Chapter 12 Blur
A blur, a rhythm, for a while that’s how the days felt, something neither comforting nor disturbing.Ryuya would go to class—sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening—and spend the rest of his time at home with Rika. Her recovery was slow, at first. She still shuffled around the house in a quilt, too sleepy to bother him much, But as the days passed, she began to stir.A giggle here and there.Her appetite was back too. She’d stealthily steal snacks from the kitchen, unaware of how obvious she was.“...”“Why don’t you go out more?”And now her voice was back.Pestering him over lunch.“I go to school.” He answered, flat and disinterested, rising to carry their bowls to the sink.“I go to school too” She answered, her tone was matter-of-fact as if the distinction was obvious.Ryuya exhaled, not in the mood to humor her. “I got to study as well.” He added quickly but; even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t much of an excuse.At this point, keeping up with school wasn’t difficult.Accommodations were arranged around his attendance, the clinic and school stayed in touch, smoothed out the cracks in his routine.At this point, he was used to this rhythm.Rika’s words lingered though.Yet, the idea of being outside too long, to blank out at the wrong time, in the wrong place…It was enough to kill the prospect right then and there.The buzz had retreated during this time, he’d still have moments where the ground felt shaky, moments of doubts where he’d be vigilant of any shifts. But nothing ever escalated.As the days stretched on, Sanae became a quiet fixture in his routine, she’d greet him during breaks, and often she’d drag him to the club where he’d linger just enough to satisfy her without committing.Emi, on the other hand, was harder to ignore.Their paths crossed more than he liked, yet she wasn’t seeking him out like before.If he entered the clubroom and she was there, she’d leave soon after. In class, he’d feel her gaze—fleeting, quick, barely lingering before flicking away.Ryuya didn’t know what to make of it. Didn’t know if he should feel relieved, or just uneasy.But honestly, as long as she didn’t pester him, it didn’t matter.
Conversations wove together into a rhythm that didn’t require thought—just noise and movement. Emi sat with her friends near the vending machines in the schoolyard.“—I swear, he was staring the whole time,” Mina was saying, her voice tilting upward in exaggerated exasperation.“Like, I get it, we were in the same class last year, but do you really have to burn a hole through my face?”Across from her, Chiyo laughed, stirring the last of her drink with her straw. “Maybe you should’ve waved,” she teased. “Give him a real reason to panic.”They laughed again, sharp and loud, she did too, at least she tried.Why am I even here..The thought rose.. She could even predict the flow of conversation before it happened.Chiyo’s teasing.Mina bringing up a test, a teacher, an inside joke from last semester that would only be funny to the people here.And now she could even hear herself, noticing her own voice interjecting and reacting.“…Emi?”She blinked, her attention snapping back. Mina’s gaze was on her.“Hm?”“I said, are you hanging out with us this weekend ?” Mina repeated, nudging Emi’s arm lightly. “or are you too good for us now ?”“I'm busy.”The words came too quickly, she’d reacted before she could catch them and they sounded too sharp.Quiet followed, stretching just enough to feel awkward.“Got an art thing this weekend,” She added, her voice sculpted for credibility, hopefully it’d clear the fog away.Chiyo leaned in, her chin resting against her palm, her gaze expectant.“And how’s your new masterpiece coming along?”A pause. Breath caught her throat. Emi looked away for a second.Enough for herself to notice.“Still in progress” She answered quickly.A lie— maybe she should have told the truth..That she had already started over twice, that every brushstroke felt wrong, that every time she tried to commit to an idea, it felt hollow, fake and forced..That she failed to produce anything she could display without feeling disgusted.That letting the sketchbook go should’ve solved this…?That it needed to..?That now she sat painfully aware that it didn’t fix anything..?That she felt like a fool for even thinking it would..?That, maybe.. keeping it would’ve been better..“…”Someone said something she didn’t catch, and the table broke into laughter. Emi exhaled, a practiced smile returning to her lips.It was easier this way. She picked up her drink, took a slow sip, and let the conversation move on, picking up her part.
Chapter 13 Return
Ryuya walked slowly, Sanae walked by his side, half-smile tugged at her lips, they didn’t talk.The hallways were quiet.Most students lingered in their classrooms or moved in clusters toward their after-school activities.The sun peered softly through the windows on the way there, something calming, soothing, they could have kept walking forever and it wouldn’t have mattered.The clubdoor was just ahead, a few paces away. Closed as usual so as to not disturb the quiet inside..They followed through, casually unbothered.Inside, a few familiar faces were already at their easels.Ryuya stepped in, moving toward the back with casual indifference.The glances at his entry barely registered.He reached a desk by the window where he lowered himself—the usual spot when he stayed longer than a few minutes. It seemed that, somehow, the club had become a place he could exist in without expectation.Sanae walked toward the supply closet at the end of the room, retrieving her materials with practiced ease.Ryuya’s gaze floated around the room, landing on the girl at the other desk, a distance away. He’d seen her multiple times before, Sanae’s friend.Was it Hana? Or Kanna?He wasn’t sure. She didn’t look up. Her brow kept knitting in concentration, practicing probably, drawing lines in a leathered cover sketchbook.She frowned, something he noticed.He wasn’t close enough to make out the details and definitely didn’t feel like getting closer.His gaze lingered on the sketchbook though, a beat too long.
Maybe I should try after all..
He thought for a second that seemed to stretch endlessly, like an echo in an empty room.“Huh?” Sanae’s surprised tone cut through the haze, Ryuya glanced at her.She was stepping back from the closet with a perplexed expression, holding a sketchbook that wasn’t too hard to recognize.“Well… I guess it’s back after all” She said casually as she reached him Her expression shifted. Not surprise exactly, but something thoughtful.Ryuya let out a slow, half-hearted exhale.Sanae flipped through the sketchbook in her hands, frowning slightly.“It was on the shelf, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there yesterday.”Ryuya’s gaze didn’t hold, his attention drifting away, floating from the windows to the space itself.“Maybe it was moved around..” Sanae added in a low voice, more to herself than anything.“Maybe…” He exhaled, barely looking.“At least it’s back in one piece.” She added, closing the book swiftly looking back at him.Her gaze pressed into his for a beat too long, the glint in her eyes steady and insistent..“You should take it back now.” She said as she extended the book to him.He paused, glancing away.The words weren’t unexpected; something he should have been able to wave away easily, yet something made him falter–a shift he couldn’t quite place.Sanae observed him for a second before her lips parted.“Look.. I know you don’t draw anymore but I just think it’d be proper you know ?”Her voice didn’t waver, soft as always. His gaze came back to the book once more, a wave crawling through his back.Ryuya’s hand reached for the book without much of a thought, he could tell Sanae cared more than he did, And if it meant that much, it was easier to comply, better than resisting anyway..Sanae smiled as she sat next to him.They stayed like that for a while, talking in low, unhurried voices.Sanae led with her questions, gentle, never pressing too far. It felt like she had an instinct—knowing when to ask and when to hold back.Ryuya’s gaze drifted to the window, outside, the sky shone with afternoon lightNo rain.And no fog.
