Work Text:
Fierce clicking fills the room. Her mouse scratches as she drags it along her desk, her keyboard obnoxiously clacking, the synthesizer thudding every time she presses a key— it’s disgusting.
Every sound is wrong, even mundane ones that are simply sounds and not her god awful attempts at music. Her headphones hold onto her head tight, almost as if forcing her to listen to the string of notes she’s tied together. Well, less neatly strung together and more forced to connect with hot glue.
It’s been a long while since she’s left her computer, a length of time that’s dramatically extensive even for her. Her sleepless body yearns for the soft embrace of her mattress, but she knows it’s misleading. Even if she were to lay down, the only thing that would accompany her would be the crinkle of sheet music and the cold stinging loneliness of what she used to call her bed.
The memory foam under her useless weight would only further pick away at the scab of insecurity and guilt that’s planted itself in her troublesome, fragile heart. What her physical form wants isn’t much of a priority, she needs to spend her time doing something of merit to prove that her existence is something that should be allowed.
Her body, and her poor, aching limbs, seem to have accepted that sleep is not an option. Instead, they call for food or water at the very least, more necessities that Kanade turns a blind eye to in favor of working.
She just can’t get things to work together the way she wants them to. Her notes are far too sharp, too dull, frets buzz, percussion booms. They play in a cacophony that grates her ears painfully, her stomach twisting and aching to turn inside out. She wants to turn it off completely, to free herself from this dastardly computer and never look at it again, but if she were to do that, then there’d be nothing left of her.
Kanade is a savior— that’s her job, her repentance. The people she surrounds herself with can easily lie to her, tell her with feigned certainty that what happened to her dear parents wasn’t her fault, but Kanade isn’t a complete idiot.
If there’s anything she knows anymore, it’s that this is her burden to carry.
A sudden wave of lightheadedness washes over her, stunning her momentarily and forcing her eyes shut. She winces quietly, a throbbing pain in her head spreading through her already weak body.
As if she weren’t already vulnerable enough, the hurt only knocks her even more off of her game. It’s horrible, tragic, and unfortunately something she puts up with constantly when pursuing her undying endeavor of working herself into an early grave.
When she pries her eyes open, she’s met with solid black. Her computer has turned its screen off from her inactivity. The only light that illuminates the room comes from the hallway, light rays sneaking through the small gap between the door and its frame.
Leaving the door open was an accident, merely a habit that Kanade has become accustomed to while living with Mafuyu. More often than not she gets so caught up in her work that Mafuyu’s knocks go unheard, an open door silently signifying that she doesn't have to ask to come in to speak with her.
Mafuyu isn’t even here right now, the open door doing quite literally nothing for Kanade. She’s been out all day, reconciliation with her mother or something of the sort. Kanade doesn't know, her brain has been tossed around like a salad, leaving everything out of place and confusing. All she can think of is the next notes she can produce and pair with her other ideas, compulsively propelling herself back into composing.
She turns back to her monitor, reaching for the mouse to move it and turn the computer back on, when she sees it.
Behind her, slightly noticeable because of the light that’s peaking, is definitely a figure.
Kanade can’t make it out. The shape isn’t recognizable as someone she knows, there’s no discernible facial features that she can make out of her blurry vision, but the figure is less of a question and more of an observation.
She freezes for a moment, awkwardly staring at the black of her computer. She hates this, she absolutely despises this to no end.
Her body whips around so quickly that it leaves her in a daze. Probable anemia be damned, her eyes scramble to find the shadowy shape she had just seen. No matter where she looks, there’s nothing. Sheets of paper, yes, half eaten Cup Noodles, also yes, but no other presence. Her earlier fear dissipates into something of anger, irritated with her own body for betraying her and creating figments of her imagination that only distract from her work.
She turns back to her computer and starts tapping away, her feelings transferring into her composition subconsciously. Her blood boils and the notes of her song turn mean. They’re even more disoriented than earlier, her composition encompassing her self-hatred rather than the soothing and caring feelings that she wishes to express towards Mafuyu.
The sounds screech at her, loud and raw in a way that certainly can’t comfort anyone, but she doesn’t relent.
Her work continues, rigorously and unending like music scales flow through her veins in place of a certain sticky, red liquid. She navigates her keyboard expertly, fingers stretching to a capacity that would surely pain someone less experienced. For Kanade, however, it’s a typical Friday night.
