… I’ve heard of you before, Akiyama. In passing. Always Akiyama this, Akiyama that. Forgot you had a first name up until now.” A sharp jolt of fear pierced Mizuki upon hearing that. Before they bolted out of the room, Ena followed with, “But, honestly, I couldn’t care less. You can do whatever you want; it’s your life. People are so damn annoying about it.”

“Oh… Is that so…” Mizuki said absentmindedly, a sudden fog invading their head. “Thanks, I guess…”

“You don’t have to sound so scared. I’m being honest.”

It was hard not to; fear was one of their primary emotions. When walking through the hallway feels like a daily humiliation ritual, or even like wandering a dark forest, then, of course, you’d be scared. For Mizuki, their guard had to be up at all times unless someone decided to step out of line and take it out on them.

“I… I appreciate it.”

“Don’t be thankful for the bare minimum of respect.”

Mizuki didn’t know what to say to that, so they chose silence instead. Though this only seemed to aggravate Ena further. “Okay, whatever. Be a walking doormat for all I care.”

“I’m not a walking doormat,” Mizuki retorted, but the words felt like a dull blade. “I can fight back if I want to.”

“I’d love to see that,” Ena said, painting a bright moon framed by a milky black night. In the center, a girl in a silky white dress was falling, backlit by moonlight.

Mizuki, desperately wanting to change topics, asked, “What’s this one about?”

“Up to your interpretation,” she grumbled. Try as they might, though, Mizuki couldn’t make heads or tails of the painting. She had very clear symbolism, but her direction was unsure. Even if she had nailed her fundamentals, it looked as if she was struggling to paint what she wanted to say.

Yet, Mizuki couldn’t help but get lost in the glow of the moon against the falling girl. How pretty the light was in the white waves of the dress’s flailing skirt and the girl’s serene face. What she lacked in direction was assisted by her style.

“Your art is very pretty.”

Ena paused. Mizuki thought that she might have another outburst, but the faintest pink could be found in the girl’s cheeks. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” she said, “but… thank you.”

“By the way,” Ena spoke suddenly. “There’s this anime premiering soon. Something called ‘The Pink Opaque.’ I was wondering… if you wanted to watch it together, or something.”

Something in her words made Mizuki draw a connection—Ena was just as lonely as they were. The way she would always appear alone, act aloof. Her standoffish attitude covered her insecurity. All of this, Mizuki knew too well.

It was then that Mizuki decided Ena wasn’t a threat; in fact, she was just another lonely soul waiting to be found. “I… Oh, uh. Yeah. Sure. I’m probably free then.” I’m always free.

“Good.” Ena put the brush down, surveying her finished work before running a harsh hand through her hair. “This Friday. Come with me after classes.”

When Ena left, she didn’t toss the painting aside, but left it behind instead. Mizuki, using the excuse that she didn't want her to get into trouble, took this painting and brought it home.

ACT II

You Must Suffer Me

“But I wasn’t crying because I was sad. I guess I was crying because we had nowhere else to go, no choice but to go on living in this world. Crying because we had no other world to choose, and crying at everything before us, everything around us.”

— Mieko Kawakami, Heaven

As the afternoon sun set over Tokyo, Mizuki and Ena walked through the streets in deep silence. Even as they passed concrete buildings and watched cars go by, neither uttered a word; Mizuki was too focused on following Ena, and Ena strided as if she had forgotten Mizuki was coming with. Her arms were crossed, face crumpled in frustration.

Earlier at lunch, Ena hadn’t appeared in the art clubroom. The hour of silence was, to be honest, peaceful yet empty. Mizuki had grown so accustomed to the quiet that a few days of actual conversation made the silence almost unbearable. Mizuki didn’t know what to make of that.

Before they could think to ask Ena what happened, she stopped in front of a modest apartment complex. “Here,” she said halfheartedly, as if she were giving a presentation she had no interest in. “My home.”

“Cool,” was all Mizuki could say.

The two entered the building, passing an empty front desk before reaching the elevator. If the atmosphere outside was awkward, inside the elevator wasn’t any better. Quite worse, actually.

Freezing air made Mizuki’s face itchy, and the elevator’s space was small enough to have their shoulders touching. Mizuki pulled at their collar while Ena tapped her foot impatiently, glaring at the screen while the numbers climbed.

“You weren’t at the club today,” Mizuki said, in hopes of lightening the mood.

Ena twirled a lock of hair. “I needed a break.” She stared up at the ceiling light, then down to the floor, scratching at her sleeve, frowning. “And… sorry for being such a grouch today. Don’t think I’m mad at you or anything. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess.”

Mizuki simply nodded, not wanting to pry despite the gnawing curiosity. Being defensive came with its perks; reading people being one of them. It was clear Ena was troubled by something, but she seemed like someone who repressed so much. Like an active volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. Mizuki only figured it wasn’t only her art that she was upset at, but they knew it was best they stay away from her business, unless they’d like to get caught in the explosion.

The elevator dinged as it stopped, the doors sliding open. Ena walked out first. Mizuki trailed behind, a bit disoriented by the ascent, a tiny pulse of a developing headache.

Ena fished out her keys and unlocked the door at the end of the hall. When Ena flicked the lights on, Mizuki was greeted by bright ceiling lights and an apartment straight from a modern living magazine.

“I hope it’s nice… I didn’t have time to clean up,” Ena said, tossing her keys on a console table and her bag at the foot of her bedroom door. Mizuki felt stumped. The entire room was as pristine white as the blinding lights. “Shoes off, please.”

