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For the past three days, Kakeru has been drifting in and out of uneasy sleep, curled up in yellowed blankets. Her choppy blonde hair sticks uncomfortably to her sweaty neck, but she's still cold, so cold. She doesn't know what's broken, her sense of the outside temperature, or her body's ability to maintain homeostasis, and she's in too much pain to care.
No. 1 (they call him Shuichi these days, after deciding it was too dehumanizing to continue calling him a number) had been bringing Kakeru food every day, but most of it went untouched. She couldn't keep anything more solid than broth down. It was all she could do to stumble out of bed and make a hazy beeline towards the nearest restroom in the Shadow Organization branch. When she finally recovers in two weeks, she wouldn't be able to remember any of this in clarity. But right now, her eyelids flutter, she's slipping between the firm, slightly wrinkled cot (cold, so cold), and a soft, warm lap.
Kakeru recognizes it instantly, relief flushing her body, and she lets the sleep take her.
Michiru...
She allows herself say it out loud.
"Michiru..."
"Kakeru. I didn't mean to wake you."
Kakeru, younger now, crawls into a sitting position, ducking under Michiru's arm, which she'd raised to let Kakeru up. In her other hand, a spellbook Michiru had been browsing. It was the castle again, the King's castle. So long ago. There are lilies in the window, and the sunlight tousles her hair.
"You didn't wake..." Kakeru starts saying, with a content if sleepy lilt (Michiru! Michiru is so thoughtful!) but almost all at once seems to remember all the pain her other self, the one still laying on the cot, was experiencing. The expression on her face hardens. Michiru's face is unreadable, her eyes hidden by the veil weighed down by the metal rings. All Kakeru can see is her lipstick. It repulses her, the clarity of her memory.
"Where are you?!" demands Kakeru childishly. (It's fine, isn't it? She's almost a child again in this dream...) She punches at the cushions of the sofa they were resting on for emphasis."It hurts!"
"I'm sorry," says Michiru gently. "I know it hurts. I've been in pain, too... but it'll be over once you've recovered. It's like that for everyone."
"I hate when you say that!" screams Kakeru. "I don't care that everyone experiences! I hate it! I don't want it to hurt! It- It—"
Kakeru's chest swells as she takes a shaky breath, her head wobbling in a frustrated shake. She needs Michiru to understand just how shitty she felt. Michiru needs to know, but Kakeru, Kakeru is horrible with her words.
"It feels like my chest is filling with, with pillow stuffing. It's so cold. It's so fucking cold. The blankets do nothing. I eat and I throw up. I eat and I throw up, Michiru! Nothing tastes good!"
"I'm sorry," Michiru repeats. "That sounds absolutely terrible."
"It fucking sucks, Michiru!" Kakeru shrieks impatiently. "Where are you when I need you? Make it stop! I know you can make it stop, I bet there's a spell you know that I don't that can fix it!"
Michiru smiles a little, at that, and Kakeru's vision blurs with fury for an instant.
"The version of me in your head is so kind and helpful," Michiru says wistfully. "But we both know I don't specialize in healing. We— I devoted my studies to serve the king. To take from others, to destroy."
"Liar! You—" Kakeru tries to come up with a brilliant deduction that would prove Michiru was simply lying, cunning as she was, hiding a secret healing spell because she wanted Kakeru to suffer, but comes up with nothing. "You fucking liar!"
"I'm sorry," Michiru says a third time. This time, Kakeru doesn't grace her with a response. Not with real words, anyways. She'd show her.
If Kakeru's chest were at the epicenter of her beautiful, perfect World Destruction spell, she imagines this white-hot rage is what it would feel like. It comes out first as a growl, one she still attempts to keep repressed, because she's a big girl now, big girls don't cry and scream. She punches at the couch cushions again, hoping the feeling goes away, first with one fist, then the other, then again, and again and again. She can handle it. Michiru would want her to, she trusts her like that, except oh, oops, it does look like she's shrieking now, a long, sustained, ear-piercing note tearing at her throat. She pauses for a breath and keeps on screaming, there's tears dripping down her eyes that are squeezed shut, there's something dripping into her mouth from her nose, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that she needs to keep screaming. On and on. Saliva pools at the bottom of her mouth, but swallowing would mean stopping her shriek. It drips and trails from her mouth, as her body curls over the couch, mimicking her fetal form on the cot in the darkened room a world away. She starts bashing her head into the soft cushions, wanting it to hurt, never ceasing her shrill note.
Michiru sits quietly, listens and watches Kakeru's performance, until Kakeru is finally quiet, her small, fragile form hunched over a patch on the couch soaking with her tears and mucus. Kakeru is shaking, and her breathing is still heavy, but there's nothing left inside her to protest.
The sunlight is still streaming through the multiple windows in the room, infuriatingly enough.
Michiru begins reaching out a hand towards Kakeru, but thinks better of it. Kakeru feels a hollow disappointment, watching the hand retreat, paralyzed by the weary lightheadedness after a good cry. My god, she would have lunged and bit that hand with zero abandon. It would be best if she could make Michiru bleed, that would show her.
"Are you scared, Kakeru?"
Kakeru can only glare hatefully at Michiru in silence, her chest still heaving. Kakeru's lips part, the words pushing up against her throat, but nothing comes out, her vocal cords too worn from the workout she'd just given them.
No, of course she wasn't scared. She was just angry. Angry that Michiru had abandoned her. Angry that she was alone in her suffering. Angry at the pain, and her own body which had betrayed her.
"...'m terrified," Kakeru answers in a barely discernible rasp. "Am I going to die? Am I going to die, Michiru? Nothing's ever hurt like this before."
She crawls closer to Michiru, reaching her shaking hands out.