Eyes are dry, hair is chaotically spun, tangled and nearly wrapped around her headphones, her condition is horrible.
However, nothing draws her away from her unbreakable spirit. The spirit in reference is a manifestation of her festering anger, shown in the loud booming noises from her computer rather than the clench of her fist since her muscles are simply too weak.
The only thing that’s able to snap her into the moment is a whisper. In her ear, one that is uncovered by her headphones, she hears a voice.
Honestly, she has no idea what it says. Scary, neutral, positive— she has not a clue. All she knows is that something is trying to get her attention in a home where she’s supposed to be completely on her own.
Just like earlier, her hellbent brain commands her stiff body to twirl around so that she can look at what’s trying to intimidate her.
The emotions inside of her twist together uncomfortably and incomprehensibly. She’s infuriated, she’s utterly exhausted, she’s gutwrenchingly sad, all at the same time.
Her heart pounds in her chest and she isn’t sure if it’s because she’s scared.
She knows that she isn’t fearful of what could be done to her, but the idea of someone seeing her so completely broken down is what jabs the knife into her gut. The blade twists, her ears tuning into a static noise as her face grows impossibly hot.
Again, just like previously, there’s not a notable thing in the depths of her room. No family, no friends, and definitely no person that could be murmuring haunting things into her ears.
She jolts up, her legs threatening to buckle under the pressure but refraining from doing so when Kanade holds herself up by placing a stabilizing hand on her desk chair.
Vile thoughts and feelings swirl around in her confused head, dizziness almost wiping her completely out of the realm of consciousness. Her legs move towards the door, incredibly slowly as her bones beg to take a break because they can’t withstand the unexpected demand for movement.
Kanade doesn’t halt, not even for a second. Her sights are locked entirely on finding out who’s tormenting her. She’s angry, unfathomably so, and her hands shake violently as proof of that overwhelming emotion.
When she makes it to the doorframe, viciously swinging the door open reveals nothing to her. Like she’s seen not once, but twice before, there’s no entity other than herself— and really, is she even a person at this point?
Her breathing turns frantic, desperate gulps of air to fill her lungs instead of calmly taking in what she needs to prosper. Her heart, earlier pounding, is now trying to find its way out of her chest using brute force. It hurts, each collision with her fragile ribs feeling like an aggressive slamming of someone’s fist.
The heaving doesn’t get any better as the pain settles in on her, if anything, it makes it worse. She tries her hardest to stumble back over to her desk, her knees unfortunately not being able to abide by her whim anymore and causing her to drop.
There’s a small thud as her prominent kneecaps slam onto the floor, a hiss of pain that does nothing to express the nauseating suffering that shoots through her as if struck by lightning.
She uses the power left in herself to crawl over to her bed. She doesn’t have enough strength to expend so that she can actually sit, or even lay down, but her back leans against her bedframe and mattress in a way that’s slightly better for her than soaking into the floor of her room.
All the energy is draining from her quickly. She lets her knees, still red from the plummet, rise up to her chest. Her face finds a home in them, her hands working their way up to her hair as everything starts to spill out all at once. Her breath is short, her brain is running through everything as fast as it can. She can only sit there as her own body revolts against its owner– it’s abusive and mistreating owner.
–
Time passes. Kanade, all too great at knowing the numbers on the clock, cannot put her finger on how long it’s been. She’s too preoccupied with everything under the sun.
The dam split, caused by her weird auditory and physical hallucinations, and she’s been having trouble patching it back up. She tries as hard as she can, but her efforts are futile. It’s like spreading a fistful of plaster over a huge incision, nowhere near enough even if it’s all you can hold.
Water, both metaphorically and actually, spews from her. Tears streak down her face. There are no sobs that escape her mouth, even if they bubble up in her chest, but no noise needs to be present for the scene to be one of obvious pain and despair.
Her mind runs a mile a minute, every possible bad thing she can think of resurfacing and drawing attention to itself as if her position isn’t already enough of a burden on her small frame.
It feels like she’s been dragged to hell and there’s no way to crawl back up, her nails leaving impressions where she digs and claws, but her attempts going to waste nonetheless. Her cries, finally starting to taper off, still rack through her body and make her shiver pathetically. The guilt of not working eats away at her silently.
Without much warning, the atmosphere of the room changes. Her head is still tucked diligently into the space that her knobby knees provide, but her skin prickles as she feels the air shift. It’s eerily similar to earlier, the unnerving feeling she’d get right before hallucinating something new.
