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1.54 am. Miyako cannot sleep. She’s been staring at nothing for almost two hours now.
It’s not unusual for her to struggle to fall asleep. Her mind is always so hyper-focused on deadlines, storyboards, chapter releases, and even Mewtype rehearsals that she barely gets a wink of sleep unless she can’t think. But tonight, the only thing that occupies her mind is a person.
A girl. A girl who is pretty. A girl with neatly styled hair, a girl with an unblemished face, a girl with kind eyes, a girl with a warm smile, a girl who smells good, a girl with elegant hands. A girl who understands her. A girl who helped her achieve things she has never done before, a girl who holds her heart in her hands, a girl who gave meaning to her life. Without this girl, she is nothing.
She turns around on her bed, burying her burning face in her pillow. She should be ashamed to be thinking about Viola like this, but she can't help it. Just imagining her makes a wide smile break onto her face and her heart speed up uncontrollably.
She lifts her head to look at the time. 2.14 am. No matter. She picks up her phone and turns it on, the picture she took of Viola at the café staring back at her. She really is so beautiful. Miyako can hardly believe that someone as radiant as her is interested in her soulless, pathetic self. Viola is such an angel. Her angel.
In the back of her mind, she can hear Arale's and Ritsu's voices. Warning her. Trying to help her. Telling her about Viola’s ‘real nature’. It’s not that she thinks they're lying, but… the Viola she knows is different. The Viola she knows is special. The Viola she knows is kind. The Viola she knows agrees to meet up with her, listens to her worries, pushes her to do her best. Even if she isn’t good enough, Viola always treats her with kindness.
Surely Arale and Ritsu are mistaken. Surely this is all a misunderstanding. Surely she won't have to let go of Viola.
She doesn't want to let go of Viola.
When Miyako looks towards her dreams, she can't imagine doing them without Viola. She can't live her life without Viola. She's lived in darkness for too long to give up on the single ray of light that shined down on her tears and reached for her heart. Even if Viola is not what she seems, at least she is kind to her.
2.56 am. At some point, when staring at her lockscreen wasn't enough anymore, Miyako started scrolling through Viola's socials. Staring at each picture intently like she can reach through the screen and join her side. She's already downloaded the pictures she likes best, yet she still stares at them like they're a sacred scripture.
3.22 am. She's read their messages three times now. Analyzing every word, giggling as she remembers their interactions, her face running hot with embarrassment. In normal circumstances, she would be ashamed of her own behaviour, but this time, she doesn't care. Viola knows her perfectly inside and out, she understands her like no one else does. She has surely seen how ugly and empty and envious she actually is, and yet she still stays. If Viola can forgive her, then she can forgive herself too.
4.35 am. She's hunched over her tablet, its bright screen the only source of light in her otherwise dark room. Miyako doesn't even remember when she got up to turn her computer on and draw. All she can think about is Viola. Her neatly styled hair, her unblemished face, her kind eyes, her warm smile, her nice smell, her elegant hands. She tries to replicate her features as best as she can, but it never lives up to her real image. It’s like every drawing is tainted with her own ugliness, obscuring the usual pure brightness that emanates from her.
She starts again and again, but it's never enough. Her drawings do not shine, just like her music. No matter how long she spends on them, no matter how much effort she puts in, nothing shines the way she wants it to. Her gaze flits back to the picture of Viola on her lockscreen. Viola likes shiny things, so she'll keep working to shine in her own way. It's the least she can do.
6.02 am. The sun is rising. Orange light filters in through the window. Miyako's breathing is slow, her hands are still, and her head is resting against the screen of her drawing tablet. The light slithers over her body, reaching inside the dark room to illuminate her with a sliver of warm glow.
Miyako’s eyes open slowly, forced out of sleep by the brilliance of the sun. Even with the lack of sleep, she can’t look away. It’s like she is surrounded by golden honey, and even though her eyes burn, she can’t look away. She doesn’t want to look away.
Soon, she’ll have to get ready for school. Or, if she doesn’t go, she’ll have to pick up the work on her manga. For now, she just picks up her phone.
6.15 am. “I miss you. Can we meet?”