Chapter Text
She knows something is wrong the second Meiko shows up in her room: the fact is, Meiko rarely ever goes to talk to her alone.
“Ena,” comes the voice from her phone. She startles awake from her slump over her desk. The pencil in her hand clatters to the floor. The futile attempts of a sketch, erased and scribbled over with increasing frustration, stare back up at her. She doesn’t remember falling asleep.
“Wh—Meiko—?” she mumbles.
Meiko cuts her off. “Mizuki is in the sekai. But we don’t know where—she’s missing,” she says matter-of-factly. Despite her impassive tone, her brows are furrowed and her lips are pressed into a thin line.
Mizuki. Mizuki, who Ena hasn’t seen or heard from for the past week, ever since the cultural festival. Mizuki, who she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about, stressing about, crying over, regretting over.
She hears the blood roar in her ears as she scrambles to grab her phone, Meiko’s holographic form wavering as she swipes with trembling fingers to open Composing the Future. “I’m on my way,” she manages to say, before the world around her collapses into shards of color.
In the blink of an eye, the empty sekai and its endless horizons sprawl out before her. She spins to find Meiko standing next to her.
There’s a familiar phone in her hand. The screen is cracked and dark. “Rin found this,” Meiko explains, as Ena stares.
She wants to hold it, a fragment of Mizuki, a sign that she was recently here. But her hands haven’t stopped shaking. The crack looks so big. There’s a heavy feeling growing in her stomach, one that suddenly makes her tongue feel leaden in her mouth. “How long ago?”
Meiko hesitates. “We’re not sure. Rin only found it a few minutes ago. She and Len have gone to let Kanade and Mafuyu know.”
Ena squeezes her eyes shut, clenches her hands. She breathes in, and then out, trying to calm the racing of her heart. This is no time to panic. Mizuki is somewhere here in the sekai. She has to find her. Before something happens.
She opens her eyes again, this time taking a careful look around her, trying to focus on the landmarks, the subtle differences in the sekai. While it’s called empty for a reason, it’s become a place of comfort and familiarity to Ena, and she can regard it now with attention to the details that might have otherwise gone unnoticed—it’s not actually a barren place. There are regions and markers.
She sees the ribbons Mizuki tied so long ago to the scatter of construction beams. It makes her swallow dryly. “I’ll start over there,” she points in their direction.
Meiko nods. “We’ll meet back at the lake. If you find her, bring her there.”
They part ways. Ena starts walking, but the adrenaline is still pumping through her, and it pushes her into a light jog as she starts to swivel her gaze around. “Mizuki,” she calls, but her voice cracks with desperation. She curses herself internally. Then tries again. “Mizuki!”
She passes construction beam after construction beam, in the opposite direction the ribbons are guiding her toward, further away from the center of the sekai. The further away she gets, the more the panic seems to crawl up her throat. “Mizuki!”
Eventually, she passes by the last ribbon. She’s never been this far out before. Dread churns in her stomach. And yet the sekai continues to sprawl out before her without end, with its sharp-cornered slopes and asymmetric domain.
She keeps going. She slows to a walk, having to look around more slowly now. She doesn’t know how long she searches for. She can’t bring herself to look at her phone, scared the second she looks away, she might miss a glimpse of her.
And then—she sees a flash of pink. Mizuki.
“Mizuki,” Ena cries, just as the pink disappears around a corner. Her lungs slam against her ribs as she bursts into a run, chasing after her.
When she rounds the corner, she stumbles to a stop, gasping for air, for comprehension. “Mi—Mizuki?” she asks weakly.
Because it’s her. Mizuki is there, crouched with her back to the wall. And when she looks up, Ena flinches.
There’s blood leaking from the corner of her eyes, which remain closed. Mizuki isn’t looking directly at her—only toward the sound of her voice. “E-Ena?” she whispers, voice small and shaky.
Ena doesn’t think. The sound of her voice, laced with so much fear and uncertainty, brings Ena to her knees before her. “It’s me. I’m here, Mizuki. Are you okay? What’s—your eyes—”
Mizuki flinches at the touch to her knee. Ena’s hand snaps back, immediately regretful. “I’m sorry, I—” Ena cuts herself off, wanting to scream at herself for messing this up so badly. She exhales heavily, trying to clear her head, muster the right words. “Mizuki. I’m right here. Can you—can you take my hand?”