“Kanade?” Another muffled word finds her ears, this time actually something she can make out.
She doesn’t bother to look up. All she’s going to be met with is empty space, the same insignificant sight that she’s graced with every time she falls for the idiotic trickery that she’s unwillingly playing on herself. In fact, she buries herself deeper into the pit of wallowing she’s created for herself.
“Kanade, are you okay?” The voice is louder, closer, more real feeling.
Her commitment wavers for a moment, a chord striking in her heart that still clenches with the pain from earlier, but she solidifies only a mere second after turning flaccid.
The little ‘freak out’, if you will, has drained her completely. She barely has the perseverance to keep herself awake, much less agitate herself to the degree of having another meltdown.
“Kanade, please.” The sound is different from the two other times it reaches out for her. The other attempts were expressed through an almost empty, monotonous growl deep from someone’s chest.
This time, the register very noticeably comes from the throat. It’s strained, imperceivably so, but Kanade catches it because of her hypersensitivity and knowledge regarding all things music.
Her guard slips again, this time for a fraction of a second longer, but that’s all she needs to cave into what her body has been asking for the whole time.
She looks up, slowly and tentatively, finding it difficult to see through the mass of hair that’s draped itself over her figure that no longer cries. She trembles occasionally, a lingering shiver as the cold of her room contrasts her intense body heat because of her outburst.
Whatever is in her room—or more accurately, whatever she’s imagined to be in her room—seems to recognize that she’s having problems seeing clearly. Something reaches out, taking a stringy lock of her hair and moving it to clear the path of her red, puffy eyes.
When there’s contact, Kanade immediately straightens out and slams her back against her bed. There’s a yelp of pain, her hands falling to the floor as she scurries to scoot farther back.
She hasn’t been able to see these things she’s making up, but now they’re able to touch her?
There’s an audible thud when her spine meets the wood, a grunt escaping as she accidentally winds herself. The next intake of air is obviously nervous, quivering as her diaphragm spasms and she nearly chokes on her own saliva.
“Kanade? It’s me.” Her hair has formed a protective shield over her, a result of her uncharacteristically fast movements. She turns away so that she faces the opposite direction.
It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.
The mantra of her inner voice is all she hears, eyes screwed shut as tight as she possibly can get them to be. If she had the physical strength to gouge her own eyes out, she probably would, all to evade the situation she’s accidentally stumbled into.
She seems to have given her hallucination a brain, though, as it doesn’t touch her again. There are shuffling sounds, another thing that Kanade’s ears claim to have heard but is clearly just a fabrication.
“Kanade.” Her name, her stupid name that this— this thing, loves to use against her! If she had the energy, she’d shout at it to please just leave her alone, but her body isn’t capable of that, so she tries to squish herself so small that she disappears from the plane of existence at all.
“Can I touch you?” The little Kanade that yells in the echo chamber of her brain is adamantly insisting that she says no. No, say no so that she’s left alone!
Instead, she says nothing at all. She wishes it would go away, to be revived from the brink of insanity that she’s obviously pushed herself over for some reason.
Slowly, and with more warning than last time, there’s a delicate pressure on her arm.
She can’t feel it to its full extent, the insanely gentle touch muffled by the track jacket she’s draped over her pitiful body. There’s no flinch this time, just the consistent jittering that she’s found herself helpless to.
The presence feels suspiciously like fingers, gliding up her arm with great hesitance until it reaches her cascading locks.
A digit wraps around a tress of hair, pulling it so that it rests elegantly behind her ear. Her eyelids don’t budge, stubbornly scrunched up with both panic and a hint of pleading for complete consciousness to dawn on her.
“Kanade.” Yet another utterance of her name, but this time softer. The way it’s said makes the word sound round around the edges, no malice or intention to harm sneaking in like Kanade has so fearfully been assuming is the way she’s being interacted with.
She relents. She’s tired and this isn’t real anyway; what’s the point?
Her vision comes back to her, blinking a few times to clear up the hazy splotches that line her peripheral vision. Her neck has kinked itself because of the abnormal position she’s been sitting in, gradually moving so that her retina can scan around.
Much to her surprise, she sees something.
It’s a real shape, defined and not a formless blob that bends at the will of her own mind. Her room is dark, especially with her computer that has long since shut off, but she can make out vaguely what she peers into so intently.
