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Madoka wakes up because Homura is shaking.
For a moment, she doesn't understand where she is.
The room is dark. Pale moonlight slips through the curtains and falls across the unfamiliar ceiling. There is the warmth of another body beside her, the quiet sound of breathing, the faint weight of a blanket pulled up to their shoulders.
Then she remembers: Homura had stayed over.
There had been some excuse about it being too late to walk home, though Madoka suspects Homura had simply been too embarrassed to admit that she didn't want the evening to end.
They had talked for hours.
At some point, without either of them quite acknowledging it, they had fallen asleep in the same bed.
Madoka turns her head.
Homura is curled on her side, facing her.
And trembling.
“Homura-chan?”
No response.
Madoka pushes herself up slightly.
Homura's breathing is uneven.
Her eyebrows are pulled tightly together, and every few seconds a sharp movement runs through her shoulders. One of her hands is clenched against the blanket.
“Homura-chan…”
Madoka reaches out.
She hesitates just before touching her.
Then she gently places her hand on Homura's shoulder.
Homura jerks away.
Madoka immediately pulls her hand back.
“I'm sorry.”
Homura's eyes stay shut.
Her lips move.
“No…”
Madoka watches her.
“No, please…”
Her voice is so quiet that Madoka almost can't hear it.
Something twists painfully in her chest.
Homura doesn't look frightening like this.
She doesn't look mysterious, or cold, or untouchable.
She looks scared.
Genuinely scared.
Madoka slowly reaches for her again.
“Homura-chan.”
This time, she touches her cheek.
Homura flinches.
“Madoka…”
Madoka freezes.
Her own name sounds strange in Homura's voice.
Not the way Homura usually says it.
There is no composure behind it.
Only exhaustion.
“I'm here,” Madoka whispers.
Homura's breathing catches.
Her fingers suddenly search across the mattress.
Madoka takes her hand.
Homura grips it immediately.
Hard.
Almost desperately.
Madoka's heart aches.
“I'm here, Homura-chan.”
Homura shakes her head against the pillow.
“I couldn't…”
Her voice breaks.
Madoka leans closer.
“Couldn't what?”
Homura's lips tremble.
“I couldn't save you.”
Madoka goes still.
She doesn't understand.
But something about those words makes her chest hurt.
“Homura…”
“I tried.”
Two words.
That's all.
But they sound like they've been carrying years behind them.
Homura's grip tightens around Madoka's hand.
“I tried so hard…”
Madoka's eyes sting.
She doesn't ask what she means.
She doesn't ask who she's trying to save her from.
She just moves.
She slides closer and wraps an arm around Homura's waist.
Homura immediately goes rigid.
Then she collapses into her.
Her forehead presses against Madoka's shoulder.
Madoka's breath catches.
She's never held Homura like this before.
Not really.
Homura is trembling against her.
Madoka's hand settles gently against the back of her head.
“It's okay.”
Homura makes a tiny sound.
Madoka starts stroking her hair.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The same motion over and over.
Homura's fingers curl into the front of Madoka's pajamas.
Madoka feels her heart squeeze.
“I'm here.”
She brushes her fingers through Homura's hair.
“I'm right here.”
Homura's breathing is still uneven.
“Don't…”
Madoka's hand stops.
“Don't…?”
Homura's face presses further against her.
“Don't disappear.”
Madoka's eyes widen.
For a second, she can't speak.
Then she wraps both arms around her.
“I won't.”
She says it before she can think about whether she should.
“I won't disappear.”
Homura's body trembles.
Madoka holds her tighter.
“You don't have to be afraid.”
A few seconds pass. Then, Homura whispers:
“I don't want to do it again.”
Madoka's heart breaks.
She doesn't know what it is.
She doesn't know what Homura has seen.
But she knows that whatever it is, Homura is tired.
So tired.
Madoka presses her cheek against the top of her head.
“You don't have to do anything right now.”
Her fingers gently comb through Homura's hair.
“You can just sleep.”
Homura's breathing catches.
“Can I…?”
“Yeah.”
Madoka smiles softly.
“You can stay.”
Homura finally relaxes.
Only a little.
But enough.
Madoka keeps petting her hair.
She doesn't know how long she stays like that.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Maybe longer.
Eventually Homura's breathing becomes slower, and the tension leaves her shoulders.
Her fingers loosen against Madoka's shirt.
Madoka looks down.
Homura is still asleep.
And somehow, despite everything, she looks peaceful.
Madoka brushes a strand of hair away from her face.
She smiles.
Then realizes something.
They're very close.
Closer than friends usually are.