Mizuki is still pressed against the wall, like if she tries hard enough, she can disappear into it. She’s shaking, Ena realizes now. The blood near her eyes, she notices, is smeared and drying, not fresh. Mizuki’s in her pajamas, clothes rumpled. Her palms are scraped. She’s barefoot. She’s not wearing makeup.
The sheer alarm from these observations is almost overwhelming. But it abates, momentarily, when she sees Mizuki shakily reach out a hand in her direction. Even in fear, she’s still trying to reach back.
Ena brings her hand up to meet Mizuki’s. She’s cold to the touch, and Ena—Ena slips their fingers together, aching to warm her hand. She can’t help it. She can’t stop the way she tugs, gentle and wordlessly desperate, until Mizuki gives in to her, crumbling as if she’d barely been able to hold back either, and then she’s folded up in Ena’s arms, real and breathing and trembling against her chest.
Ena breathes in her scent, achingly soft and familiar. How utterly terrifying it had been to think she would have never been able to see her again. Mizuki’s absence, felt like a jagged tear in the canvas of her life.
“It’s okay,” Ena whispers, and she’s ashamed to admit she’s not sure if it’s for herself or for Mizuki’s sake. She wants it to be okay. She wants everything from now on to be at least just okay. “It’s all right. I’m right here.”
Ena can feel her frantic breaths against her shoulder. When she moves her hand against Mizuki’s back, beginning to gently rub up and down, Mizuki jerks, as if fighting a flinch. But Ena doesn’t stop, and Mizuki, after a fraught moment, begins to relax into her touch.
They remain there, quiet, desperately holding onto each other, until at last Mizuki’s tremors subside. Ena feels her shuddered exhale as her body releases the last of its tension.
Slowly, Mizuki pushes back from her arms, until there’s space between them again. “Th-thanks,” she whispers, still looking down, eyes squeezed closed. Her fingers, now grasping onto only the lightest bit of Ena’s sleeves, begin to let go.
“Wait,” Ena gasps, suddenly filled with fear. It’s irrational, but she can’t let it happen, can’t let Mizuki start to put any kind of distance between them again. Not when she’s here. Not when Ena has her.
She’s grasping onto Mizuki’s hand before it can fully retract, tangling their fingers together. She hates the flinch it brings out of Mizuki, hates herself, what she’s done to her. “You—you were here. Why? Meiko came to me and said you were missing. Rin found your phone. Mizuki, what happened?”
Mizuki looks torn, anguished, a conflict between wanting to run and not knowing where to go. She looks the way she had been in that empty hallway, before she’d jerked out of Ena’s grasp. Ena feels herself collapsing.
“Please,” she whispers, voice cracking. The moment is replaying all over again in her head. Mizuki, drawing out of reach, and Ena, helpless to do a thing to stop her. “Don’t run where I can’t go.”
Mizuki’s lip wobbles. She breathes in and out, ragged, struggling to maintain herself. And then her shoulders slacken, giving in, and Ena feels herself exhaling a tearful breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding onto.
In a stilted, deadened voice, like each word takes an effort to drag out from her, Mizuki confesses, “I was in the sekai. Suddenly it hurt to see. To open my eyes. I didn’t realize I dropped my phone. I was just stumbling around . . . I didn’t know where to go.”
The dried blood around her eyes, which have stayed closed this whole time, suddenly makes horrifying sense. Ena bites her lip. “It just happened out of nowhere?”
Mizuki nods wordlessly.
“Does it hurt right now, at all?” Ena asks fearfully.
“No,” Mizuki breathes.
Ena exhales in relief. She wants to ask how this happened in more detail, she wants to ask what Mizuki was doing in the sekai, where she was and what she’s been doing for the past week. But she doesn’t want to scare her off anymore—she can feel how tremulous this bridge, formed in a brief moment of panic and desperation, is between them.