"You've died before," Kakeru mumbles, wrapping her arms around Michiru, clinging to her, the black fabric of Michiru's uniform bunched up in her little hands. (Michiru doesn't hug her back.) "Did it hurt? Did it hurt like this? Or is there something even worse than this?"
"Oh, Kakeru..."
"It feels like it's never going to end, Michiru." Kakeru's voice cracks, and fresh tears trace the paths already lining her face.
"Death is better than this," Michiru reassures her softly. "Mine was, anyways. Swift. It ended almost as soon as it began."
Michiru's arms reach around and complete the embrace.
"It's living that's hard, Kakeru."
Kakeru dissolves into devastating sobs upon hearing this.
"It's so h-h-hard, Michiru..." Kakeru wails, hiccuping. "I can't do it without you. I tried, for three stupid years. But it's imposs... im, impossi...ble..."
"You're so brave," Michiru praises, her voice warm with sincerity. "You were always more brilliant than me. I know you can do it."
"I can't... I can't..."
The dream is fading around her, the sunlight dissolving into thin grey mist. Kakeru's fists are in a vice grip, holding onto nothing. It's cold now, again. So, so desperately cold. Michiru is only a whisper now, and Kakeru can barely hear her.
"For every moment of pain and suffering you've already experienced, there are moments of joy and comfort that have yet to find you."
"It's not true," Kakeru whimpers in the dark.
"It was cruel of me to leave you. But you can't chase after my shadow forever. You have to turn and face the light..."
"Then you shouldn't have left," Kakeru hears herself mumble.
The air in the room feels stiff and humid. Kakeru sits up groggily, when she hears a firm knock at the door.
She lets out the most aggravated sigh, and growls, "Come in."
The dusky sunset seeps into the room as Shuichi opens the door, tray in hand.
"You're awake," he observes.
"Sucks to be here."
"Do you think you can eat? I have soup."
Kakeru lets out another small huff, but attempts to throw her blankets aside to little avail. Noting her struggle, Shuichi crosses the room in several strides, reaching his jelly-like arm out to free Kakeru from the tangle of blankets.
Kakeru shoots him a murderous look, but the anger dissipates into exhaustion with a sigh.
"Soup," she demands flatly.
Shuichi makes to place the tray onto Kakeru's bedside table, and Kakeru makes a grab for the spoon before he's even done. Of course, Shuichi, accustomed to Kakeru's brisk and frankly rude attitude towards him, is completely unfazed.
As Kakeru starts spooning the clear broth into her mouth with shaky hands, Shuichi drags a chair from the opposite end of the room over next to her bed and sinks into it in one fluid motion. He watches her silently, his face as neutral as ever.
The soup today was better, but Kakeru would never say it to Shuichi. Yet something about her face must have telegraphed the information to him somehow, because he feels obligated to explain: "You complained that it tasted like water yesterday, so I asked for them to add extra salt today."
Something shifts beneath Kakeru's demeanor, dark water rippling dangerously. Shuichi is used to being looked at with disgust on her face, but it felt different somehow, this time.
Kakeru drops, almost throws the spoon into the soup. The warm broth splashes all over the tray, flying as far as Kakeru's nightgown, and a drop even lands on Shuichi's face, though he barely blinks.
"I don't want it anymore," Kakeru whispers. "Don't make it easier."
Shuichi takes a moment to process Kakeru's state, the way she isn't looking at him, the tension in her shoulders.
"I want you to get better," Shuichi says evenly, wiping the soup off his face. "If I can make it easier, I will."
"No!" Kakeru sweeps the tray off the table with a clumsy but passionate burst of energy. The splash of broth, the clatter of the tray, and the airy clink of the spoon meeting with the ceramic tile gives way to a dreadful silence. Kakeru buries her face in her hands, clawing at her face. "I don't want this. I don't want to live without Michiru."
The expression on Shuichi's face flickers. It's been almost a year since Kakeru had brought Michiru up.
She growls again, in frustration. No, that wasn't what she meant. She tries again.
"I don't want... to want to live... without Michiru!"
Kakeru tries to draw a breath, but there's still cotton in her chest. No matter.
"Okay," says Shuichi.
Kakeru screams.
"Don't make it easier then, you fucking asshole!" she screeches, spit flying. "I, I, I'm going to fucking kill you, I don't want to live, so stop doing this!"
"Well, I want you to live." Shuichi stands up, still unbothered. It was best to leave her be now, at least for a little bit, or else she'd start throwing more things, and that would simply worsen her condition. He had tried pushing his luck in the past, and knew better now. "I'll get another bowl of soup and a mop."
He closes the door behind him, and Kakeru's anguished but muffled shriek echoes across the estate.
("She's really upset..." Shuu mutters, worry creasing his face.)
("Dude, don't make her your problem," Sen immediately claps back, not even glancing up from his mobile phone.)
Kakeru buries herself underneath the covers, trying to go somewhere far, far away from herself.
Kakeru is no prophet, but she knows she is going to forget Michiru like this. It's what Michiru wanted, after all. Michiru wants her to live. Michiru wants her to move on. Michiru wants her to forget her. And Kakeru can feel the seed of that wish sprout, against every fiber of her being. The seed that was drawn away from its dirtbed of misery, and towards the kindness of others.
"I'm sorry, Michiru..." she mumbles incoherently, not willing to forgive herself, even knowing this is everything Michiru wished for. "I'm sorry..."
A gentle breeze brushes the surface of a pond. More soup is ladled into a ceramic bowl. Footsteps patter on wooden floorboards.
The sun sinks below the horizon, the hot orange vanishing into the night.
Tomorrow, she'd let herself forget. She'd let herself start to forget. But tonight, just for one more night, she would hold Michiru's memory close.