Firmly set shoulders, kneeling next to Kanade’s sad heap of atrophied muscle, purple hair looming over its eyes that squint ever so slightly.
The creature she’s created, imagined for herself, looks horribly similar to Mafuyu.
Mafuyu; her friend, groupmate, dear co-inhabitant.
Once the first and strongest wave of initial shock has already enveloped her, Kanade starts to feel the hasty rising of bile in her throat. What an absolute loser. Just how, and why, is she making up situations with Mafuyu helping her— so much that she’s willed it into existence for herself?
Mafuyu—no, the thing, stares back at her. She’s sure she looks petrified, eyes shaking even worse than her body was earlier before this intruding entity arrived.
“Are you okay?” The hand trails away from her ear, leaving that gap for Kanade to look through. It seems like she isn’t very good at this ‘imagining people’ thing, being that her created version of Mafuyu hasn’t spoken anything other than two programmed sentences.
Kanade doesn’t respond, just staring at her hallucination.
She’s… seen things before. It’s to be expected when you stay up so late so frequently. A flash over her eyes, something moving in the corner of her eye, but she’s never had delusions this bad. This is a whole person she’s making up, maintaining eye contact while she talks and touches Kanade.
Her curated version of Mafuyu looks at her with a worried glint in her normally bland purple eyes. “Can I…” she falters, a thing that the real Mafuyu would never do, “can I clean you up?”
Even more airy than earlier, Mafuyu’s words wrap around Kanade tenderly.
She can’t help the way that her neck flexes, straining as tears and loud, open-mouthed cries are held back with careful precision. Her breath stutters, such a small amount that she herself hardly notices it.
How bad would it be? How gross and immoral would it make her to just… indulge? She’s fatigued, so worn out, and it’s not like any of this is real, right? Say she let this fake Mafuyu take care of her for an hour, is it the end of the world?
The battle with her own ethical standards is too tiring for her noodle body. Her neck listens to her dumb heart, letting her head tip forward and then push backwards in a weak attempt at a nod. It’s such an unnoticeable gesture that she’s almost sure it doesn’t look like anything more than a twitch.
Mafuyu, though, sees it. Her clothed knees swoosh across the floor as she scootches closer to Kanade’s incapacitated body. She works an arm around her upper chest, moving Kanade’s own arm to wrap around Mafuyu’s shoulders.
The touch is warm, and tangible, and feels so incredibly realistic that Kanade is in awe. She’s never thought of herself as a person with much power in anything other than making music. Maybe she’s put down her creativity a little too much, because a scene like this definitely takes imaginative power.
She’s lifted from the floor, her legs struggling to find footing on the ground. Mafuyu—her pillar—patiently waits as she tries her hardest. One foot stands flat, wobbling, and the other follows after a long gap of arguing with her own limbs.
Mafuyu brings Kanade to the bathroom, letting their journey move at whatever pace Kanade needs it, and sits her down on the lid of the toilet while she waits.
The loud rush of water completely overtakes Kanade’s hearing in one of her ears, the sound of Mafuyu drawing a bath pairing with the image of Mafuyu feeling the water with her hands. Does the hallucination have a better sense of temperature than real Mafuyu?
Kanade only watches, observes as Mafuyu plugs the drain and stops the water. She almost misses when Mafuyu talks to her next, only realizing the words are directed towards her because their eyes have fallen into a state of being linked.
“I’m going to bathe you, okay?”
She isn’t completely ignorant; she knows she needs to take a bath. Her hair, normally silken if taken care of properly, is matted together from sweat and the remnants of her tears.
Unhygienicness isn’t her motto, not at all, but she can’t argue with the fact she’s gone an extra day or two without the proper amount of care she should probably be paying her body. ‘Missing’ her alarms she sets to shower, all because she could practically taste the turning point that she was going to make in her music.
That’s why she submits to what Mafuyu wants from her. She watches idly, with lidded eyes, as Mafuyu unzips the top of her track jacket.
The cold chill of the bathroom nips her skin, even worse than the unbearable shivers she was putting up with when crying to herself on the floor of her equally cold bedroom. Now, though, she has no cloth to shield her thin skin from the frigid air.
Mafuyu pays that no mind, continuing to slowly and almost lovingly remove her garments. Her t-shirt, the tanktop under it, her bottoms; she strips Kanade of them carefully and without any prying eyes that would make Kanade’s situation even more demeaning.