After a pause to steady her voice, Ena says, “Meiko has your phone, but it’s broken. When I found you, I was supposed to bring you back to the others. Maybe one of them will know what to do—about your eyes. And you can leave the sekai with one of us.”
At the mention of the others, Ena can see the way Mizuki begins to shrink upon herself. Mizuki, who she’s never seen act this way, cowering in fear at even the mention of others, of people that she knows. It makes Ena so hurt, and furious, to see the damage that gut-wrenching day inflicted on her. To see what Ena did to her.
She bursts out, “That day—I didn’t tell anyone about what happened. None of them know.”
Mizuki pales white as a sheet. Her face, an open wound. She jerks, hard, hand snapping free of Ena’s.
The hurt lashes through her, brings a sting to her eyes that blurs the fury at herself. Her heart pounds in her ears, slamming against her chest.
Mizuki shudders, gasping open-mouthed, panic-stricken. She’s trembling again.
Ena knows the both of them are back in that hallway again. The two of them, the chasing, the standstill, the tearful words, the yanking apart. The distress, the frustration, the shame, the fear. Actors on the same stage, replaying old roles.
But this time, she knows the ending. Before it can happen, before the fragile bridge between them can crumble away into nothing once more, Ena asks hoarsely, “Will you listen to me? The way I did for you?”
Mizuki’s voice is a strained quaver. “I don’t know if I can properly reply right now.”
“That’s okay,” Ena exhales shakily. “You don’t have to. I just. I need to say this. For both of our sakes. I can’t ignore what happened. This might not be the best time to say this—but I don’t know when it ever will be.”
Mizuki stays silent. Ena pushes on, past the tremble of her voice, if only to reach her, to have her listen. “Mizuki—I’m sorry I scared you. I was surprised. But it’s because I should have heard it from you. Not from those boys. And what they said was —disgusting. I know that was ruined for you,” Ena says hoarsely, willing Mizuki to understand. “I know we can’t go back and change what’s already happened. And I know that things have changed between us too. But that’s inevitable.”
She can see the way Mizuki flinches.
Ena hastily adds, “I don’t see that as a bad thing.” She wishes she could look Mizuki in the eye for this, implore her to see how genuine she is. She settles for pouring every ounce of sincerity into her words instead. “I know it will be different for you. But for me—before this, I never knew the true Mizuki. And now that I do, I want to embrace you for who you truly are. You, the person you were before, and you, the girl you are now. I want to accept all of that. That’s all that’s changed for me.”
She can feel herself rambling, but she can’t stop talking, not now. Mizuki’s still pale, and faintly trembling, but she’s listening. And that’s all Ena needs from her.
“You said to me that you felt uncomfortable by our warmth. I don’t know how to convince you on this, but it’s not out of pity. I’m not just tolerating you. If I’m tiptoeing around you, it’s because I am scared of hurting you. You’re my friend,” Ena says, a touch bitter and yearning. Her voice is breaking. She strains to finish. “How could I not be scared? I don’t want to hurt you—any more than I already have. Because you mean so much to me.”
She finishes, pleading, not knowing how else to convince her, “I just. I was so, so worried. I thought you’d disappear—forever. I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want you to go.”
They lapse into a taut silence, the both of them trying to calm their nervous breaths. Ena, nails digging into her palm, Mizuki, eyes squeezed shut, head bowed.
Mizuki speaks only after a long, strained moment. “Your words—are really kind, Ena,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. It shakes for a moment before she brings it back under control. “And I’m grateful you told me how you feel. I think I just need some time—to process. The past few days. I’m—I’m just tired.”
Ena lets loose an unsteady breath. There’s disappointment welling inside her that she can’t help but feel; it’s not the response she’d been hoping for. But she can hear Mizuki’s exhaustion, a palpable thing, alongside her fear and anxiety. She has no idea what Mizuki has been through the past week—can only guess at the state of her. She knows it’s not the time.
It’s enough that Mizuki heard her. It’s enough that Mizuki is still here, with her.
“That’s okay,” she reassures again. “I said I didn’t need a response, didn’t I? I just needed to let you know. But—whenever you want to talk, I’ll wait for you, Mizuki. I’ll keep waiting for you, for as long as it needs to take.”