Homura's face is tucked against her chest.
Madoka's arm is around her waist.
Her fingers are still running through Homura's hair.
She should probably move.
…
But she doesn't.
Madoka looks down at her.
She's known for a while that Homura cares about her.
Maybe longer than she wants to admit.
After all, Homura isn't exactly subtle.
She remembers everything Madoka says.
She notices every little change in her expression.
She always seems to know when something is wrong.
And sometimes Homura looks at her like Madoka is the most important thing in the world.
Madoka has never really known what to do with that.
But now, holding her like this, she realizes something.
She likes it.
She likes having Homura this close.
She likes the weight of her against her.
She likes touching her hair.
She likes knowing that, for once, Homura feels safe enough to let herself be vulnerable.
Madoka's cheeks grow warm.
“Oh…”
She whispers it to herself.
She looks at Homura again.
There is something frighteningly simple about the feeling in her chest.
She thinks about the way she had reached for Homura without even thinking.
The way she had wanted to comfort her.
The way it hurt to hear her frightened voice.
The way she doesn't want to let go yet.
Madoka gently strokes Homura's hair again.
“I think… I think I love you.”
She freezes.
Her face turns bright red.
“Ah…”
She hides her face against the pillow for a moment.
“Did I really just say that?”
Homura doesn't move.
Madoka looks back down.
She's still asleep.
Madoka smiles.
A tiny, embarrassed smile.
Her fingers brush Homura's cheek.
“Maybe I'm still figuring it out.”
She leans down.
Her lips touch Homura's forehead.
It's barely a kiss, more like a promise.
“I just know I don't want to let go of you.”
Homura exhales softly.
Madoka smiles.
Then she closes her eyes and keeps holding her.
And eventually, she falls asleep too.
٭☆٭
Morning comes slowly.
Sunlight slips through the curtains.
Homura wakes first.
For a few seconds, she doesn't move.
Something is warm.
Something is soft.
Something is—
Her eyes open.
Madoka.
Madoka is asleep beside her.
No.
Not beside her.
Around her.
Homura's entire body goes rigid.
Madoka's arm is wrapped around her waist.
Their legs are tangled beneath the blanket.
Homura's head is resting against Madoka's chest.
And one of Madoka's hands is still buried gently in her hair.
Homura stares into the middle distance.
Her face turns red.
She remembers almost nothing from the night.
Only fragments.
A nightmare.
Madoka's voice.
A hand holding hers.
‘I'm here.’
Homura swallows.
Very carefully, she tries to move.
Madoka's arm tightens around her.
Homura freezes.
She waits.
Madoka doesn't wake.
Homura's face gets even hotter.
She should move.
She absolutely should move.
This is undignified.
Embarrassing.
She has fought witches.
She has faced impossible odds.
She has endured things no fourteen-year-old should ever have to endure.
And yet this…
Madoka sleepily nuzzles closer.
Homura stops functioning.
Her eyes widen.
She stares at the ceiling.
“…This is fine.”
Her voice is barely audible.
“This is completely fine.”
Madoka murmurs something in her sleep.
Homura's heart nearly stops.
Then Madoka's fingers gently move through her hair.
Homura closes her eyes.
She gives up: She lets herself stay there.
Because Madoka is warm.
Because she feels safe.
Because for once, she doesn't have to be the one holding everything together.
And because somewhere in the quiet part of her mind, a small voice reminds her of what happened during the night.
Homura's expression softens.
She carefully takes Madoka's hand.
And holds it.
٭☆٭
Madoka wakes a little later.
She blinks sleepily.
“Mhm…”
She looks down.
Homura is staring at her.
Their eyes meet.
Silence.
Madoka notices their position.
Her face turns pink.
Homura's turns red.
Neither moves.
“...Good morning,” Madoka whispers.
Homura looks away.
“Good morning.”
A pause.
“You had a nightmare.”
Homura goes still.
“You were shaking.”
Homura's expression changes.
For a moment, embarrassment gives way to something softer.
Something vulnerable.
“Did I say anything?”
Madoka looks at her.
She could tell her.
‘I tried.’
‘I couldn't save you.’
‘Don't disappear.’
Instead, she smiles:
“Nothing you need to be embarrassed about.”
Homura looks down.
“…Thank you.”
Madoka's heart skips.
She squeezes Homura's hand.
“You're welcome.”
Neither of them lets go, not for a while.
And Madoka thinks that perhaps she doesn't need to have all the answers yet.
Maybe she can take her time.
For now, Homura is here.
She's safe.
And Madoka is holding her.
Isn't that enough?