Mizuki did as told, slipping off their shoes after Ena did and placing them in the same corner. The scent of faint vanilla caught their nose.

Ena gestured to the plush couch. “You can go ahead and take a seat while I prepare some snacks. Is water and chips alright?” she asked, moving to the open kitchen.

“I’m fine with anything,” Mizuki said as they sat on the couch, setting their bag beside them against the armrest. Folding hands in their lap, Mizuki could only examine the TV, the black mirror reflection staring back at them with weary eyes and a partial frown.

Mizuki had always seen themself as a small, pitiful creature; helpless to the larger forces that snear and entrap them. Ignore it, and they’ll go away, Mizuki would tell themself. Yet as the days, months, years passed, it became apparent that maybe they’ll always be the misshapen piece unable to fit into the puzzle. It could be worse. It could always be worse, and Mizuki knows that. As long as they stayed within their designated line, they wouldn’t be hurt.

But how far could that philosophy go before the overwhelming weight of loneliness suffocated them?

The clatter of the tray on the coffee table jolted Mizuki out of their head. On it were two tall glasses, a water pitcher, and two open bags of chips. Ena tossed two coasters before settling into the couch.

Discomfort hooked its claws into Mizuki. They’ve never been to another non-relative’s house before, and all etiquette escaped them as they sat and glanced around like a newborn.

“You can relax, you know? I didn’t poison the water,” Ena said, rolling her eyes. “If you’re gonna sit there like a nervous wreck the whole time, you’re free to go home.”

Mizuki shook their head. “N-No, I’m fine. I’m sorry.” Pitiful.

“Would you please stop apologizing?” Ena sighed, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on. The screen flashed, opening on a news channel. Ena kept switching until she stopped on one, an advertisement for toothpaste playing. “Should start in…” She quickly checked her phone. “A minute.”

Now that she had her phone, Ena began to scroll through Instagram, using her other hand to prop her chin. She kept muttering to herself, though Mizuki could only hear scattered words. Likes. Followers. Art. The more she scrolled, the more she seethed, before finally abruptly pocketing it in a fit.

Mizuki poured themself a glass of water and did the same for Ena, hoping it would calm her down. This appeared to lull her out of her head as she drank the glass. “Thanks,” she said after finishing it and putting it on the coaster. “Don’t mind me.”

This might be a bad idea, but the question rang in their mind like a bell toll. “Why did you even invite me here in the first place?”

Ena furrowed her brows. “What? Why ask?”

“Just curious… You asked me so suddenly, and I’m not… the best company to have.”

“I-I don’t know, okay? Nobody else wants to watch this cheesy crap anyway. Airi’s too busy with… whatever, it’s about to start. Be quiet.”

Mizuki turned back to the screen, a bright pink glow emanating from it as a strange, ominous chord played before it shifted to a funky melody. A narrator began talking about meeting an imaginary friend at a sleepaway camp, who, despite living on opposite sides of the region, shares a psychic connection they use to defeat evil. A classic monster-of-the-week sort of deal.

It was almost hypnotic, the way the colors and sounds struck Mizuki like a swinging pendulum. When Mizuki looked briefly at Ena, her eyes had caught the same pink glow, and Mizuki almost wanted to drown in the color.

Mizuki turned their attention back to the screen once the intro concluded. Pitch black faded in, killing the pinks and purples, before a different, darker voice spoke. “You may have escaped… But you’ve forgotten one thing.”

“I never die.”

A thunderclap roared before flashing white, cutting to the two main girls sitting beside each other on a derelict pier. The sky was in shades of deep afternoon purple that swam across the calm lake.

The girl on the left had dark blue hair that fell like a curtain over her head. Her kind blue eyes focused on the waves as she held the edge of the pier. “Isayo, do you ever think of going back?”

The camera panned to Isayo, and Mizuki felt something inside them click. Her pink eyes and stylish hair, adorned with a bow at the back, reminded Mizuki so much of themself.

She looked so beautiful. So pretty.

A feeling close to jealousy swallowed Mizuki. Sure, there was the envy of being unable to look like her, but there was also an odd grief. Grief that no matter how much Mizuki tried to replicate that same beauty, it would always feel like a mockery. Some phony pretending to be something they’re not.

“Back here?” Isayo asked, smiling at the yolk-orange sun. “Sometimes. But I’m glad we’re not. But it’s nice revisiting it like this with you, Tanka.”

The dreamworld grumbled, the lake’s waves rippling while the camera shook. Isayo yelped while Tanka grabbed onto her until the shaking stopped. It cut to a shot of the now still lake, something bubbling from the depths of the lake’s darkness.

A blur flashed. A black hand shot out of the surface, sharp claws for fingers. Isayo screamed, “Mr. Midnight…! But I thought we killed you!”

“Foolish girls…” Mr. Midnight’s gravelly voice bellowed. “You can never get rid of me.”

Mizuki turned to Ena, who was transfixed on the screen. “Do you think Isayo kind of looks like me?” Mizuki asked out of pure curiosity.

Ena’s brows furrowed as she glanced at Mizuki before looking back to the show. “I don’t really see the resemblance… But whatever makes you happy, I guess.”

Mizuki fished into the bag of chips, taking a couple and stuffing their mouth. In the show, Mr. Midnight was hovering over the lake, looming over Isayo and Tanka. His body was crooked, like a chewed pencil with glowing white sockets for eyes and a crescent moon for a mouth.

