Chapter Text
✺——✺ Sunny ✺——✺
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・
I knew she was gone before I opened my eyes.
I knew Mari was okay—most likely downstairs, humming to herself while she cooked breakfast—but that knowledge did nothing to stop my lungs from seizing. My breath came sharp and uneven, each inhale catching halfway, each exhale stuttering like it might not come again.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Count the breaths.
Name the colors.
Listen for sound.
I tried everything she had taught me. Everything I’d learned from late nights scrolling through forums and articles that promised relief if I followed the steps closely enough. But all I could see was darkness—thick and endless, pressing down on me until my chest ached.
A heavy weight lay over my ribs, crushing.
I tried to sit up.
I couldn’t.
It felt like being buried under sand, every shift pulling me deeper, every second stealing what little air I had left.
Until there was no escape.
…
I’d learned, over time, to let these moments pass. Learned that eventually my mind would realize it was lying to me—that there was no monster under my bed, no hands reaching for my throat.
No fingers tightening.
No pressure.
No slow, inevitable end.
…
Even knowing that, I still whispered her name.
“M-Mari…”
The word scraped out of my throat, hoarse and small. I didn’t think she’d hear me—not from downstairs, not even if she were right beside me.
I was wrong.
The door flew open.
Light spilled into the room, and then she was there, kneeling beside the bed, gathering my head into her lap like it belonged there. Her fingers threaded gently through my hair, slow and steady, grounding.
“I’m here,” she whispered. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Her voice was warm. Real.
I knew I didn’t deserve the way she spoke to me—like I wasn’t something broken, like I wasn’t too much. Still, I soaked it in greedily, clinging to every word, every touch.
I hated how badly I needed it.
How easy it was now.
My breathing slowed. The weight lifted. The room came back into focus.
And for a moment, wrapped in her presence, I felt—
Safe.
❁——❁ Mari ❁——❁
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・
I knew our relationship was… strange.
I’d tried to fix it. I really had. Tried to encourage space, independence—tried to help Sunny find his footing again instead of leaning so heavily on me.
But his panic attacks only grew more frequent.
More intense.
And after the incident… was I really in a place to say no?
So I let him sleep through the days. Let him cling. Let myself become the thing that kept him steady, even when my own hands trembled.
I combed my fingers through his hair slowly, watching his breathing even out. The morning light crept across the floor, catching on the edge of the doorframe, stretching shadows where they didn’t belong.
I ignored the looming feeling at my back.
When he finally drifted off again, his grip loosening, my perfect calm cracked. The smile I wore for him slipped away, leaving something raw and aching behind.
His earlier whispers echoed in my head.
Mari.
Please.
Don’t go.
They wrapped around my thoughts, tightening until my chest hurt. I imagined hands at my cheek, a gaze too heavy to meet, expectations I didn’t know how to fulfill.
I flinched—hard.
This isn’t real, I told myself.
Just fear. Just guilt.
But it didn’t listen.
I’m scared.
I’m scared.
I’m scared.
The words tangled together, looping until they lost meaning, until all that remained was the feeling—sharp and overwhelming.
I pressed my palm to my chest, breathing carefully.
Then—
KNOCK. KNOCK.
“M-Mari?” Kel’s voice, hesitant on the other side of the door. “I know you said Sunny wasn’t really up for hanging out, but… can we at least see you? We—”
Another voice, deeper than Kel’s, interrupted.
“I miss you.”
The room snapped back into place.
I blinked hard, grounding myself in the quiet hum of the house, the familiar creak of floorboards. Carefully, I eased out of the room and pulled the door closed behind me.
Step by step, I descended the stairs, rehearsing my response. A gentle refusal. An apology. Maybe next time.
I reached the door.
Opened it.
“H-Hero?!”
✵——✵ Hero ✵——✵
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・
He froze when he saw her.
Mari looked thinner. Tired in a way sleep didn’t fix. Her smile came a second too late, like she had to remember how to wear it.
“Hey,” Hero said softly. “We… just wanted to check in.”
Behind him, Kel shifted his weight, hands shoved into his pockets. He didn’t joke. Didn’t grin.
….
Something was wrong.