A/N: I have nothing to say.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership to Love Live! School Idol Project nor am I an expert in the medical field.

Clarity

The world is a dark place, you have come to realize recently.

You can hear your parents sobbing from outside the door, but you remain calm. This was inevitable and you had accepted it long ago, but you are determined to prove that this cannot stop you.

"You promised it wouldn't happen this quickly!" your mother screams, but it becomes muffled and you can only assume that father has wrapped his arms around her.

Keep your breaths even, do not let yourself panic.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. She will stay with us for about a month or two so that she becomes used to things."

The crying continues, and you ignore the wet tears falling onto your face when you parents return to kiss you farewell. They whisper broken apologies and their whimpers are stitched with regret. The way your hand cramps is a sure enough sign of how your mother feels about all this.

You cannot bring yourself to cry, and you wonder if you have officially become crazy.

"You're surprisingly calm, sweetheart," a woman says tenderly, a voice different from before.

"Are you the new nurse?" you ask, feeling small prickles of panic as the first words of this venture manage to escape.

"Yes," the woman says, "considering how the circumstances have changed. How are you feeling?"

"I try not to think about it," you reply, and the soft hum of response seems satisfied with your answer.

The first few days are not that hard. You are only slightly disoriented with mobility, but the basic assessment of functionality for walking and climbing is something that you pass quickly. You have been practicing this for a while, knowing that there would be a point in which your senses would be put to the test. However, there is a significant difference between your room and the labyrinthian halls of a hospital, and the fear you are trying to fight off creeps in more frequently than you would ever admit.

You are better than this obstacle, after all.

It isn't until the first Friday of your stay that you are allowed to visit the recreational wing. With a little help, you manage to reach the piano at the corner of the room by the windows. The warmth of the sun kisses your skin as the nurse helps you sit, and she assures you that she will be waiting nearby if you need her. Settling yourself in the center of the seat, you open up the keyboard.

You release a breath you do not realize you have been holding in.

Your hands roam the keys gently, your digits paying close attention to and gracing the ivory beneath them. You feel your anxiety build up as you go to press the first key and -

"You play piano?"

It is an unfamiliar voice, young and almost obnoxiously vibrant, and you stop yourself from starting. It is a girl, undoubtedly.

You do not turn to the source, aware of the sudden weight beside you on the seat, "Yes."

"Can you play Chopin's Nocturne; I believe it's opus nine, number two?"

"Wow," you respond, pleasantly surprised, "I'm shocked that you know the piece."

"Why?" the girl asks, sounding suspicious of your surprise.

"Because it's nice to know young girls know classical pieces these days."

"I'm twenty one," she says, her tone instantaneously irritated, before mumbling, "jerk."

You immediately bow your head toward her, feeling the heat on your cheeks, "I'm so sorry, miss…?"

"Nico," the girl replies before sighing, "and it's okay. At least you didn't laugh and then make fun of my height. That's when I really get miffed. Plus, pigtails are great for my image."

"Ah," you clear your throat, "well, anyway, I'm Maki and, yes, I can play that piece. It's actually one of my favorites. Do you want to hear it?"

Nico gasps, and you can't help but give a small smile at how excited she sounds when she confirms her request.

Your adjust your hands to the familiarity of the keys, remembering briefly the earlier days when you would visit father at work and play here as he performed countless surgeries, and you sigh. The piece is, thankfully, not complicated and rather slow. Still, you cannot calm the drumming of your heart and the rattling of your bones. It has been over a week since you last played.

"Are you alright?" Nico asks, expressing concern.

"I'm fine," you cough out, before pressing the first key. And then it all comes rushing back, the feeling you have cherished since you first laid eyes on a grand piano, the nostalgia of the first time you were able to play in your own home, the thrill of the roaring applause after winning a competition.

The song is coming together, and it makes you happy to recall the sounds of Chopin from your fingertips. You can hear Nico mumbling about the beautiful sound, and it makes you grin as you play to your audience. You knew you could overcome this, after all. You're always right.