Emi walked in silence through the afternoon.The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the sides of buildings, her breath drawing ghostly trails in the cold. She wasn’t far from home now. Her pace quickened.The apartment building came into view, its weathered exterior blending into the dull colors of the street. She climbed the steps slowly, her fingers brushing against the rusted rail as she ascended to the front door.The mailbox stood just inside the entryway, the label barely legible.She opened it, pulling out a small stack of mail. Bills addressed to her father, advertisements, yet two envelopes caught her attention.“Kamimine Emi.”It was addressed to her, making her brow raise slightly. She shifted through the stack casually, her eyes narrowing as a red “PAST DUE” stamp popped into view. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, but she moved on anyway.A few steps through the staircase and soon the apartment door lay in front of her.
She pulled her keys out, opening the door with a familiar creak, shutting it quietly behind her.Her feet carried her toward the kitchen, past the worn-out couch and beyond the lonely dinner table.
She opened the cabinet and grabbed a glass without much thought.On the fridge, a small drawing hung from a magnet — one she made as a child, a tiny house surrounded with a field of sunflowers. A relic of a time when her talent meant something simpler.She opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of apple juice and filling her glass before going back to the living room.There, she lowered herself at the table, pulling out the two envelopes from her bag. Her hands hesitated briefly before her fingers slit the first one.Hi Emi, I got the drawing you sent me, it’s so pretty,thank you very much,I showed it to everyone at school! You’re so talented!I’d love to see you on my birthday,my mom says I can have a party,you can teach me how to draw like you,see you!— Rinrin ♥️The faintest smile tugged at her lips, but it didn’t last. She folded the letter carefully and set it aside before opening the next one.Hello Emi,Dad said you’ve got a showcase coming up,I hope it goes well.We may be able to come take a look.I hope you’re doing okay.— Your brother Shun.The handwriting was neat, almost formal. Emi let out a quiet huff. Her fingers hovered over the page for a second before she folded the letter, her movements slower now, more deliberate.A shiver in her leg prompted her to stand up. She walked back to the kitchen in silence, reaching into a drawer to pull out a small plastic red straw.She came back again, lowering herself on the chair once more, leaning in, reaching for her glass.
A slow sip, the hiff of the straw filled the quiet, softening her thoughts. The juice was cold, making her teeth ache slightly.
Her gaze drifted from her glass, to the straw, to her fingers wrapped around it, to the way the soft glow cast red ripples through the plastic.
She watched them absently, the way they waltzed when she moved her cup.
The way they danced on her fingers, stubborn and bright.
At least her teeth had stopped aching now.
Chapter 14 Apple
A knock.Silence.Another one.Still nothing....Rika nudged the door open, just enough to peer into the dimness inside.
“Ryu..?” she whispered.But she closed it as quickly.A little frown settled on her face but it didn’t last.And dinner was waiting.Rika slowly walked through the hallway back to the kitchen; meeting her mother sitting at the table. She settled herself on the chair but her gaze floated, aimless.“Is your brother coming to eat?” Her mother asked.“He’s sleeping.” She answered quietly.She was staring at the small plate of stir-fried vegetables in front of her, but her attention remained elsewhere. Across, her mother sat with a cup of tea. Her eyes fixed somewhere past the table.Big shadows under her eyes but she wasn’t tired in the way that made people yawn or stretch, more the kind when they don’t talk, or frown when you ask a question.Rika took a bite.The silence stretched between them.For a while.Komaru sighed lightly, setting down her chopsticks down.Rika stared. The tea in her hands had gone cold, but she didn’t seem to notice.“…”
“Mom, is Ryu eating alright?”
Komaru blinked as though the question had broken the monotony. “Huhh..Yeah? Why do you ask?”Rika glanced to the side—at the fridge, at the clock, at her own fingers.Then, she pushed her chair back with youthful vigor.“I’ll bring food to him!” She reached for Ryuya’s untouched plate.Too slow.Komaru’s hand kept the plate just out of her reach.“You’ll wake him up if you do that Rika.” Komaru said, the words cleaving neatly through Rika's enthusiasm.The silence stretched as an echo, Rika’s gaze dropping in defeat, staring at what was left of her plate, uncertain, her throat tightening.Komaru exhaled again, softer this time.“Let’s put it in the fridge for later, alright?” She added a smile—a small one. Enough to lift Rika just a little.“I’ll write a message!” Rika said, her voice rising again with newfound resolve.She sprinted down the hallway to her bedroom, glancing at Dino settled on her bed before reaching into her drawer, fetching paper and pencils.She returned to the hallway just as fast, pencil gripped tightly in her hand.She sat on her knees next to Ryuya’s door, bending over with solemn determination to write the colored message :“Ryu, dinner is in the fridge, you need to eat or else!”She paused, pondering for a bit..Then.“Or else, I’ll bite you and make you my dinner!” She wrote.She nodded, satisfied, then lowered herself, gazing at the dark line under the door.The note slid gently, disappearing into the quiet.Rika quickly moved back to the kitchen, her steps thumping loudly through the hallway.Komaru was washing the dishes.Rika only stared for a long moment.Komaru shifted.A half turn.Quickly; Rika retreated behind the wall, peeking only slightly.“I see you, Rika,” Komaru said flatly without looking.“But I’m hidden!” Rika shot back.Komaru sighed, “I still can see you.” she replied, her voice level and unmoved.“Come on, isn't it time for your bath?”Rika turned and darted down the hallway before Komaru could continue, getting to her bedroom.She scooped up Bunny and Dino from her bed before taking cover beneath her blanket.Maybe, with some luck she’d not be found.
The low hum of the water boiler.Emi stood for a moment near the counter, fingers wrapped around the handle of the teapot.Steam danced softly from the spout.She poured two cups in silence.Her father was already at the table.Emi slid into her seat across from him.They ate in silence for a minute.“How’s the showcase prep going?” he asked, his tone light.Emi paused, her chopsticks hovering over a piece of fish. “It’s fine,” she said quickly, taking a bite before he could press further.“You’re working on a piece ?” He asked as he took a sip of his tea.“It’s done” She hesitated, staring absently at her own cup.“I’m trying to make a new one”She glanced at him briefly before looking back at her rice. Her father nodded, setting his cup down with a soft clink.He didn’t push, but the silence that followed felt heavier than before, it stretched awkwardly before his voice broke the stillness once more.“I saw your brother the other day.” He said in that same, quiet tone.Emi’s stomach tightened. She didn’t look up.“He wrote me a letter,” she said after a beat, the words coming out softer than she intended.“Said he’d come to the showcase if he can.” She added.The words felt distant, detached, like she was recounting someone else’s story.Her dad’s face brightened slightly. “That’d be great.”“I don’t know if I believe it.” she murmured, her voice flat but heavy enough to make her second-guess.