Of course she behaves the way she does, this is just Kanade’s fabricated Mafuyu that does exactly how she’d want her to. The real Mafuyu wouldn’t go so far for Kanade— shouldn’t go so far for her.
She’s left bare, vulnerable, but Mafuyu doesn’t look at her with that dehumanizing stare of pity. All she does is offer an arm, an aid, a way of offering support to Kanade for her ailment. What else is Kanade to do but accept it?
The arm wraps around her again, steadier this time, fingers dancing on her skin like she’s porcelain and easy to crack— to break.
Kanade’s legs still refuse to do what she asks, but Mafuyu’s help doesn’t relent. She shrewdly helps her over to the bath, guiding her into taking the steps so that her feet breach the tub instead of padding along the tiled bathroom floor.
It takes strenuous effort, probably more from Mafuyu than Kanade, but she’s gently lowered and allowed to sink into the steaming water.
The heat absorbs into her skin immediately, her aching joints being soothed by the liquid that sloshes around and envelops her pale, sickly figure. She hasn’t had a bath in a long while, preferring showers because of their efficiency and how quickly she can get them over with before her newest melody slips away from the grasps of her bumbling brain.
She only sits there, still as a rock, soaking up the dream water she’s created for herself.
Is she embodying her soul at the moment? That’s really the only way she can think to conceptualize what’s happening to her. Obviously, what’s going on isn’t real. It’d be pretentious for her to assume that her soul, the tainted one of a sinner, deserves treatment so kindly, but there’s no other idea she finds herself able to conclude.
It’d be difficult for her to believe that this is a nightmare. Yes, there’s the pain that radiates through her body, but she’s being cared for, so it isn’t possibly anything of that negative a nature.
After thoughtful deliberation, she decides that it’s okay. This once, and only this once, she’ll let herself live through her fantasies. This way, she gets the fulfillment of her aching desire to be held without having to badger and burden anyone in her real life. It’s a win-win, she thinks.
Hands, the same ones that had practically carried her to the bathroom and helped her enter the acrylic bowl filled with hot water, present themselves on her head.
She doesn’t react strangely and viscerally like the first time the ghostly hands made contact with her, instead trusting that whatever they intend to do is good.
It seems that decision of hers was right. There’s a clicking sound, one that she recognizes to know as the sound of her shampoo bottle, the pump making that tell-tale noise when it reaches the base after being pressed.
There’s a click once, twice, and then three times for good measure. Following those noises is a cold substance touching her hair, seeping through her sticky strands and finding its way to her scalp.
Mafuyu’s fingers, presumably lathered in the shampoo, rake through her hair. Kanade doesn’t speak, but relishes in the feeling of her fingernails scraping lightly across her scalp.
Her scalp, irritated and red from how she was anxiously tugging on her hair earlier, is being worked on by special hands who handle her with such sincerity that it makes her want to cry.
That same feeling stays with her as Mafuyu goes through all the motions of a bath, instead doing the actions on Kanade instead of herself. She rinses the shampoo out, even affectionately cupping her hand over Kanade’s eyes so that the soapy water doesn’t leak in and cause that annoying stinging sensation in irises that are already sensitive from bawling.
The shampoo is replaced with conditioner, hands smoothing out her hair again and making sure to coat Kanade’s hair at its full length.
As much as she fights it, the tears continue to well up in her eyes.
It’s an illogical and unexpected reaction for being the recipient of such tender care, but Kanade doesn’t know what else to feel.
None of this is real, she knows it, but the way that Mafuyu acts is so resemblant of the real Mafuyu she knows. Even if it’s only someone she’s made up, especially earlier with the small quirks of her behavior, the way that Mafuyu approaches her is utterly heartwarming.
It makes her chest clench, her breathing get shallower, her head tilted down slightly as she avoids any sort of eye contact.
When has she been treated so kindly? Even considering herself as a contender, Kanade can’t think of the last time there was such care taken of her body.
Mafuyu’s hands don’t push to areas they know they shouldn’t, focused solely on helping Kanade to wash up and get comfortable. She never presses too hard, the force from her fingertips just rough enough to clean out the grime in Kanade’s hair but never stepping into the realm of pain.
Kanade’s chest puffs out as she takes a deep breath, her lip quivering as little as she releases that air. Her eyes start to water, producing it on her own instead of basking in the water that’s supposed to be calming her right now.