You abruptly hit an incorrect note, and the mistake simultaneously echoes in your mind.

Biting back the urge to restart, you ignore it and continue. You hear nothing from Nico, and you can only assume with hope that she did not notice or that she lacks a tuned ear for music. You have played like this before, so what changed?

Suddenly there's another fault, a messed up chord.

Your breathing picks up as you bite your lip hard, your frustration growing at an incredibly fast rate as your fingers continue to hit the wrong keys at a faster pace, the piece becoming a chopped up and reanimated version of its former self.

Your fingers begin to frantically dance across the keyboard, your hands desperately slamming down on keys and creating an unpleasant chaos of mad sounds and harsh volumes. You feel hot tears pouring out of you as your fingers scratch at the accidentals angrily.

"M-Maki?" Nico asks, and you can feel her get up from beside you.

It isn't until you suddenly stand, consequently knocking over the padded piano stool, that you open your mouth. There is a numbness that clouds your mind as your screams fill the void and join with the chorus of your melody, and all the fear and anxiety that you have been fighting so hard to swallow down begins to regurgitate when the reality finally hits you. You feel as though you're losing control of your body, your mind drowning in the images of a slideshow that will forever remain the same.

"Why?!" you can hear yourself screeching, and you can't stop as your left hand comes up to claw at your face. You feel small arms wrap around you, but they're too weak to keep you still. You move and you push, but the arms remain stubborn.

"Maki, calm down!" Nico begs, her worry potent in her cry as you thrash about, refusing to be pulled away from the piano as both of your hands grip onto the edge. You can barely feel the raw sting of scraped flesh along your face.

A fresh pair of arms wrap around your abdomen, pinning yours to the side while the arms from before - warm and protective - fade away. You feel your body leave the ground, and you begin to kick and writhe restlessly in this restrictive hold.

Your throat feels as though it is engulfed in flames, the volume of your shrieks puncturing holes in your lungs as your words are repetitively choked down by your sobs. People are yelling at you to calm down, and you can hear Nico calling out for answers as to what's wrong in the distance.

You release one final wail, a coarse and shrill sound that could drown out a banshee, and you can almost feel the tension and blood curdling around you as your scream pierces the veil you have been hiding behind.

"Why can't I just fucking see?!"

And there is an immediate silence, the true nature of your abrupt laughter revealed by the tears sliding down your cheeks, and the pitiful sounds eventually soften into broken whimpers. Your muscles relax as an ache spreads throughout your body, and you let yourself go limp even as you feel the tip of a needle break through your skin.

You're unsure how it can be possible in the dark abyss, but you black out.

X-X-X-X-X

Waking up is something you still aren't used to.

The first week could have gone better, but none of the doctors have reprimanded you for your actions. Despite your episode, you are told that it was totally normal.

Of course, this is absolutely, completely, utterly, and unquestionably all very – very – normal, after all.

You stay in your room for a few days, falling in and out of consciousness as you let your slumber drown you into an oblivion where you're never sure if what you hear around you is real or a dream. It isn't until the following Friday that you find any reason to get out of bed.

"Hey, Maki?"

The voice is softer; different from before but nonetheless familiar. It's the first time you've been addressed by something other than your surname in days. You feel strangely comforted.

"Hello, Nico," you reply, a bit shocked at the way you squeak. You've barely said a word in a week.

"Um," you can hear her pulling a chair up beside your bed from the left, "How are you?"

You let out a short laugh, "I've been better, I'll be honest."

"Well, I'm glad you have a sense of humor," you think you can hear a smile in her voice, but you're unsure, "but I'm happy that you seem to be doing better. I was really worried."

"Oh," you feel your cheeks heat up a bit and you're kind of glad that you can't see this girl's expression, "well you don't have to worry about me."

"I know I don't have to."