The silence settled a beat too long.
“Might be different this time.” he answered quietly, as though saying it aloud might make it true but the resignation she felt didn’t leave room for hope there.
“It's not a big deal anyway,” She said dismissively.
She took a sip of her tea and her dad didn’t push.They finished the meal in a silence filled with unsaid thoughts, the weight of old expectations and disappointments.Eventually her dad stood, gathering the dishes with the same calm deliberation he always had.
“I’ll clean up,” he said, his voice light but final.
She hesitated, her hands still resting on the table.She looked at him for a second before he shook his head.
“Go on.” He added, leaving little room for protest.
She nodded slowly, rising from her seat.
Though, the knot in her chest stayed tight, pulling at the edges of her thoughts like an unfinished thread.
Chapter 15 Distance
The morning was quiet, like all mornings.Now the bell rang to announce the lunch break, loud as usual.“Phew..” Hana exhaled in her back.Sanae turned toward her, chairs scraping back all around them. Hana stretched her arms wide above her head, for some reason, it made her smile, maybe how she’d never lose an opportunity to yawn or stretch no matter the circumstance.She yawned.There you go. Sanae chuckled to herself.“Lunch outside today?” Hana asked, hand over her mouth as she rummaged through her bag.“Ehh…” Sanae wavered, already guilty about the answer.Hana glanced awkwardly.“Sorry, I can't today !” She clasped her hands together in apology.Hana raised an eyebrow.“Next time?” Sanae said again.“Sure, yeah.” Hana shrugged without pushing.Sanae gave her a warm smile before standing.She stepped into the hallway.The air buzzed with voices and footsteps. Clusters of students moving toward the cafeteria or wherever they’d go for lunch. She followed for a while at an easy pace, eyes caught by the soft light pouring through the windows.She got to his classroom before realizing it.Sanae leaned in, peeking just slightly.As always, he sat by the window.A soft glow caught his profile, looking past the glass — or maybe not looking at anything at all.He’s really got that manga MC vibe going…She smirked inwardly. He didn’t notice her watching him.On the opposite side of the room, Emi stood abruptly grabbing her bag.She headed out through the other door.Sanae blinked.She barely had time to process before Ryuya stirred to his feet.Sanae straightened, bracing herself to greet him.
A metallic clunk. The vending machine rumbled as a can dropped into the tray, Sanae reached down and picked it up.“Here,” she said, offering it lightly.Ryuya grabbed it without hesitation.“Thanks.”She popped the tab on her own can, taking a sip, letting the silence settle between them.The distant rhythm of the school buzzed softly, unintrusive. She looked at him opening his can. Her foot tapped the floor once before she straightened.“Hey, so…”Ryuya glanced.“There’s this art exposition going on this weekend?”“It’s a club thing, so there’s no fee,” she added.His expression stayed unreadable. She assumed he’d pick up on the invitation, but he stayed quiet.The seconds hung awkwardly.“Would you like to join ?”A beat.“...”“...I’m not part of the club though.” His voice was even, though there was a pause before he spoke, something hesitant, just enough for Sanae to catch. She braced herself with a smile.“It’s fine, really. I’m sure no one would complain.”She waved her hand, the kind of gesture meant to brush away concerns before they could settle but he stayed quiet — and she knew better.Sanae’d brought him to the club often enough. He was there alright, but always on the outskirts, never too present, never too long."Big groups aren’t really my thing." He said, looking away. She crossed a leg behind the other.“It could get you inspired, maybe. You know, seeing new stuff ?”She kept her tone light, tentative but his gaze had drifted like he’d made up his mind already, something that pressed at her but she also knew better than to push.“It’s fine though, if you have other plans. I get it.”Ryuya shrugged slightly, a movement too vague to offer clarity.Sanae bit her lip, but kept her own smile steady.The bell rang, and with it the day resumed its course.They walked together until his classroom came into view.Sanae gave a small wave. He nodded before going back inside.She turned away, the day carrying on.
Chapter 16 Dream
“I’m home.”
He said. No one answered.
Rika’s shoes weren’t there, and her bag was missing,Ryuya's toes pressed against the floor as he lined his shoes by the door, exhaling to himself.He moved toward the kitchen.The table was clean. No dishes in the sink.He opened the fridge for no real reason.Cold pressed against his face for a moment.Empty shelves stared back.He closed it again.
"..."
He headed toward his room, the hallway pipes groaning softly.He reached for the knob, His bag sliding from his shoulder, pressing on.Inside light was dim, the outside glow catching the furniture in a soft embrace that asked for nothing, his bag dropped easily by the desk, he didn't bend.The sketchbook waited there, quiet, inevitable.He didn’t sit. Just lowered enough to pull the notebook from his bag.It opened easily, pages curling toward him.A few scribbled numbers. One half-done assignment. He skimmed, barely reading.The notebook fell onto the desk without aim.He turned, pulling out his hoodie.The fabric dragged; the tie slipped loose.Then he let himself fall.The bed met him.
"..."
The mattress felt stiff or maybe his back did.He stayed there, eyes open, waiting for nothing,The ceiling stared, he stared back.Flat white pressing on unbothered.His head turned left —the sketchbook still waited on the desk, corner sagging over the edge just enough to notice.He exhaled, rolling to his side...A sliver of light bled softly through the curtains across from him.His eyes clung to it — a single ray spilling thin across the floor, barely reaching the bed.His mind lingered there, unfocused.The pipes softened.The ray blurred, or maybe his eyes did.It didn’t matter.He closed them anyway....A second passed.Maybe more......His eyelids trembled — a familiar restlessness stirring.Light pressed faintly through.He opened them again, slowly.The glow burned sharper now, cutting against his pupils with quiet insistence.He reached, sitting up.The curtains drew shut.Darkness settled.
White, lots of whiteWhite is my favorite, it’s so white..What am I doing here again ?Oh right, I was drawing something for Shun.I hope he’ll like it.The door made a sound.Mom came back.She went to the kitchen.I called mom “Mom” but she didn’t like it..I think she hates me..I don’t know what to do..…Dad’s not here.…Mom’s belly is bigger..I told her..Mistake.No.. I called her mom again..She didn’t like it..I can tell..Why are you here?Go away.Where’s my drawing ?DISSAPEAR !!I’m drawing in white.I can’t see it now, I’m so clumsy haha !A noise, the door..Shun ?A voice, unsure.We’re getting a little sister.
Chapter 17 Pressure
“Your hands are improving.”
“Yeah, right...” Hana exhaled, dropping her pencil onto the desk.