One droplet streams down her cheek, followed by another, and more and more until it feels like it would be ripping a piece of her out if she were to stop.
She at least has the decency to try and keep herself quiet, swallowing down any noises that threaten to escape, but the Mafuyu-like-being catches her in the act. It makes sense, especially since Mafuyu can probably feel the way that Kanade’s whole body struggles to stay still.
Her hands follow Kanade’s lead, yielding their movement, while Kanade continues to struggle against her bubbling emotions.
“Are you crying?” The question, as simple and unprovoking as it is, causes Kanade’s streaking tears to start pouring even faster.
It’s an uncontrollable force, sliding quickly off of her chin and dripping into the water she’s partially submerged in.
Ugly hiccuping noises start to slip past her defenses, finding their way out of her mouth and laying her pain out for Mafuyu to see. She cries, her shoulders curling in, and feels as Mafuyu pulls away from her.
Even in her own delusions, her emotionality is too much for anyone to put up with.
The thought makes her sobs grow even louder, whining faintly no matter how hard she tries to choke it back. There’s no sound of Mafuyu—at least not one she can hear over her own languid whimpers—and she’s completely alone.
Until she’s not.
The hands that had ever-gently been taking care of her hair find their way onto her back. They’re familiar, calloused and clearly used but still nimble and kind. It’s just like the real Mafuyu, the way she makes Kanade food when she forgoes meals for too long. How she holds her hand in crowds, ushers her to bed, strokes her thumb over Kanade’s palm when it inevitably cramps from working long and unsparing hours.
“Kanade, I don’t understand what’s wrong if you don’t tell me.” Kanade hates that she’s so weak to her own creation. The usual Mafuyu firm voice mixed with the lilt of sweetness makes something in her crumble, her choked wails fading before returning again.
“I-I don’t…” She trails off. Her words come out as broken fragments, difficult to spit out and not even comprehensive when she goes through the effort of expressing them. “I j-just…” Another partial statement. She waits for Mafuyu to rip away the warmth she’s giving Kanade, to leave the bathroom, but she waits with pure patience as Kanade gasps and gags on her sentences.
“I feel sick for wanting this to be real.”
Even though it doesn’t exactly come out concisely, Kanade herself knows that someone as smart as Mafuyu can definitely decipher what she meant. Until then, she has no power over the tears that rush from her face, the plops of water joining the herd becoming even more loud in the otherwise silence.
“Real? What are you talking about?” Confusing, real perplexity intertwining with the tone of a person who typically maintains a voice with little alteration.
Kanade continues to cry, her hands coming up to her face as she wipes her eyes raw. They’re pink, she can feel it, but she doesn’t stop.
Mafuyu’s hand moves from her back, trailing up the vertebrae and meshing with the skin of Kanade’s shaking shoulders. “I’m real, Kanade. I’m right here.” Despite being mid-cry, something violently twists inside of her.
“Y-you’re not!” She exclaims rather defensively. She feels Mafuyu’s hands squeeze a little, stunned, and the water splashes as she squirms around. “Y-you’re just—you’re just one of those things I’ve made up!” Her breaths are shallow, fluttering movements into the brittle organ inside her chest.
“I don’t understand.”
Everything hurts. There’s a mind shattering pain that spreads through her, emotionally wrecking her innards. “Those hallucinations, you’re one of them. B-because I’m weak.” The end of her words is a squeak, high-pitched and indicative of her starting to cry again. She wheezes, a gross and embarrassing sound.
“I promise you I’m not.” Now Kanade feels even more mad. Her own figmented person is trying to convince her that it’s real. This is what she gets for letting herself be comforted, for falling into soft hands that aren’t real and would never treat her so gently.
“How could you prove that?” Bitter, her voice is like coffee without any of the additives that make it bearable. It’s really just a rhetorical question, Kanade sputtering out whatever is on the tip of her tongue, but Mafuyu indulges her anyway.
“I don’t know.”
Kanade’s breath hitches, not because of her irritation this time. If, hypothetically, Kanade were to hallucinate the perfect Mafuyu. The kindness she’s received, the reassuring words, wouldn’t she ensure that she’s decisive?
She doesn’t know how hallucinations are supposed to behave when you talk to them, mainly because she's never talked to them before if you don’t count today, but this definitely seems out of the ordinary.