The way that Nico says it sends a shiver down your spine, and you are suddenly very self-conscious of her presence. It is unnerving to not know exactly how far she is, and the genuine sincerity in her tone makes you curious. You shake your head slightly, ignoring the strange thoughts in your mind.

You clear your throat, "If you don't mind me asking, did you visit me for any reason?"

"Trying to get rid of me already? How can you not love the mighty Nico Nico Nii?!"

"The what?"

You hear the chair move, assuming Nico has risen to her feet, "I'm a super idol, you know."

"Are you now?" you smirk, deciding to humor the overzealous girl.

"Yeah, I'm talented and beautiful. I'm the full package," Nico claims, a heated determination in her voice that, for a brief moment, hypnotizes you into believing that you're in the presence of someone famous. You don't reply right away, a curiosity as to the appearance of this girl suddenly enveloping you.

Perhaps you can bait her.

"I don't know what you look like, though," you say, almost smugly, to imply that you doubt her.

"Oh, you don't need to see me to know I'm beautiful. You can feel it in my energy!"

"Oh, yeah, I'm definitely feeling it," you say sarcastically.

"Okay, fine. Um, I kind of have long, black hair but I always wear it in these high pigtails!"

Hook, line, and sinker.

"Seems childish," you smirk again, hoping she sees so that she knows you are messing with her.

"Shut up! Anyway, I'm kind of short but, like, I'm really, honestly super energetic a majority of the time, so just pretend that my height compliments my personality and isn't totally a reason to make fun of me, okay? My skin and complexion are pretty fantastic, and I try not to tan too often. I've also got these super cool ruby-esque eyes, like a rare gem, because I'm priceless, and – "

"And you have a huge ego?"

Nico clears her throat, exaggerating the sound to let you know that you're being rude, "And I try to be very confident, because it's the only real way to get by. Allow no weakness, Maki."

"Okay, so, to sum up," you smile, "you're a very excited midget."

"Hey, you can't even see how short I am! I'm not that much smaller than you, jeez!"

Your smile fades at the reminder of your inability to see, but you know it isn't Nico's fault. You understand that you need to get used to it and that you will be reminded of your blindness countless amounts of times.

"I'm sorry," Nico says quietly, and you can hear the scrape of the chair again as her voice sounds nearer, "I didn't mean to say that."

"It's fine. It's not going to change any time soon."

There is a brief silence, but knowing that Nico is, once again, sitting beside you is calming. You take this moment to paint a picture in your head of what this girl looks like, trying to match a voice to a face. It has been said that it is impossible to be able to sculpt a face in your head, but you try to match the features she mentioned with similarities to people you've seen in the past. Paste the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen onto the face of a pale stranger you once saw in public, pretend they're the color of sparkling ruby, and continue with the custom collage so that you may create your own Nico.

"Maki, why don't you open your eyes?"

You freeze, ripped away from your personal project as you register Nico's question. You hadn't noticed that you had kept them closed.

You frown, "I am mortified after what happened last week. I'm afraid th-that if I open my eyes and still see nothing, the reality of my situation will hit me again and I will, once again, have a meltdown."

"It's a shame," Nico says, almost in a whisper, and you can almost feel her looking at you.

What would it be like to see a precious gem?

"It's a shame to be cautious?" you scoff, feeling slightly misunderstood.

"No, no," Nico reacts quickly, defending her statement.

"Then why is it a shame?" you ask, offering a small hint of a smile so that the girl doesn't feel guilty.

"Because you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

You have never felt your face burn so wildly before, and you resist the urge to wrinkle your face. You are aware that you are a bashful person, but usually you just try to escape the situation. Unless you plan to run out of your bed and into a wall, there isn't much you can do without help.

"You're blushing," Nico comments, and you cannot tell if her voice is hiding a smile or a smug grin.

"Shut up."

"And you're so breathtakingly beautiful…"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pulling up the cover to hide your face to avoid the mischievous teasing that this brat wants to torture you with.