"For real! Look, this one's more natural!" Sanae pointed with her pencil."It looks like a starfish.."Sanae chuckled, sitting next to her, sketchbook in her lap.The clubroom was quiet enough, barely anyone except for the two of them, sitting in the middle of the room, Kai worked in the corner, where the light fell soft.. Not far from him, an empty chair.Emi’s usual spot.“Urrrhh..!”Sanae's gaze snapped back.“I wish I could just do it already...”Hana frowned, her expression tightening in what seemed like frustration.“Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice ?” Sanae chuckled, opening her sketchbook.“She makes it look so easy..”Hana spun her pencil, chin resting on her hand. Sanae watched the motion, feeling the air stiffen between them.“Yeah, but comparing all the time isn’t helpful.” She said softly.“Easy to say.”Sanae's breath caught, the words settling somewhere uncomfortable.“You know It’s not a competition, right ?”She spoke, her gaze on Hana who wasn’t looking back.“And yet we’re having a showcase..”The edge in her voice that wasn’t lost on her.Sanae’s pencil froze while Hana’s grip tightened on hers.“Come on, it’s not about that..”The air stilled. Hana didn't look.“When she’s there, everything’s a contest.”Her tone cut sharper than before.Sanae’s pencil stopped mid-line.She looked up — Hana still wouldn’t.“That’s not fair,” she said, quicker than she meant to. The sound of it hung there, small but firm. She glanced sideways again. Emi wasn’t here to defend herself — and maybe that’s why it felt right to say it.She exhaled softly.“Art’s a big deal for Emi — she’s planning to go to art school next year.”“I know.” Hana responded quickly, eyes still on her page..“We shouldn't blame her for being passionate.” She followed as she set her pencil down, keeping her tone gentle.“It’s not about that!”Her voice cut through the room — not loud, but sharp enough to make a few heads turn.“It's not even fun anymore!”Sanae blinked."No one asked for this—" "This whole showcase thing was HER idea."The room stilled — the faint hum of chatter quieting instantly.
Hana’s gaze lifted, finally looking at her, too serious.Sanae didn’t respond right away. The gazes pressed harder than she wanted to admit, her thoughts unable to settle into something simple and easy to say.Instead, her eyes flicked across the room, landing on Emi’s painting propped near the edge of the clubroom. It lingered in her vision for a moment…Sanae’s lips started moving slowly.“I think…”She paused, weighing her words.“..it’s an opportunity.. it gets everyone more motivated than usual.”Sanae spoke without turning back.Hana didn’t answer.“Plus–we get to go on an art trip because of it !”Sanae pressed on with hopeful enthusiasm, her gaze shifting back to Hana, wearing a steady smile.At that, Hana exhaled softly, the tension easing from her shoulders,“I guess so.” Hana’s mood lightened. Sanae nodded, the pencil’s motion picking back up on the paper.“Did you invite the ghost in the end?”Sanae’s smile faltered slightly. Glancing at her.“Don’t call him that, come on..”Hana's brow raised for a second.“You think it’s alright for him to come with us? I mean, the guy barely talks as is” Hana added, closing her sketchbook.“He talks… he’s just a bit shy.”
Chapter 18 Shadow
A weightless walk.
Steps folded through the familiar mist.Cold damp air lingering all around, but not unpleasant,the kind that'd settle against your skin without demanding attention.Each step melted into the next, one by one. Until the clinic's door met him.Ryuya's body lingered, a sigh slipping out, thoughts drifting in the blur, never quite forming, never quite reaching him.One shape held steady nonetheless —this appointment.It didn’t take long before he found himself in the waiting room.His body slumped onto the chair, his bag slumped at his side.The hands of the clock had gone silent.The quiet pressed in, minutes without shape.Or shapes without minutes..
Huh..
Funny...
His gaze drifted to the bag, his eyes tracing the outline of the sketchbook waiting inside.A phone rang somewhere down the hallway — the sound hollowed out, bouncing off the walls.
"..."
His hand moved, reaching for the sketchbook, sliding it free.Easily enough, his fingers found their way beyond the cover, flipping through it in passing disinterest — the kind he'd grown accustomed to.Pages turned.Graphite shapes.Enough to fill the waiting void.Or something like that.
A sound —
the door clicking open —
it barely registered until a voice came.
“Nagase Ryuya.”
The voice called, and as such, he quietly followed.
Ryuya’s gaze floated beyond the desk, Doctor Eita was writing within his folder, the scratching of his pencil barely audible, a stillness Ryuya didn’t dare to challenge.“It seems everything is stable for now,”The doctor’s voice rose just above the scratching sound.Ryuya nodded without much thought, the motion fading as his gaze drifted past the desk.The painting on the wall caught him. Eyes tracing the edges of the frame. The sharp colors,the way the brushstrokes blurred at a distance like they were wW̷a̸̽͊̆̉ͅv̴͙̿̃̇ẽ̷̤̦̓̉ing..
“We’ll keep the same dosage for now.”
He blinked — attention snapping back. Dr. Eita slid the prescription across the desk.Ryuya nodded, reaching for it — his fingers brushing the paper’s edge.
The shapes..
His gaze pulled back to the painting.
For a second it seemed like they'd moved..
The easel loomed in the center, expectant.
Scrapped papers, littered on the floor everywhere.
It's hard to see..
Emi's eyes squinted, the room was barely lit, just enough to discern the canvas.
Shadows stretched in the corners swallowing the furnitures.
She stared at the edges of the frame. Waiting.
The tip of her brush was already wet.
Okay...
Emi's grip on her brush tightened before her eyes closed.Her mind stirred immediatly, swirls, colors, the taste of tonight’s dinner.Memories of the day flashing. The waiting stretched long.Shapes formed, just enough to discern yet none worth to capture."..."Distant sounds reached her, city noises through the window.Her eyelids flickered, uncertainty creeping in.She opened them, sweeping the room, watchful of anything that moved in the dark.She exhaled..
This is silly...
Too dramatic —the setup, the darkness, herself.Her own paranoia watching back from the shadows.It all felt like a joke, a story she told herself.
“Come on...“
She muttered, pulling herself back.Her eyes closed again. Stillness.A void with no sound.A pit with no ground.It didn't take long before a shape surfaced.A vast ocean with no ripples and no reflection.A Surge.It traveled through her spine, Emi’s hand lifted.The brush met the canvas.Timid at first. And the contact with the surface startled her.She paused, breathing in, waiting for the shape in her mind to settle.A second more—her hand moved again.Movements were slow, not chaotic, not what she'd expected.The shapes waltzed freely. Eyes closed. Expectations gone..
...
A minute passed.
Maybe more—she couldn’t tell.Her hand kept moving, her mind kept dancing.Until the brush pressed too hard.A scrape instead of a whisper.Her eyelids trembled.
Not now..