Tanka stood, hauling Isayo up with her. The two girls narrowed their gazes at Mr. Midnight, a newfound bravery within them. “That doesn’t mean we can’t defeat you again!” declared Tanka, a squiggly ghost tattoo alighting on the back of her neck.

Mr. Midnight’s smile stretched to the ends of his eyes. The dreamworld cracked, breaking apart until all that was left was a void, leaving only his glowing eyes and grin visible.

“None of it’s real, huh?” Mizuki murmured, scratching the back of their head. It was hard to imagine their dreams—how they usually pass them by like ocean waves, crashing and dissipating with consciousness.

Ena scoffed. “Duh! Were you even listening?”

For the most part, yes… But there had been so much happening, it was hard for Mizuki to keep up. Soon enough, Isayo and Tanka had been able to defeat Mr. Midnight, banishing him back into the lake where he descended into the depths.

Isayo looked at Tanka, holding her hand. “See you again?”

“Yeah, see you.”

The void shifted back into Isayo’s bedroom, where she lay on her bed alone. In her dim room, posters of pop idols decorated the pink walls, and an open closet revealed a plethora of cute clothes that Mizuki wanted to reach into the screen to steal. The episode ended with a fade to black, then rolled the credits.

Mizuki rubbed their eyes, coming back to reality. “That was interesting,” was all they could say. “When’s the next episode?”

“Next week,” Ena answered, taking a single chip and eating it. “You wanna watch it together?”

Mizuki nodded. “I like it a lot. The effects are nice, and the soundtrack feels so atmospheric. Almost like I’m in the show itself.” They imagine editing a music video with the opening song, flashy effects, and transitions galore. “I have a question.”

Ena changed the program to a channel showcasing music videos. “Uh huh.”

They paused, unsure if they should really speak it. Yet the question had been eating at them for a while now. “How would I know I’m not a butterfly dreaming of being a human?”

“What? You’re saying you’re not human?” Ena rubbed her temple with a sigh.

“I’m saying I don’t know what I am at all.”

Ena fully turned to Mizuki, face flaring. “You know your name. You know you’re real because you can think and use your damn senses. Isn’t that enough proof?”

“Yet, you’ve already figured out your purpose in life.” I don’t have anything, was what Mizuki left out.

Ena darkened while pointedly not looking at Mizuki. “Don’t assume I have everything figured out.”

“You already know what you want to do, and it’s pursuing art. That’s already enviable.” Mizuki could only imagine a full-dark road, weary from walking. Nothing else in sight but the straight asphalt path they step on.

“Well, just because I want to do art doesn’t mean I have the talent for it!” Ena stood up, the table rattling with her movement. “You should go home. Now.”

As if Mizuki regressed to a small, pathetic thing, they meekly nodded before leaving the apartment in a dash. There was no point in arguing. Mizuki was in the wrong for further upsetting an already agitated Ena; like some ignorant fool playing with a lit stick of dynamite.

They didn’t stop running until they arrived back at an empty home, drenched in sweat, legs ready to give in, continuing to move until they dropped to the floor in an empty room, where the mirror was covered by a blanket, and the curtains were drawn tight. Where they spent their days before and after school. Where they would be alone for the remainder of their life. Permanently trapped.

A teardrop hit the carpet, a wet dot followed by more as Mizuki realized they were crying. They choked on their sobs, rasping an ugly noise as they tried to make it stop, make it stop, make it all stop. But the more they forced it, the more they doubled back in tears. Eventually, Mizuki gave up and collapsed to the floor.

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Saturday came, and Mizuki awoke on their bed in the early morning light seeping through their curtains.

These days, it felt like they were following a preprogrammed routine: wake up, eat breakfast, shower, get dressed, then use the computer until they eventually went back to sleep. While their parents were away to visit their sister, the house became a living coffin. The longer Mizuki stayed, the more it seemed as if they were choking.

Before Mizuki got up, their phone buzzed with a message. Mizuki thought at first it was Ena texting to apologize, but then remembered they never gave her their number. Checking the lock screen, it was their sister. Everything alright, Mizuki? Her message read.

Mizuki replied, just fine. I’m eating well so u don’t have to worry about me! Though that was a shameful lie. Breakfast was milk and cereal, and lunch and dinner were rice balls and sandwiches from the local convenience store. Fine was a succinct enough euphemism instead of barely living.

That’s good! Any trouble at school?

Nothing that was really new. Well, besides… i made a new friend. i think

Really? A new friend?

Mizuki wouldn’t necessarily describe her as a friend. More like an unlikely acquaintance. They were both friendly with each other, nonetheless.

yeah! her name is ena

That’s good. I’m really glad you made a new friend! You up to anything with her?

A knot twisted in Mizuki’s gut. Should they tell her the truth? They didn’t want to make her worry any further, especially since she’s already returning soon. mhm, i was over at her place yesterday. we were watching a new anime!

Ooh, would love to watch it again with you once I get back!

Mom and Dad are getting pretty antsy now hehe, I’ll message again later, okay? Be safe!

Before Mizuki could reply with another message, Yuuki sent one last text. And remember. You can tell me anything that’s bothering you, alright?

Mizuki gulped. of course! thx again sis, i’ll be safe so dw!

They turned their phone off and sat up, looking at the covered mirror. Yuuki had always been so supportive of them, especially their parents. Yet, even with that support, Mizuki was still scared.

They recalled a simpler time, when they were in elementary school, when the other kids picked on them for dressing in “girls’ clothes.” How Yuuki told them they weren’t weird, and they should cherish their true feelings… Yet, that was then, and this was now. If only things were that simple.