At last, Mizuki moves. She raises her arm to cover her eyes, and Ena aches at the way Mizuki silently stifles the cry that wracks through her, shoulders heaving.
She looks so lonely in that moment, so fragile, holding on only by a string. Ena looks up, trying to will the tears in her own eyes away.
A part of her wants to laugh at herself. At the two of them like this, so close, yet so far away, trying to hide their tears from each other. Knowing anyways that it never works.
“Will you still let me help you?” Ena asks, knowing her voice is still watery. “I couldn’t stand—to leave you like this.”
Mizuki nods tiredly, dropping her arm. She admits, in a hollow tone, “I can’t open my eyes. If, if it’s okay . . .”
“I’ll hold your hand,” Ena offers softly, reaching out, yearning once more to hold her.
When she brushes a tentative finger against Mizuki’s scraped palm, she can’t help the way she sucks in quiet breath, the little jolt that goes through her, feeling the way Mizuki turns the cradle of her hand, until their fingers slide together, so easy to intertwine. Still cold, a little clammy. But a trace warmer than before.
“Okay,” she exhales after a moment. She gets to her feet, slowly pulling Mizuki up after her.
Mizuki stands, barefoot, unsteady until the sensation returns to her legs. Ena wishes for a delirious moment she had the strength to carry her. Instead, she gives a gentle tug on her hand, back in the direction she came from.
She only manages to lead Mizuki for a few steps before they both come to a stop, sharing the understanding that this won’t work. Mizuki will stumble along this way. It’s not how you guide someone who’s blind.
“Hold my arm,” Ena says, trying to sound more confident than she actually feels.
A pause. And then Mizuki follows the guide of her hand, until she’s close enough to tentatively grasp onto her bicep, fingers clutching the sleeve of her sweater. She’s close enough for their shoulders to brush.
Ena looks up at her, taking in Mizuki’s height difference with a brief bout of wistfulness; she still finds it new, and a little irritating, that Mizuki is just that bit taller than her than before. “You could stand to slouch a little,” she mumbles without thinking.
Mizuki stiffens next to her. Which makes Ena instantaneously regretful, until she relaxes with a small, weak laugh. But it’s real. How genuine it sounds, for a moment it seems to erase all of the past week, bringing them back to the time before, absent of the grief and horror.
“Ena is just small,” Mizuki says in a quiet voice, holding onto her as they start to walk. She grips on a little tighter. Her closeness is a pleasant warmth along Ena’s arm.
Ena just huffs in reply.
But the normality of their banter, however faint of an echo it is, makes her feel momentarily hopeful. Like everything could someday really be okay. Given time.
The rest of the way back is silent. Ena remembers a few minutes later to text Mafuyu and Kanade that she found Mizuki. And then following the trail of ribbons Mizuki marked the way with, Ena guides them toward the center of the sekai, toward the lake.
Soon, she can make out the figures of the others on the horizon. When they grow close enough, the clear alarm on their faces become visible as Mizuki also comes into sight.
“She can’t see. It hurts for her to open her eyes,” Ena quickly explains, before anyone can ask. “They start bleeding when she tries to. We’re not sure why—it just happened when she was here, in the sekai.”
“Does it hurt like this, if you keep them closed?” Mafuyu asks, brows furrowed.
Mizuki stiffens at the sound of her voice. Ena can feel the way her fingers squeeze her arm, the way she leans nervously into Ena for the briefest moment. “No,” she rasps quietly, after a second.
“That’s good,” Mafuyu says, sounding a touch relieved. She opens her phone. “I’m going to go get a medical kit. I’ll be back.”
Right before she disappears in a fragment of colors, she pauses to glance at Mizuki again. “I’m glad you’re safe,” she murmurs.
Meiko moves before Kanade can, then. She’s in front of Mizuki, the care and concern so apparent on her face, normally so impassive, it genuinely startles Ena to see it for the first time. “Mizuki,” she says, and the glitch of her voice somehow carries over how fraught with worry she is. “Where did you go?”