It doesn’t make any sense. Why would she keep such a flaw like that? Not that Mafuyu is someone she hates, but her tendency not to know is undeniably what makes her partially a difficult person to converse with. There’s no way the ‘optimal’ person would do that… unless…
“Do you promise?” All anger has fallen away, floating around in the water with her instead of coating her venomous words. She shudders, sighing. “Are you really Mafuyu?”
“Yes, I promise.” Her response is instantaneous, almost frenzied.
There’s a stretch of silence, Kanade starting to find a regular heartbeat and breathing pace.
“I’m sorry. I-I was acting weird, e-even though you’ve been taking care of me. You know y-you don’t have to.” The guilt and shame from far earlier, feelings that she had pushed away since the whole situation ‘isn’t real’, start to reappear even more and like they’re seeking vengeance.
“It’s okay.” Short, sweet, but not enough for Kanade who feels consumed with selfishness.
“It’s not. I was— I was being rude, and— and I—”
“Kanade.” She stops. “Please, let me finish washing your hair. I do not want you to get sick, and I assure you that I have no problems with the current circumstances. I want to take care of you like this.”
So perfectly articulated, especially for Kanade’s half-thinking brain that has officially tapped out since probably two hours ago, she just stops. She nods, letting Mafuyu do as she pleases since she trusts herself in her hands.
–
For the third time, there’s an arm wrapped around Kanade’s upper body. Mafuyu helps her to her room, Kanade’s pajamas rubbing against her skin as her sleeves cover her hands completely and the shirt nearly slips from her shoulder.
Her hair is dry, a choice she normally doesn’t make on her own when she showers. Air drying is fine, that’s what she does, but all she got from Mafuyu when suggesting that was a very pointed glare and then hands immediately drying her soaked hair.
Sturdy isn’t exactly the best choice of a word to describe her at the moment, but Mafuyu’s strength is enough to hold the both of them up.
She’s brought to her bed, led to sit on the edge of the mattress and ordered to lay down for sleep.
Kanade complies, only because it’s Mafuyu asking, and waits patiently. She watches as Mafuyu peers down at her, tucking the blanket around her so that her smaller body doesn’t freeze over.
Physically, that doesn’t happen, but she feels the shards of her heart start to turn ice cold when she watches Mafuyu begin to walk towards the door
She probably has so much homework, Kanade tells herself, trying to wean away from what she really wants. At the same time, though, she hasn’t been able to sleep in days. Maybe, just maybe, having someone at her side would make it easier for her to get some shut eye.
“Mafuyu.” The girl in question immediately turns back to them, her hair rubbing against the skin of her face as the two of them make eye contact. “I, um, I don’t want you to go.” Similar to when Kanade whined from the tub, Mafuyu pauses.
Her verbal response doesn’t come immediately, pin-drop silence spreading around.
“Very well then.” Satiating her incurable desire for support and love, Mafuyu walks over and untucks half of her bed.
She doesn’t ask, just finds her place in bed next to Kanade. Kanade is more apprehensive at first, unsure what she’s allowed to take without weirding Mafuyu out and making it so that this whole evening is collectively enough for her to start hating Kanade.
Luckily, Mafuyu makes the first move. She brings herself closer, her arms wrapping around Kanade’s bony frame that’s been shattered and taped together with clear scotch tape.
Mafuyu cradles her, hands gentle in the way they’ve remained the whole night. The warmth spreads onto Kanade’s back and her face that’s pressed up against Mafuyu’s chest.
One rogue tear slips out, all that’s left in the chamber after a night of what can realistically be referred to as torture.
She knows Mafuyu notices, feels the way her breath stops for a split second, but it resumes quickly and Mafuyu tugs her a little closer.
Kanade wants to apologize, for wetting her shirt and making her go through the suffering that is taking care of her, but her vocal chords don’t agree. Her mouth can’t form the right shapes for the words she wants to say, humming weakly as a last ditch attempt at conveying both her thankfulness and apologeticness to Mafuyu.
Again, like a psychic, Mafuyu reads through the haze surrounding her brain and reaches deep into her mind. “Rest, Kanade.” Kanade lets out a stray sniffle, burrowing greedily into the space that she’s been offered.
Mafuyu—real Mafuyu—wants her to rest, so she will. She’s tired, but clean, and should probably abide by what Mafuyu says considering the fact she just bathed her. Her eyes fall shut quickly, hoping for good dreams that she knows will come as long as she’s in Mafuyu’s company.