…Except, could things be that simple?

Was Mizuki purely imagining the worst scenarios when everything would work out if they just got over themself? Stopped listening to the sinking thoughts in their head?

Images flashed through their mind: their sister comforting them in elementary school; dressing in cute clothes and ribbons, now left to decompose in their closet; Isayo, who looked like them, with pink gemstone eyes and cotton-candy hair, so, so pretty. They stepped to the mirror and pulled the blanket off.

But only a stranger stared back.

It had been so long since Mizuki took a proper look at themself. They would briefly look at themself in the bathroom mirror to make sure they were at least presentable, but would promptly shy away once they looked for too long—as if staring at their own face would petrify them like they were Medusa.

Could someone like them look pretty?

Would it hurt to try?

The upcoming weekday would prove their worst fears true, but for now, Mizuki wanted to hope.

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆

It’s hard for Mizuki not to feel like an obscene creature; the werewolf feared by the town, driven out by pitchforks and torches; the vampire wanted by hunters, stakes at the ready to drive into their heart. The way stares pierce, and words are whispered behind them—all coalesce into this all-consuming isolation.

Things like companionship and fulfillment come so easily to others, but for Mizuki, it is a craving that cannot be satiated. This feeling hasn’t been truer as they walked the hallways in a skirt and light makeup; the sharp stares of students like needles grazing their skin, ready to stab; the tightening of their throat as the walls seemed to close on them.

This was a horrible idea. Shitshitshitshit, they’re all going to call you a freak and hit you. They’re all staring. Go home. Just go home and pretend this never happened. Go. Go. Gogogogo—

Mizuki persisted, even as their legs wobbled and their mouth dried up. Even when the whispers grew louder. Even if it felt like they were a sheep mindlessly traipsing into a lion’s den.

They thought this would be liberating. That people wouldn’t care if they thread the line, seeing how invisible they were anyway. Mizuki had always kept to themself, it’s only fair. Only fair that they can have a choice to be happy in the skin they have been forced into. Was that so wrong?

Mizuki believed their heart might burst out of their chest. The walls squeeze and close around them, and a nonstop ringing sound hammered into their head. Thankfully, by the time they reached the floor below, all of the students in the hall had entered their classrooms.

Where could they go?

Their sight locked in on a sign at the end of the hallway—the bathroom. It was their only hope. They dashed past a classroom and made it to the bathrooms unnoticed, stopping to look between the two signs.

They tried the male bathroom, but all of the stalls were locked due to maintenance. A sign on the stall doors read, Ask a teacher to use the staff restrooms instead! Mizuki would rather die than let one more person even perceive them.

That only left…

Mizuki crept out of the boys’ bathroom and ducked into the girls’ bathroom. Their gaze flicked around the room, catching their reflection in the mirror—seeing a pitiful, miserable creature. The light makeup they applied had now smudged from sweat and tears they didn’t know they had shed.

Everything ached as if they had crumpled in on themself. But there was nothing to do but hide.

Inside the stall, Mizuki closed the lid and sat on top of the toilet, clutching their legs close and cradling their head in their knees. A dry sob creaked out of their throat before they pushed it back in. You’re pathetic. Did you really think that things would go right? How could you be so damn naïve?

You only have yourself to blame.

The tears felt useless—unwarranted and undeserved. What else did they expect? For everything to go like a fairy tale? No, that was enough. They needed to cement themself in the cold, wet concrete of reality.

Footsteps entered. Mizuki’s breath stopped, checking the lock in the stall door and realizing.

The lock was broken.

Voices of what sounded like three girls echoed through the small bathroom. Mizuki quickly grabbed hold of the sliding lock and pulled it back, keeping it firmly shut. One of the girls entered the neighboring stall, but another one tugged against Mizuki’s pull, swearing. “Hello? Is someone in there?”

“Y-Yes…!” Mizuki exclaimed in a weary, thin voice. “Just a minute!”

“Hell, was that Akiyama?” a girl snickered. “Are you hiding in there?”

Mizuki didn’t—couldn’t—answer. Any semblance of a word died in their larynx, which egged the girls more. “Holy shit, that is Akiyama!”

Please. They begged internally, praying to any god or deity who would listen. Please stop this. I’ve already had enough. Hasn’t all of this shame been enough? Haven’t you broken me enough? When will it end?

The door swung open, Mizuki slipping out from the sheer force and landing face-first onto the cold tiled floor. Mizuki attempted to stand—to flee. But it was an effort in vain as one of the girls kicked them from the side.

A crack followed Mizuki’s back, knocking against the bathroom wall. Mizuki whimpered, dropping to the floor, as three girls loomed over them. 

Backed against the corner, there was nothing they could do as one of the girls grabbed their hair. She pulled them close to her face before saying, “A weirdo like you shouldn’t be in the girls’ bathroom. What the hell were you trying to do, you pervert?”

“I wasn’t… trying…” Mizuki wearily replied, but couldn’t force any more through their heaving lungs.

A sinister grin lit the girl’s face. “I don’t think I can hear you properly.”

The girl beside her stared at Mizuki as if they were a cockroach. She tugged on the sleeve of the girl grabbing Mizuki. “Can we just use the bathroom downstairs? I don’t feel comfortable here…”

“Yeah, sure,” the girl replied as she released Mizuki, letting them drop to the floor limply. “Hey, Miri. We’re gonna go downstairs, you can handle them yourself, yeah?” the girl called out to the taken stall.

“If it comes to it,” Miri said, and so the two girls left, snickering to themselves. Mizuki felt wrung out and dried. Exhausted, lying on the bathroom floor like the bug they were.