The moment felt whole. Complete.Something nostalgic about it, too.The thought of going back didn’t feel right—like she’d finally risen to the surface after holding her breath.She thought and as she thought, the air pressed some more.Her fingers twitched; she noticed.And the brush made a weird sound again.She squeezed her eyes shut one last time, holding on.…Her eyes snapped open.Looking at what became of this moment....
Nothing.Ugly lines. Harsh, wrong.
...She stared for a while.The silence pressed in, the smell of paint too sharp now.Only the noise in her head stayed.Nothing beautiful.A laugh escaped her — dry and broken.She felt like a fool.
Chapter 19 Absence
The gallery went on forever — or maybe it just felt that way after a few hours.Sanae had walked without really thinking.Her shoes barely made a sound on the parquet.They’d been here since lunch. Everyone had spread out by now, scattered around the buzzing rooms of the gallery.Her gaze drifted — walls, frames, faces — everything blurred into the same quiet shine.Now, a large canvas stretched in front of her, floor to ceiling — long strokes of pinks and blues, raw in a way that felt… curated.The kind of thing that wanted to look emotional.There was a plaque beside it.No title. No description. Just a name."Huh.."She smiled — barely.A couple murmured in soft voices beside her —“It’s really evocative...”“Yeah... The colors are saying something...”"..."She let their voices fade behind her and moved on. The next room hummed with the same soft voices — admiration rehearsed and recycled. Kai passed behind her, sketchbook already open, pencil across the page mid-step. Nobody lingered long.Next room.A framed sketch this time — unfinished. Loose lines, faint smudges. Not messy, exactly — there was something intentional in how it refused to resolve.Beneath it, a handwritten note rested :
“This was made in an hour.”
Sanae tilted her head, waiting for a feeling to arrive — maybe.
...
Wonder if he'd like this one.
The thought passed through her lightly.Her gaze shifted toward the hallway — as if expecting someone to appear from it.
Ryuya hadn’t come.
He never said he would.
But still...
There was a small, quiet sting there...
Her feet fell into motion again — slow and unhurried.The next room met her gently. Softer light. More canvases. More quiet. Barely anyone around.She slowed, standing there for a second. It was peaceful — and a little pointless.Her sketchbook stayed under her arm, her eyes tracing the walls absently —A quiet sigh left her. Sanae's steps resumed.
"...!"
Her eyes caught Emi standing near the far wall,
Her feet halted.
Emi's eyes stayed focused on this large piece — Not admiring. Not studying. Searching maybe ?She held her sketchbook tightly.A beat.Emi's body shifted as if she was about to turn.
Sanae exhaled, quickly leaving the room.
"..."
Her gaze stayed unfocused — lost. She moved toward the fountain at the center of the hall.The space stretched before her, vast and endless.
"..."
A tap on her shoulder.
Sanae flinched — just slightly but she didn’t make a sound. A familiar warmth followed the touch.She turned, Hana was there, smiling — quiet, grounded, like she’d been standing there for a while.“Hey,” Sanae whispered.Hana nodded silently.A beat.“Havin' fun?” She whispered softly.Hana’s smile warmed.She eased her sketchbook from under her arm and opened it, slow and careful.Pages turned — soft rustle, a faint smudge of graphite on her thumb. —Figures, shape breakdowns, soft streaks. There was momentum in all of them.A pulse.It seemed it was worth it for her in the end,Hana folded her sketchbook back, sliding it under her arm.“You?” she asked, her tone light.Sanae exhaled, a breath catching before she spoke.“Not really.”Hana’s smile thinned just a little.“Hmm… Well, don’t wait too long. Think it closes in an hour.”"..."Sanae nodded silently, biting her cheek before she moved on.
The sound of pencil against paper was soft, rhythmic...Rika sat on the floor, her legs tucked underneath her as her frame leaned forward with quiet focus.She'd been stuck to the page for a while now.He sat next to her, sketchbook resting on his lap, feeling heavier than it needed to.Rika’s pencil scratched softly.His thoughts floated."..."Her brow furrowed, he noticed,She erased something, frowning at the page, unconvinced.“Looks bad.”She exclaimed, tone sharper than he expected.Huh...Perfectionism..?“Show me yours!” she demanded.Ryuya hesitated, lifting his hand so she could see.“Errrrr…!”“Huh?”Rika stared — a weird expression stuck to her face, caught between judgment and disbelief.He’d been tracing one of his old drawings. At this point, he wasn’t even sure what else to do.“That’s scary...”“Your face is scary,”"huuuuuhh?" She exhaled, puffing her cheeks like a squirrel.He sighed.Tracing was better though...Easier than starting fresh. Didn’t have to deal with the stare of a blank page. The one telling him he didn’t belong.It still looked at him.Just not the him that looked back.A buzz..Too familiar..Too quiet..It crept up slowly.His focus sharpened.His fingers curled on the edges of his sketchbook.The room, the warmth of the light, — it all seemed to shift.Just slightly.The buzz lingered, gaining momentum.“I’m still here..”“Ryu..?”Rika called softly, grounding him back.Ryuya shook his head.“I’m fine..”He muttered, glancing at her.The sound of keys at the door. Footsteps in the hall.“Mom’s home!”Rika pushed herself up, dashing out of the room.Silence settled again —Too still, like the air was waiting for something.He closed his eyes almost as a reflex.The rustle of a bag reached through the walls, groceries probably.The buzz dimmed slowly.The ache began to fade. His presence steadied."Ryu ! Dinner !"Rika’s voice again rang through the door.Ryuya opened his eyes, exhaling a long breath…His lips parted before it— b̵͓̭̄͒̌̂̐͐́̾͂͋̈́̕r̶̘̼̱͇̼͎̞̮̟̺̼̩̾́͜ǫ̷̜̦̟̞͉͕̪̲̹̣̙̲̞̭̭͗̃̿͂̑͗̅͠ͅk̴̡̢̢͈̠̹̜̤̙̒̄̓̑͆̾̎̉̇̄͑̕͝ę̸̬̬͚͉̞͈̞̠̪̔̑̈́̒̆͗̕̚.̵̴̡̛̫̻̭̣͚̙̲̪͍̟̝͉̙̟͉̪͍̦̘̪͓͉̪͇̞͍͌̑̇̄̈͊͌̊̆͋͛͜͜͝.