“Meiko?” Mizuki croaks, and her hand is reaching out blindly in her direction, until Meiko gently grabs hold of her.
Ena lets her go, only able to watch as Mizuki clings onto Meiko’s arm. It’s not quite a hug. But Meiko’s gaze is so unusually soft as she rests a hand atop Mizuki’s head. “You scared us,” she says, a touch scolding. “You didn’t tell anyone you were here. We only found your phone.”
Mizuki ducks her head. “I’m sorry,” she manages weakly.
Meiko only sighs. “As long as you’re here now, it’s okay. Tell one of us next time.”
Mizuki gives a wordless nod.
Kanade makes a small noise, as if to alert Mizuki to her presence. Mizuki’s gaze swivels in her direction. “Mizuki,” she says, in her usual slow and kind way. “I’m glad you’re okay now, and that Ena found you. I’m just not sure there’s much we could do, about your eyes. Do you want us to help you to the hospital?”
At her suggestion though, Mizuki seems to shrink into herself. “Kanade, thank you,” she mumbles. “But that’s not necessary. I’m sure—I’m sure this will go away in a few days.”
Maybe she can feel the unease her response garners, the way Ena starts to open her mouth to protest, because she adds, pleading, “I don’t want to go.”
The argument dies on Ena’s tongue, but the frustration, the confusion, the worry, still wrestle inside her. They aren’t sure how serious Mizuki’s situation is, if she might be permanently visually impaired. And yet it’s clear she’s too anxious, for some reason, to get help from elsewhere. Ena wants to at least know why.
But she feels that even if she asks, Mizuki won’t answer.
Kanade is the one to bring mediation. “That’s okay, if you don’t want to go. For now, we can figure something else out. Our concern is just that we don’t really know how to help. Um, how about this. If they don’t improve after a few days, can we take you to the hospital then?” she suggests.
Mizuki’s head falls, hiding her expression. The protest lingers about her. But in the end, Meiko places her hand atop the one Mizuki is holding onto her with, and Mizuki concedes with a small nod.
“Okay,” Kanade says gently. She looks relieved. “I’m not sure what has happened the past few days . . . we didn’t hear anything from you. But I’m just happy to see you again, Mizuki. You don’t need to talk about it—but we’re all here for you, if you need anything.”
Ena knows she made the right choice then, in not telling anyone what happened—in preserving this moment for Mizuki, as she realizes that nothing between her and the rest of their group has changed. That Kanade still holds her with the same patient, warm regard, ready to follow Mizuki at her own pace.
“Thank you, Kanade,” she whispers, still looking down, and her voice sounds thick with tears.
Rin appears at Ena’s elbow then. They glance at each other, a wordless check-in; Ena likely mirrors the worried frown on Rin’s face. Rin’s eyes carefully assess her for a second longer before she steps forward. “Mizuki.”
Mizuki makes a small noise. Rin moves closer until she’s within distance to carefully brush Mizuki’s arm. In her hand is a soft piece of fabric. “Mizuki, I brought a cloth to wrap around your eyes. To help protect them.” She pauses. “You gave this to me, for one of my dresses, a long time ago.”
She holds it out for Mizuki to touch, to run her fingers over the fabric. “Is this—is it black? It was to mend a tear in the dress?”
“Yes,” Rin confirms. “You gave me a lot. I still had some left over. I thought this would be soft enough to not irritate.”
“You kept it all this time,” Mizuki mumbles, but it comes out as almost a question.
Rin ducks her head, even though Mizuki can’t see. “Of course.”
Mafuyu appears then in a brief melody of song, a white case in one hand and some other supplies in the other. “I’m back,” she says lowly, glancing around at them. “I’m not sure how much I can help. But I can take a look.”
—
The next few minutes are primarily spent with Mafuyu giving Mizuki a brief check-up, the both of them seated on cushions that had been brought over to the sekai from their last group party. Meiko sits beside her, ever the silent and watchful guardian as before, though this time she remains close enough for Mizuki to hold onto.
Ena watches as Mafuyu carefully cleans the dried blood from Mizuki’s face. They discuss a bit, before Mizuki tries to open her eyes. Ena catches a flash of red before she quickly closes them again with a wince. Meiko and Mafuyu are both frowning.