Not long after, the girl in the stall exited, eyeing the battered stray cat on the floor with bitter disinterest. She walked to the sink and washed her hands, as if the violence she had overheard and had now seen the aftermath of had never occurred.

“I should just die, shouldn’t I?” Mizuki muttered.

Miri rolled her eyes as if expecting this response. “If you want to. I don’t understand how that would help you, though.”

“It would end this—this… this suffering. This loneliness.” In truth, Mizuki was still unsure. They knew death wasn’t a cure-all or the solution to any problem whatsoever. But it was the dream of it that was tempting—that brief idealization of having all of their pain and hardship simply end. Just like that.

“Do you really believe that?” Miri asked, looking down at Mizuki.

“I… I want to…”

“If you really wanted to, then you would’ve done so by now.” She turned around, not bothering to glance at Mizuki as she walked away.

“Then… Then why? Why should I keep going if everyone will keep treating me like this?” The question was so pathetic, Mizuki would’ve been embarrassed if the pain wasn’t shadowing any other feeling. “What’s even the point?”

Miri stopped. “The point?” She laughed, bordering on cruelty. “There isn’t really one. You can do whatever you want. If there is an afterlife, then it’s hollow. All we have right now, though, is this life. You can fight back, surrender, kill yourself, or never go to school again. You’ll do what you want to do, and I’ll do what I want to do. I don’t think it gets any clearer than that. Whatever happens to you isn’t my problem.”

When Miri left, all there was the shallow breathing of their chest and the dim buzzing of the light fixture overhead.

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Back home, there was nobody to witness Mizuki’s unfurling as they ran into their room.

A stranger in ruins met them in the mirror—running mascara like an oil spill over the dark circles under their eyes. Sweat sheened their skin, glossing the mussed foundation and blush.

Mizuki couldn’t help but think there was something inside of them that had rotted. There might’ve once been a lovely flower in its place, but through neglect, it has wilted, leaving only the withered petals. There was the wideness of their shoulders, the unmistakable curve of their Adam’s apple. Everything they wished they could rip out like unnecessary appendages, erase and paint over with what felt right to them.

Yet Mizuki knew that to be impossible.

They grabbed the mirror and knocked it over to the floor, and slept for the rest of the day.

ACT III

I Wish That I Could Fall

“Even though my brain was a mess, what kept my soul whole was the warmth of the hands holding mine on both sides.”

— Won-pyung Sohn, Almond

“Mizuki? I brought back those crêpes you like!” Yuuki called out to the eerily silent house, making her way to Mizuki’s room, carrying a white box wrapped in a pink ribbon. “Mizuki?” she asked again. No response.

She stood in front of their bedroom, a hesitating fist hovering before the door. After a beat, she knocked. “Mizuki, are you there?”

Sheets ruffled, and slow footsteps threaded towards her before the door clicked unlocked. Yuuki waited a second for Mizuki to open it, but realizing they wouldn’t, she announced her entrance before coming in.

Mizuki was back on their bed, sitting with their head downcast and arms holding them up at the sides.

Yuuki didn’t need another look to realize something was wrong. The mirror was on the floor, surprisingly still in one piece. And Mizuki was so reticent, Yuuki felt her jet lag curdle with additional concern. “Do you want to talk about it?” Yuuki asked as she sat beside them, carefully placing the box of crêpes in their lap. “You’re free to eat as many as you like.”

Mizuki shook their head, putting the box away on the foot of their bed. “It’s… It’s nothing.”

“You’re clearly troubled about something,  and you should be getting ready for school by now. I don’t want to force it out of you if you don’t wish to talk about it. But…” She put a hand on their leg. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please tell me.”

Mizuki gulped, fingers digging into the mattress. Yuuki was the only person who would listen and understand.

It would be okay to trust her.

Like a ruptured dam, they spilled everything that had happened from watching The Pink Opaque with Ena and hiding in the bathroom stall. Yuuki listened with a gentle smile, nodding to gesture that she was following along.

“Mizuki…” Yuuki said when Mizuki was finished. “I’m sorry that happened… Teens can be cruel sometimes…” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Reminds me of my old junior high school.”

Mizuki’s eyes hesitantly met hers. “You were bullied, too?”

“Oh, no! It just reminded me of another boy I used to know then.”

“Boy? But I thought you went to an all-girls school?”

Yuuki nodded. “Yes, that’s true. He didn’t want to be a girl anymore, so he chose to be a boy instead.”

You’re allowed to do that? Change genders just like that? Mizuki wondered. “What happened to him?’

“Well, now that we’re on the topic… The school threatened to expel him. And our classmates shunned him, too.”

“Did they also… hurt him?” The word tasted sour on their tongue.

Yuuki shook her head. “They tried to, but he hit back. Then he actually did get expelled.”

“What happened to him then?”

“Switched schools… It’s been a while since I checked, but once he got out of that environment, it’s like he was finally free to be himself. In his new school, he faced some problems with classmates, but he found a group of friends who were able to accept him.”

A group of friends, huh? Mizuki thought. I wonder if there’s anyone who could accept me like that… A sudden vision of a girl with short brown hair and hazel eyes flashed.

“But… But why?” Mizuki croaked, the words starting to block in their throat.

“Why what?”

They swallowed and said, “Why did people… hate him? Y-Your friend.”

Yuuki’s eyes softened.  “I think… the more you explore your identity, the more isolating it becomes. People will have set expectations for you. In their eyes, they have already defined you as something. Trying to break free from that definition will only make them angrier.”