.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ .̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ .̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̡̢̨̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ .̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ .̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̡̢̨̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅ S̵t̵a̶t̸i̷c̵,̴ ̶̷
̴̡͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔̕̕̕̚͝͝͠͠ͅͅf̴̨̢̨̛̛̲̳̫͇͕̫̼̤̼͍̟̝̱̪̩̼̠̬̾̾̐̽͊̉̏̂̑́̈́͆͂̏̐͂̉̊̇̾̓̎͂̈́̽̔̀̍̓̈́͌̀͊̚̚͘̚̕͝͝͝͝͠fŗ̸̛̛̛̰͇̦͙̳̰̙̰͈̥̮͍͔̼̘̠̬͂̇̂̈́̀͊̈́̏͋̓̓̂̇̓͑̌̿̋̓͊̎̇͋̃̊̉͐̽̿͘̚͜͠ͅa̵̡̨̠̟̰͉͎͔͈͔͇̳̬̠̣̼͖̻͔͉̦̳̭̣̙̘͚̤̮̳̤̻̺̰̮̓͗̿̏̌͒̑͛̽̋͂͂́̅̈̊̿͛͛͂̏͊̔̌͗̇͑̀̂͋̍̊̑͌̐̕̚̕͘͝͝͝ͅͅç̶̧̧̢̺̭̼̱̪͕̱̝͍̘̠̪͎̥̱͕̦̣̣̞̩͎̲̼̤̻̜͖̬̰͔̈́̀̂͌̄͛̓̄̑̆̀̆̑͑̀̂̏̆̊̉͆̑̑̈́̓̒͒̃͘͘͜ͅṱ̸͚̿͌͌̒̌͐̈̎̇̇̂͗͌̉͒̽̃̊̀̅̏̊̌̾̈́͌̈́͛̈́̇̒̉̽̽͒͘̚͝͝͠ư̶̮̰̯̙͍͖̭͔̒͊͊̍͆̇̇͑̋̄̍̿̎̎̏͌̿̈́͛̽̇̏̍̒̿̇̕̚̚͜ŗ̸̧̨̠͚̮̟̥̹͉͚͚͉̟̠̇̍̾͆̌̊́͌̔̈́̌̊́̍͌̈́͐̍͐̋͝͠͝ȅ̷̡̨̧̻͇̱̣̟̱̲̬̹̣͓̱͚̋̾̓̋̾̈͐̑̓͒̂͂̆́̌͊́͂̍̔̇͊̓̄̾̕͜͝͝͝͠ḑ̷̡̢̧̧̧͚̤̺̫̩̪̼͚͈͔̼̜͉̦̰̼̱͉̬̝̠͙͇̰͎̟̠̣̺̫͓̝̀̆̑̇̒̔͛͊̿̉̎͌̾͒̒͐̃͗̔̊̏̒̂̎̈́̒͛̋͌́̔̀̔̌͠͝͝͠͠,̸̷̢͓̩̳̭̬͉̻̰͇̦̞̱̻͔̱̱̰̰̰̦̻̹̻̳̦̹̥̾͌̿̇͐͛̑͂̓͊̎͗͘.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̷̵̸̷̡̢̨̡̡̢̢̧̨̧̧̨̡̨̧̨̛̛̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉̪͎̟̫̻̜̰͖͎̜͚̬̟͚̯̺͕̭͔̠̣̤̥͖̦͖͈̳̙̠̞̟̠͉̦̱͎̱̭͖̪̝̞̦̘͉͕͎̦̥̹̤̘͓̝̦͓̙̘̺̥̩̪͙͓͓̠̥͉͕͔̰͕͓̟̩̣͕̬̩͉͔̫̘̞͓̫̹̹̥̳̦͈̫́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔̐̉͋̉͊̿͒͒̌̔͂̏͊̎̌̏͛̽̑́̏̂̐̑͗̂͑͂̏͌̃̿̒̐̓̍̃̇̈́̊̓̾͂̆̍͐̾͋̃̐̆̓̎͆̈̃̿͐͛̐̅͌̂̾̒̈̽́̑̀̆̄͋͗̇̽̓̓̌̒̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͘͘̕͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͠͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ .̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ .̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̡̢̨̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ .̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅ .̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̴̴̡̢̨̡̡̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚̕̕̕̚̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͠͠͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̴̷̡̢̨̡̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅI̶ ̶c̶a̸n̷’̵t̵ ̴b̶r̵e̴a̴t̷h̵e̷.̴.̴.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̡̢̨̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͘͘̕͘͜͝͝͝ͅI̸t̶’̴s̶ ̷h̵e̸r̶e̵.̶.̸.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̡̢̨̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̡̢̨̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̡̢̨̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̡̢̨̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̡̢̨̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̡̢̨̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅ.̶̨̨̮̦̙̳̘̮͈͕͓̜͍̫̳̮̦͎̟͕̤̠̘̲̲̼̞̘͓͚̘͚͎͇̤̈́̈̓̔̽̍̒͒̆̏͘͘͜͜͝.̶̧̛̛̬̣͉̪̣͉͖͕̪̠̫̦̰͙̝̘̥̱̌̆̑̎̄̃̒̓̍̂̆͛̐̔̀͘ͅ.̵̴̡̢̨̡̟̙̭̙̼̙͎̫̰͖͙̱̫͔̼̺̭̪͙̹̜̟̤̬̣̩͕̺̲͚̲͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉́͒̉̌́̈͌͒̾̊̓͂̋̍͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔͘͘̕͘̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅI'm still ̴̧̡̢̰̠͓̮̦̝͓̼̜̘̯̣͚̲̞͍̹̬̲̠͓͈̳͈͚̙̙̪̝͙̠̳̫̬̤̲̰̙͍̻͔̪̅͊̍̑͌̓̅̕͝ͅḣ̷̨̲͔̦͈̳̝͎̘̼͇̇̄̀͗͋̈͗̑̏̕͜ȩ̸̨̨̡̛̛̟̮̞͓͍̮͓̬̹̲̻͎̜͎̼͓̼͍͓̮͉̩̻̣̬̩͎̜͖̠̝̰͔̝̹̙͉͉̰̦͐̓͑̉͛̋̎̅̿̈́͊̔̍̏͛̉̃̽̋̀̈́͋̓̇̀͑͌̇̈́̿̋̽̐͋̄̌̂̈́͗̚͠͝͝͝͝r̸̢̧͖̦͍̫͎̬̠͚̪͔͍̯̘̫̝͇̓̍̍̈̃̏̒̀̍̑͌̏̾̿̈̌̀̽̾̔̽͝ͅę̴̵̴̨̧̢̡̛̙̥͔̝͚̤͖͙̠͍̰̼̘͚̙̱̱̻̣̩͍͖͖̘̳͙͚͕̬͙̘͍̲̲͔̯̹̬͉͑̾̇̔̅̋͊̏̉̍͛͌͊̐̋͂̌̾̂̉̈̿̽̓͛̆̓̒̈́̐̒͌̔̈̑̾̓͐͐̐̈́͆́͌͐̔͑͌̈́̆̾̽͗̑̈́̓̈́̓̓̐͗͛͑͆̍͗͐̊͑̍̀͗̾̀̂̔̕͘̚̚͘̕̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅI̴t̷’̸s̴ ̸h̶e̶r̸e̸.̷.̴I̷̦̾̃͑͑͂I'm still here..̷̷̛̹͚̝̙̍͋̒̿̋̔͘̚̚͝I̴̘̫̟̚t̵̟͆̋͌’̸̼̟̞̭̦̯̙͐͂́̀̔͆̄̆̏̆̇͜͠͝͠s̴͖̠̮͚̲͈̟̪̘̘̤̥̥͚̽̇ ̷̛͓̋͒́͆̉̅͋̾͗̔͝͝h̵̛̤̹̰̣̟̓̆̐̿͑̈̓͂͐̓̊͜͠͠͝ë̶̠͕̻͎̳̰̜̭̞͕̭̘̺̤́̓̾̑͑̑̎͋ͅr̴̢̻̰͈̹͍͎̥̜͕͋͑̍̈́̔͑͛͘͘͜͜͝e̷̮͕͍̽̉̅.̷͕̲̪͌̇͒̄͆͋̎̐̒̐́̔͘ͅ.̸̶̤̝̲̤̱͙͖͖̟̯̱͉͚̠̦̞͊͋̒̈́̃͂̂͂̈́̂͛̽̈́̈̕̚͜͝͝͝I̴̡͖̭̙͔̬͑͌ͅţ̸̳̘̯̲͚̞̝͖͉̜̥͇̱̲̋̈́’̸̛͓͖̺͖̫̟̪͔͔̔̎͑̋̅̂͗͗̓̿͆͛͋͜ş̸̧͎̯̥̪̫̻͓̦̞͋̎̓̆͒̎̾͆̇ ̸̯̘̓h̷̨̛̟̙̬̝̥͓̲̟̜̳̜̆̈͗̄̽̅̂̒̇̔͘̕e̵̢̧̛͖̳̭̩̱̥̲͒͌͋͗̿͘͝ṛ̴͙̲̮̮̞̞̈́̅̏͜͝ȩ̴̘̅͋̐̎͋̄̉̆͛̈́̊̔̍͠͠ ̴̱̺̔̽̂̿̾͐̓̈́̃̎͋̓̀͂!̵̽͆̋̈́͌̃͜ ̵͎̍̑͠İ̸̱̤̫̙͕͔̒͋ T̶͚̩͍̞̰̣͚̝̪͉̬̙̙̺̘̪̜̿’̴̫̭̮̞̯̳͓̲͙͆̓̉̎͐͊͋̈͘̕͝ S̵͓̳͕̜̺̯͂̈͜͜ ̸̫̣͌̔́̂̓̋̒͗͌̅̅̈͝ H̴͉͔̭̞̼̝̹̺͍̘̀̊̂͗̂̎̓̿̓͘̚̚ E̷̠̠̝̓̓̉͑̄̈́̒̏̋͌͜ R̵̢̜͈͗͊̒̈̓̒̂̂́̏̓̚͝͝͠ͅ E̷͇͈̼̓͂̌̅̏̔͒̔͐̔͝͠…̸̳̠͆̅̌̿…̶̧̠̮̠͇̪͓̫̓͊͝…̷̮̰̬͕̈́̊͠…̵͍͖̞͔͍̹͎̝͐͜ͅ.̶̴̴̛͔̤̜̼̯̜͉̙̲̣̻̟͍̬̳͕͚̌̉͐̈́̍̉͌̐͗̉̑͆̓̈́͋̓̍͆̎͗̄͛̔͂͗̓̇̊̕͝͠͝͝ＩＴ'Ｓ ＨＥＲＥ