“Everything’s blurry. It hurts to—see so much light,” Mizuki admits quietly.
Mafuyu carefully wipes away the tear of blood from her cheek. “Since the issue is it’s painful to open your eyes, it might be exposure to light that’s causing you pain,” she murmurs. “But the color of your eyes is not the same as before. They are red. Your sclerae, the whites of your eyes, are also bloodshot.”
Mafuyu concludes, “These symptoms could be the result of extreme eye strain or infection. But there isn’t a normal explanation for your description of how this happened, and the change in eye color.”
Meiko studies Mizuki for a long moment. “Mizuki, you said this happened when you were in the sekai. Did you . . .” She seems to realize something, because she doesn’t finish her sentence.
Mizuki crumbles in upon herself. She pulls away from Meiko’s arm. “Please.” Her voice shakes, barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
It has something to do with the sekai, Ena realizes then. Mizuki’s denial of explanation confirms it. And judging from Meiko’s terse expression, she came to a conclusion that she’s hiding for Mizuki’s sake.
Guilt courses through her, at the analytical way she’s been observing. The way she’s piecing what happened to Mizuki together, like an abstract puzzle, and not a real life situation, where her friend is visibly suffering.
Mizuki is also starting to sway a bit from exhaustion.
Kanade, who was talking quietly with Miku and Len on the side, moves over to where Ena is standing watch. In a calming voice, Kanade says, “Mizuki, it’s getting late. Since Mafuyu and the rest of us aren’t able to do much, should we help you go back home for now?”
Mizuki clenches her fists in her lap. She sounds drained, voice thinning out as she confesses hoarsely, “I can’t let my parents see me like this. I’m such, this is such . . .”
She bites her lip, cutting herself off with a trembling sigh. Her body goes rigged, as if struggling to contain all of herself together. In that moment, even surrounded by them, she looks untouchable and far away. Small and utterly alone.
The pain is a palpable ache in Ena’s chest. She can feel how Mizuki is at her limit. It’s been too much, the past few hours. Her panic and fear, how scared she’d been when Ena had found her. And now too many people, all trying to take care of her and have her make decisions, when Ena knows Mizuki hadn’t wanted to be found by anyone in the first place.
But she’d accepted their help. Because Ena had begged her to.
A reckless thought occurs to her. Brought about by a desperation to do something, Mizuki’s anguished expression and her broken cries, her own pathetic uselessness, echoing in Ena’s memory, she blurts out, “You can stay over at my place.”
Mizuki’s head tilts in her direction. “Ena?” she murmurs, and the uncertainty in how she says Ena’s name, like Ena might be the last person she’d want to stay with—
Ena can’t think about that. She can’t. She continues hastily, “Akito’s staying over at a friend’s house so only my parents are home. I can explain things to them—I can do that right now. Mizuki, you can stay here. I’ll go back home and get things ready.”
Mafuyu, in an attempt at reassurance that leaves Ena feeling simultaneously grateful and surly, says, “I stayed over at Ena’s house last time. Her mom was very kind. Ena’s room is a little messy.”
Mizuki is quiet.
Ena feels herself begin to wilt with regret at her suggestion. Of course, Mizuki might not feel comfortable staying with her, being alone with her for a moment longer.
She’s about to ask Kanade if Mizuki could stay at her place instead, when Mizuki breathes out a small “okay.”
Ena freezes for a second, before relief floods through her. Her hands, having clenched into fists at her sides without her noticing, she releases with a small exhale. “Okay. That’s—that’s great. I’ll go let my parents know. You probably haven’t eaten yet either, right? We still have some dinner leftover, I’ll ask my mom to prepare some of it.”
She pulls out her phone, fumbling a little from anticipation.
As if she couldn’t manage to say more, Mizuki whispers, “Thank you, Ena.”
Her fatigue is evident in the strain of her voice, the reticence of her words. Ena softens. “It’s no problem,” she says, because it isn’t. “I’ll go now.”
She leaves the sekai in a flash of colors.