“So why? Why shouldn’t I just… be what they want me to be? Wouldn’t that hurt less?”

Yuuki put a hand on Mizuki’s shoulder. “Let me ask you this—would it be better to live a life that isn’t yours, or live liberated in your identity? Even if others may not accept it, you’re happy because you’re free. Wouldn’t liberation feel better than isolation?”

Nothing came from Mizuki. They looked to the floor, thinking. There was truth to both sides. If Mizuki kept silent, then they’d still be an outcast, but wouldn’t take the brunt of the bullying. They’d just be a ghost passing through, and still be unhappy on the inside as they repressed their feelings. On the other hand, they could be free. Express themself without caring what other people would think.

“I… I need to think about it,” they said, taking the box of crêpes and cautiously unwrapping the ribbon.

“Take as much time as you need.” Yuuki patted their shoulder as they snacked on a crêpe.

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Nobody looked at them when they arrived at school the next day.

They made themself as invisible as they could—wearing the boys’ uniform, no makeup, body hunched over like it was ready to fold in on itself. It was almost as if Mizuki had imagined everything that happened two days ago—a horrible nightmare before they stepped back into the frigid monotony of reality.

Still, being in the open felt dangerous. Even if everyone kept their gazes to themself, Mizuki could feel the heavy weight of being unacknowledged. As if there were now better things to do than kick at a dead horse, but were ready to pounce again if it showed even the briefest pulse.

So Mizuki went to the only place they knew was safe: the art clubroom. Ena might’ve known what happened by now, and if so, Mizuki knew that she wouldn’t hurt them. The worst that could happen was her scowling at them in utter disgust before further degrading them.

Once Mizuki arrived, they resumed their same spot, crouched down in the corner, waiting for time to pass by. Hours slipped by like a breeze until the bell rang for lunch.

The door slid open, Ena entering and spotting Mizuki, rushing to them. Mizuki flinched, bringing their arms up to protect themself. “Put those down, idiot! I’m not gonna hurt you!” Ena huffed and crouched to their level. “Are you okay? I overheard what happened…”

Mizuki dropped their arms, confusion replacing their fear. “You were worried about me…?”

Ena looked away, unable to meet their eyes. “I… Look, I don’t like how things ended between us last Friday. You didn’t mean to upset me, and I wanted to apologize to you, but you didn’t show up at the club room yesterday. So, yeah, of course I worried!”

The air grew stale and awkward. Ena’s face burned like she had developed a fever, and Mizuki was equally flustered.

“Listen,” Ena said suddenly and sat beside them in the cramped corner. “There’s a new episode this Friday… if you still feel like coming over. It’s alright if you don’t wanna after the last time, but… I don’t really have anyone else to watch it with.”

And here Mizuki thought that Ena wouldn’t want to see them ever again. Would be weirded out by them, too, after hearing what happened.

“In his new school, he faced some problems with classmates, but he found a group of friends who were able to accept him.”

Maybe it was still okay to hope, even if it was on one person.

“I… I think I’d like that,” Mizuki answered.

Ena let out a silent sigh of relief. “Great.”

Glancing at the empty easel, Mizuki had to ask, “You’re not painting today?”

A shadow painted over Ena’s face before she washed it away. “I’m… I’m just taking a break. Every good artist needs one, no?”

Mizuki agreed reluctantly. Better not to sway the already fragile tightrope they were walking.

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Mizuki kicked their shoes off and set them in the corner. The modest living room had remained the same since their previous visit, smelling of the same vanilla air freshener.

“I’ll get the snacks,” Ena said as she shrugged her bag off and tossed it like clockwork. “We’re having iced tea this time, by the way. Unless you’d like a soda.”

“Iced tea is fine,” Mizuki responded amicably as they sat on the couch, putting their school bag down.

From the other side of the room, Ena was rushing to open the bag of chips and pour the iced tea into glasses. “Time check?”

Mizuki checked their phone. “It’s starting in three minutes.”

Ena cursed and hurried with the tray in her hands, nearly slipping, but able to set it on the coffee table without anything spilling. She settled beside Mizuki and switched the TV on.

Pink filled the screen like blood flowing outward. The title card faded in, reading THE PINK OPAQUE in streaky marker writing.

It cut to a cinematic shot of an abandoned, dilapidated house; vines growing on the walls, nature trying to overtake it. Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed over the black, misty skies. The shot slowly zoomed in on the door before fading to the sounds of a child crying until a burst of lightning revealed a boy with disheveled black hair, weeping into his clutched knees.

“It’s… it’s too scary… I can’t… go out…”

Something sunken in Mizuki began to awaken as the episode went on. The kid wouldn’t leave the rotting house even as it crumbled away. When a group of teens broke in for a dare, he kept them trapped there.

Mizuki glanced at Ena, watching the screen with reserved interest while digging into a bag of chips. The feeling inside of them boiled as they thought. I… I need to tell someone this. But will she accept me? Will she understand, or will she kick me out and call me a freak?

“Ena, I have something to tell you.” The words poured without warning.

The girl sat up from where she was leaning on the armrest. She turned to Mizuki, perking a brow. The question came so suddenly, Ena was unsure where the conversation would go. But the way Mizuki scratched their thigh through the fabric of their pants and the bouncing of their leg made it seem serious. She assumed an unreadable expression. “Yeah?”

Mizuki stilled, fingers grasping the ends of the couch. The living room was like a still portrait—quiet, empty of feeling. The pink glow from the TV illuminated Ena’s face, while everything else was swallowed in darkness. Mizuki wanted to lean further into that, to touch her like she was the only thing that could stabilize them.