Chapter 20 Knot
The train ride home was quiet.Streaks of orange and blue passing through the window, the city smearing past her.Sanae watched it all disappear, shoulder resting against the glass."..."Her reflection floated, cut through by passing lights.For a while that was enough. A quiet resting place to gather her thoughts....“Next stop, Asahine Station...” — the rest of the announcement blurred beneath the noise of the rails. The train rumbled softly before it slowed — brakes hissing, the sound pulling her back. She blinked."Don't forget any belongings..."A sigh left her as she rose, picking up her bag as the door opened....The platform was empty—mostly.Sanae sat on a bench. Waiting. Neon lights buzzing overhead. Thoughts drifting back to the place she'd just left.She’d moved slowly, absorbed everything. Some pieces had held her gaze.Some she even liked — or thought she did.Did I really not draw anything?The thought slipped in uninvited, quiet and stubborn. Her brow knitted.She glanced up at the station screen. Squinting, trying to catch the numbers, as if meaning might appear if she stared long enough. Her foot started tapping before she noticed.Five minutes, huh?Something about it pushed more than it should have.A sigh escaped her, her body tilting forward.A thought.That large abstract piece again —She’d thought it moved her.Maybe it didn’t.The thought stayed there, thin and dry. An uncertainty that wouldn’t settle —her thoughts hanging like dust caught in daylight."Asahine - Direction, Otohama"The station voice crackled through the air.Finally..
Her forehead found the window again, gaze drifting, half-asleep."..."Her fingers traced absent shapes on the glass."...""...His stuff is real..."The words arrived without weight, without effort.They rippled softly.Lines that didn't explain.Feeling that came through.And that was enough."..."“Don’t wait too long.”The words recalled, pulling at her.Maybe because it came from Hana.It hadn’t been a push, but still felt like it...Her gaze lingered, staring at the city beyond the glass,Her reflection wavered there — faint, distant until her eyes closed.
That was so lame.The door clicked shut behind her.Seriously—Her bag hit the desk with a dull thud.How can people put that stuff up and smile like they’ve done something..Emi tossed her sketchbook onto the bed and exhaled — long and drained.Her body collapsed right after it.
Huhh..
A sigh slipped out. Nothing moved for a few breaths.
What now..
A light thought. The quiet pressing in, ever so slightly.Her gaze wandered. Past the walls, the ceiling, the paintings hung everywhere.Past the awards, the trophies. The entire room stared back.A torn-up canvas glanced at her. Beneath the desk, half-tucked out of sight."..."Breath caught. Something flickered. Somewhere in her chest.She moved, reaching for the sketchbook, flipping it open without getting up.Her breath rose through the quiet. Light and steady.Nothing.No sketches whatsoever.Of course not. She hadn’t really expected otherwise.She’d walked every room, seen every painting — yet nothing. No inspiration, no pulse.Just ghosts. Polished and curated.Each silence would weigh a little more, its own kind of exasperation she thought — or despair, maybe. At this point, it was easier not to care at all.
Guess I wasn’t in the mood.
The thought didn't taste quite right, even as she tried to believe it.Restlessness pulled her upright. She got up.She crossed to the chair, setting the sketchbook under the lamp.A pause — she stared at it a moment too long before her gaze drifted.She sank further into the chair, eyes lifting to the muted ceiling....Silence.......Maybe I keep the other one after all…?Flawless. At least on paper. But the thought came wrapped in something heavier....The image carved itself in her mind — sudden heat climbing to her face.She hid it in her hands, rubbed her temples, trying to scrape it out.