“I think I’m… different,” was the best answer they could give.

Ena shrugged. “I feel like we’ve already established that.”

“No, not… not that kind of different. Like, inside of me. It feels different than what I… present as.”

Ena shifted, giving more attention to Mizuki. “And that is?”

“I don’t… fully understand it. I’m trying to. But something is stopping me,” they paused, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “And I don’t want to be held back anymore.”

Ena prompted them to keep speaking, the unreadable look slowly shifting into one of understanding.

“Ena, I… I don’t identify with who I was born as.”

Ena rolled her eyes, less mocking this time around. “There’s a term for that, you know?”

“There is?” Mizuki asked. There existed terms for what they were feeling? So did that mean other people in the past have felt the same as them? That they weren’t alone in what they were experiencing?

“Yeah. It’s, uh, transgender. Or something. I don’t know, I saw it in passing.”

“What does that mean?”

Ena took out her phone and typed into Google. “Uh… Something about not aligning with your sex at birth. So, it’s like you.” She turned back to them. “You don’t identify with what you were born as.”

“I… I guess that sums it up.” Mizuki paused. “You don’t think I’m weird or anything?”

Ena sighed, looking back at the screen. “I already told you—do whatever you want. It’s your life.”

A tiny smile curved their mouth as they continued to watch the show.

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The next day in school, things had calmed down. In actuality, what happened to Mizuki was but another footnote in a continuing history. It almost seemed as if nobody cared—how Mizuki’s presence didn’t matter as they walked through the full hallway like they would any other day.

Maybe it was better this way; a ghost walking among the living. Not bothered, fading into obscurity, keeping their head down until graduation. It had all become a cycle to them—arrive at school, hide in the art clubroom, talk with Ena if she felt up to it, and go home. The most important thing was survival.

When lunch arrived, Mizuki was back in their corner, knees clutched against their chest as they waited for Ena.

A blur of brown hair appeared in the door window, and Mizuki opened their mouth to speak, but stopped after noticing the sheer anger radiating from her. She strode to the canvases beside Mizuki, picked one up, and set it down forcefully on the easel.

“E-Ena?” Mizuki said, voice cracking.

“Just… Just let me finish this, okay?!” She grabbed a paintbrush, dipped it in black paint, and slashed it across the canvas. Paint flew and splattered droplets to the ground. Ena attacked the canvas, each swing as ferocious as a wild animal’s.

Each stroke was like a stab to the chest. Ena continued to paint frenziedly until leaky, black lines filled the background. She tried to paint a bird in white, but the brush dropped from her shaking hand, and she cried out in rage. She knocked the easel over and fell to her knees, sobbing hoarse as she struggled to breathe.

Mizuki blinked, unsure what to do. They were used to playing the role of the frightened animal needing to be coaxed, and now it seemed the roles had reversed. Attempting the first thing they thought of, Mizuki scooted close to Ena and stopped just an inch from her. They put a hand on her back and stroked it lightly—something their sister would sometimes do to comfort them. It appeared to work, with Ena calming down until her heavy sobs mellowed into thin whines.

When Mizuki looked at Ena’s defeated, hunched form, it reminded them of themself. Not of some pitiable, tiny stray, but of a person—a person with their defenses built thick, wanting to be transparent enough for someone to see them.

Mizuki walked through the walls and reached out to her. “If… If there’s something bothering you, you can tell me. O-Only if you want to.”

“What…?” Ena wiped her eyes, turning to Mizuki; her face glowing like an angel despite the circumstances. “N-No, I… I couldn’t possibly…”

“I really mean it, Ena.”

Mizuki could hear Ena’s bunny-hopping heart slow to a crawl in the silence.

“I want to give up art,” Ena said, blunt as a bat to the head.

“What?” Mizuki sputtered, possibly hearing her wrong.

“I… I want to give up. Everything.” The light in her eyes dulled as she continued,  “Why should I keep going if I have no hope to change?! What point is there if I can’t… I can’t…” Ena couldn’t finish, instead breaking into dry rasps. “How do you deal with all of this pain?” she asked, arms crossed and fingers tightening around her elbows.

Mizuki thought on this, then answered, “Because we have nowhere else to go.”

Ena stopped mid-cry, shaken. “W-What do you mean by that?”

“There was this… girl who told me something like that. That there’s nowhere else for us to go after this life.”

“That’s a fucked up way of viewing things.” She chuckled, which made Mizuki smile faintly. “But I guess she’s kind of right… But how is this supposed to help me? It just sounds more hopeless.”

“I thought so too at first, but… I don’t know, I think it also means that we only have this life, as far as we know. Might as well live it. There’s purpose in that. 

“And if this means anything… I think you’re a very talented artist, Ena.”

“Thanks, but… My dad doesn’t agree.” Ena clicked her tongue. “Everyone thinks I’m not cut out for the real world. That I’m just some… narcissist vying for everyone’s praise, but it’s not true! It’s—it’s not…”

A wave of thoughts crashed onto shore in Mizuki’s head. When the water receded, the first thing they could think to say was, “Do you want to get something to eat?”

“You want to go to the cafeteria? But I thought—”

“I’ll be fine… It’s just that I don’t see you eat often. My sister likes to buy food for me when I feel sad, and it helps, so…”

Ena’s mouth fell agape as she stared at Mizuki like a puzzle needing to be solved. She gulped, then smiled warmly. “That would be nice.”