“You’re so good, Emi.” “So talented.”
“Everything you make is so pretty.”
The words lingered — sharp, fleeting, like mint on the tongue.Vivid images followed them.
All those years.
All that praise.
What fucking garbage.
Chapter 21 Flow
"Huhhh..."
The warmth hit her back. Water sliding down, warm and slow.Water drops buzzed in quiet patterns against the floor, a soft hush settling through the room.Sanae ran her fingers through her hair. Lather, rinse, repeat—she didn’t really think about it until her hand paused.Her faint reflection peeked through the glass.Her body leaned in, slowly.
...
A flicker of brightness.Just a few centimeters right at her roots. Brighter than the rest.Her natural light peeking through the color she’d worn for months now.Shy and persistent.
I look like her...
She sighed, wiping a few droplets from her lashes.
I’ll redo it this weekend..
Probably...
Her hand reached for the conditioner.
The water stopped with a soft squeak.…Sanae stepped out, towel wrapped around her loosely.The mirror began to clear in patches just enough for her to look again..The roots caught the light.“...”She stared.“It’s not so bad I guess..”She exhaled, her gaze drifting to the uniform folded over the chair.She slipped into it easily enough, fingers moving on their own as she tied the bow.Her gaze drifted mid-knot — catching on the earring on the counter.It lingered there for a while, her hand stopping.The plain ball caught the light. She picked it up, turned it between her fingers, indecisive....Then, without overthinking, clipped it to her left ear.The reflection tilted back at her.
Yeah.
Feels right.
Classroom.Voices swirled together in a hum that didn’t need meaning—constant, soft.Like mushroom stew, she thought.Rika rested her chin against her hand, trying to listen as her teacher explained something about fractions.Her focus kept slipping—from the window—to the blackboard—and to the window again.The sky outside was cloudless and pale, stretching way beyond the school.Kinda like Ryu lately — Staying home all day.Not the sick kind either, not coughing or blowing his nose, just sleeping......A lot..But there wasn’t anything she could do about that now.Something nudged her elbow.
“Hey,”
Saki whispered beside her. Rika turned her head.
“Gimme my eraser back.”
Rika looked down at her desk, staring at her own eraser.Plain. Small. A little worn at the edges.Saki’s was shaped like a tiny orange cat, the kind that smelled faintly like rubbery fruit, probably tasted like one too...Rika's gaze lingered, a beat.Then she passed it back. Saki took it just before their teacher turned toward them again.Rika picked up her pencil, the teacher’s voice drifting back into focus.
Chapter 22 Flare
The lights buzzed.
Too bright.
Too clean.
“You had this happen at home?”Dr. Eita’s voice barely reached him — muffled and distant like it was coming through a wall.He nodded anyway.The doctor's pen scratched along paper, insect-thin, irritating.His feet pressed harder into the floor.
A beat.
The doctor’s expression softened into something unreadable.Ryuya's lips parted before the silence could settle.
“I think I’ve been patient,”
The doctor looked up, his pen pausing mid-stroke.
“You have been.”
Ryuya's fingers curled into his knee.
“Then why does it keep happening..”
His nails pressed against the fabric, sinking into his skin.The doctor's gaze lingered on his notes, his brow knitting for a flicker before settling back into professional calm."Do you know how long it lasted?" Dr. Eita asked, his voice steady.Ryuya's gaze drifted past the desk, pulled by the familiar painting across him.The doctor's eyes stayed on him, waiting."Too long." Ryuya exhaled sharply without looking back.Papers shifted. That useless sound again.He glanced back — Dr. Eita's eyes lifted as well, lingering for a moment before he leaned forward."I understand that it’s frustrating—"
A flare.
“Do you?”
Not a question. His eyes locked in.
"What do you think happens if it hits out there—on the street?"
The words came out dry, flat. They kept pushing at him.Ryuya closed his eyes, swallowing them down.A cold, metallic breath scraped through his lungs, dragging up his throat as he exhaled.
"I can’t keep doing this."
His eyes opened again, meeting the doctor's waiting gaze.No answer came. The room fell quiet.Distant sounds came through the door — footsteps, maybe.Dr. Eita’s pen hovered, then fell still.
"..."
The quiet held.
“If we were to change your treatment…”
The doctor spoke.
"—you may experience new side effects.”
Ryuya nodded. Slow, tired.
“Some of them may be uncomfortable.”
“I know.”
A long silence settled.
The room hummed faintly.
Lights buzzing overhead.
Ryuya stayed still.
Dr. Eita didn’t move either, his eyes glued to the file — his expression unreadable.
The quiet stretched.
Something in Ryuya’s chest tightened.
"Alright.”
Dr. Eita reached for a sheet of paper.Ryuya’s shoulders dropped, a breath leaving him.
“Thank you.”
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead.
"Come on!"
Mina walked ahead.
"Yeah.. Yeah.."
Emi exhaled, basket swinging from her wrist, her own gaze drifting aimlessly through the shelves.
“Okay!”
Mina turned to face her, holding up two bags of chips. Emi frowned.
"Dude.. Stop.."“But look, this one feels so emotionally balanced—”“Shut up.” Chiyo shot back from behind.“You’re both disasters,” Mina muttered, setting them back on the shelf.They drifted through the aisles. Emi walked a few steps behind, the others tossing things into her basket without asking.She didn’t stop them.Sweets.Mina grabbed a pack of melon bread with dramatic flair.“This one’s mine—""Touch it and see what happens.”“Sure, sure..” Emi snorted.The drinks aisle was next. Chiyo beelined for the sweet stuff while Mina poked at the shelves like a lost child.Emi scanned the bottles slowly.She reached for an iced coffee.
“Huh!”
“What?”Emi held her gaze.“So you drink coffee like an adult now?” Mina smirked.“Bro', shut the fuck up...”She picked a second one.She didn’t explain and no one asked.The basket’s weight dug into her fingers.Checkout — Mina stepped forward.“You guys are broke. Let me have this moment.”Chiyo gave her a look. Not teasing.Not warm either. A second too long.Emi smiled through it.The automatic doors slid open with a gentle hiss.Cold air spilled in.They stepped outside.“What now?” Chiyo said begrudgingly...."Now? We go to your place.” Mina replied.Chiyo said something — quick, low. Emi heard it from just a little too far away. She smiled anyway, feet keeping pace with the others.“Bro’ I need to get out of the house—”I’m having fun..Aren’t I?Plastic rustled as she lifted the bags.“Won’t your mom kill you for sleeping out?” Chiyo said."—Better than staying home with the parasite." Mina shot back, sharp.A dog barked somewhere, startling her.The sound faded.Everyone kept walking.
My stomach..
I feel sick..
A lump rose in her throat.
"—Emi..?"
Please…
Just let me have this...
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