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Ena had finished eating her onigiri when Mizuki asked, “Do you feel any better?”

She nodded. “A bit. Less grumpy, sure. And… I’m really sorry for that outburst again.”

“It’s fine.” Mizuki shook their head. “I understand.”

“No, I… I really shouldn’t be troubling you like this. You know, you can also tell me if anything is bothering you, right?”

Were they close enough for that? Neither of them said they were friends, but this was certainly friendship, wasn’t it? “I think I told you most of it at this point. Thank you, though.”

“Alright, but I mean it,” Ena said, taking a swig of milk from a carton. “If anyone is troubling you, I’ll deal with them myself.”

“N-No, that’s not necessary! Nothing’s happened… after that. I think everyone already moved on.”

“Still… doesn’t it make you mad? How everyone treats you like you’re some… other?”

“I’m used to it.” Mizuki shrugged, scratching the side of their head. “I mean, sure, the loneliness can be too much to bear sometimes, but it has its upsides. Nobody bothers you as long as you keep to yourself, and if you can block out the noise, it’s almost like you’re a living ghost. And besides, even if the entire world hated me, I would be okay if there was one person on my side. That’d make things bearable, at least.”

“Then consider me that one person.” The way Ena said it felt so sincere, Mizuki knew it was safe to confide in her. To jump into a pool of water without the worry of drowning.

“Then I hope I’m yours, too.”

EPILOGUE

Alone With You in the Ether

“I saw you in the doorframe of the house that always rains

Come and find me, ’cause they’re shouting in my house that always shakes

Don’t that explain why we’re afraid of love?”

—Conan Gray, House That Always Rains

Kanade had forgotten to mute her mic, her yawn being heard by everyone on the call.

“Do you perhaps want to sleep early tonight, K?” asked Mafuyu.

“Oh, no…” Kanade paused. “…actually, maybe. I’ll just finish adjusting the chord progression until it sounds good, then I’ll go to sleep… What about you guys?”

“I have a check-up tomorrow morning, so I’d like to sleep a bit earlier,” Mafuyu answered.

Ena’s sketching stopped before she said, “I don’t really feel sleepy, so I can probably stay up to finish this. Mizuki?’

“You sure you’re not gonna be up until sunrise? I can hear your eraser rubbing harder than usual over there!” Mizuki teased, laughing.

“You’re not any better! I can hear you pressing control-z over and over again!”

“Ehh? I thought I turned on noise suppression!”

“Clearly not, idiot!”

“Ha… never mind, I think I’ll turn in earlier than expected,” Kanade said with a weary voice. “Yuki?”

“I’ll follow you out. Goodnight, Ena, Mizuki.”

Neither of the two responded; too busy arguing with each other. Mafuyu and Kanade left the call without another word, and Mizuki and Ena settled down.

“See? You made them leave,” Ena accused.

Mizuki scoffed. “Me? You started this—actually, hold on. I’m gonna lie down.”

“Lazy ass.”

“I’m sleepy!” Mizuki sighed, but secretly grinned with schadenfreude. “Let me rejoin on my phone really quick.”

Ena groaned. “Whatever… You’re so annoying sometimes, I swear.”

“You love me, though, right?”

Silence ensued, Mizuki fully knowing Ena was blushing mad. When she spoke again, her voice turned hushed, as if she were embarrassed. “Don’t start fishing for compliments now.”

“Aw… that’s too bad.”

Lying in bed, Mizuki looked at the dark ceiling, stars filling the imaginary night sky. Mizuki lifted a hand, reaching out—the stars never having felt so close before. Ena continued to work while Mizuki traced the stars, making up constellations.

Mizuki can recall every moment when Ena’s there. How their tense friendship grew into something more over the years. How the two were each other’s constant companion and moral support, until they created a fan-made music video using one of Kanade’s songs, and it was no longer just the two of them when Kanade asked them to join.

Ena, the first person to accept Mizuki unconditionally. Ena, the girl with sparkling stars in her eyes and the prettiest smile. Ena, who was with Mizuki even now. Alone together in a call, the ethereal night enveloped the pair as if they were the only two people in the world right now.

“Hey,” Ena spoke, bringing Mizuki back to Earth. “There’s this new café near my apartment. They’re opening this Friday, and I was wondering if you… wanted to go with me. Get pancakes or… something. We can go back to my place and do another marathon of The Pink Opaque, too.”

Mizuki smiled and closed her eyes. “I’d love that.”

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆

When Mizuki woke up, she opened the curtain and welcomed the sunlight in. From the vast cityscape and the crystalline sky, a blue butterfly swooped in from heaven and landed on her windowsill.

Mizuki smiled and pressed a finger against the glass where the butterfly was. “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

She walked to the mirror and adjusted her appearance, proud of the girl who stared back with a smile. Ena’s discarded paintings still hung on the walls. A year ago, Mizuki had asked Ena if she wanted them back, to which she was met with an unceremonious “You can keep them for all I care!” Luckily for both of them, the art club shut down the following school year due to a lack of interest before the members noticed any missing supplies.

A buzz came from where her phone lay on the bed. Mizuki picked it up and realized she had forgotten to end the call.

Ena’s profile picture was right there alongside hers in the call—with a notification from last night.

Enanan Today at 1:58 AM

hey, sleepyhead. im pretty sure you fell asleep as im writing this but yeah. ill stay w you until you wake up so dont keep me waiting long, okay?

Mizuki could see the grin on her face widening from the screen as she responded.

Amia Today at 9:32 AM

good morning <3