You feel soft, warm hands wrap around yours, forcing you to pull back the blanket. You can feel your heart racing, simultaneously frightened and frustrated at your inability to approximate how close Nico is aside from her hands, but your mind can't help but fantasize a nearing face and puckered –

"What do you want?!" you whine, breaking yourself away from the anxious images in your head.

"I don't want you to hide, for starters. You're going to give yourself a headache if you force your eyes closed. You need to be able to control yourself," and her words are said in a way that soothes your nerves, a gentle encouragement unlike anything the nurses or doctors can provide. She is not trying to cushion you. Her thumb runs along the back of your hand, "Show me amethyst."

And there is something that tugs at your heart, and you wonder why being alone felt fine until now.

You open your eyes to blank space, and you can feel the tears escaping the walls you've lifted.

But a soft cheek meets yours as a familiar set of arms wrap around you protectively.

You cannot help but hold on tight to the girl without a face.

X-X-X-X-X

The days go by slowly, but thankfully it isn't so bad now that you have a friend.

Nico is older than you by two years but she acts like a child driven by a dream.

Maybe that's not so bad.

You never understood idols to begin with, but Nico makes it sound like the most profound career in the world, which is an impressive feat considering you are both surrounded by medical geniuses around the clock. She tells you that it has been a dream of hers to make millions smile, and a part of you smiles at the mere thought, especially when she repetitively repeats her frequent 'nico nico nii' catchphrase. You can hear the passion in her voice, listening to the way her voice shakes with excitement when she describes her fantasies of being on stage and giving her love to the world. It is amusing to think that she, who you have discovered to be quite grumpy and blunt on occasion when she isn't being a mischievous tease, could be so determined to spread happiness throughout the world.

It may never leave your lips, but you know that she has made at least one person happier.

It has been difficult for you to get out of bed, but Nico has assigned herself as your unofficial aide. Her actions never fail to make you blush, but after a few days you stop brushing aside her help and start accepting her care. You have gotten used to eating pretty quickly, but every so often you manage to miss your aim and Nico is there to wipe up your mess. You're often surprised by how lenient the nurses are with her, especially when they allow her to even help you use the restroom. You only give permission for her to lead you to a stall, but otherwise you refuse to have her inside to help. The very thought embarrasses you, but admittedly you are a little paranoid once in a while that you may need the extra eyes.

Nico is patient but also not; she is willing to trail behind you slowly when you attempt to traverse the halls of the hospital with a walking stick – a feat that is still quite difficult but that is slowly gaining progress – but she can't stand waiting for you to answer one of her hundreds of personal questions. When she asks about your home life, you tell her that it is comfortable. When she asks about what your parents do, you tell her that they run this very hospital (which she is very impressed with) and attend formal dinners. When she asks what your favorite food is, you tell her tomatoes and she grunts in disgust. She doesn't say much about herself, however, if it isn't about her goals for being an idol.

It is a noisy day in the recreational room when you hear Nico shifting in her seat from beside you.

"Have you always been blind?" Nico asks, and you find it hard to believe that the nurses have not said anything to her about your condition. You have not actually said the words since your first day here, but it has been something you have been dealing with for quite some time. There is no point in pretending it isn't there right in front of you – even if you can't literally see.

"It's a type of Glaucoma, something called 'open-angle,' if I remember right. My vision," you begin to explain, "slowly began to go away and, by the time it was significantly noticeable and I was brought in to see a doctor, it was too late to fully prevent it. They were trying to, like, stall it as much as possible, but… it happened faster than expected."

"So this only just happened?"

"Completely, yeah. It involves pressure in the eye or something... I tried to avoid hearing about it whenever it was discussed with me because I had already accepted the inevitable and did not want to hear the explicit details. What mattered was that it was happening, not how," you sigh, shrugging your shoulders.

"You're luckier than a lot of blind people, I think," Nico says, and you can tell that she is facing you now.

You feel your brow twitch, "Lucky? Howso?"

"Not that you're lucky, but," Nico pauses, "you already know the colors and you have memories that are visual. It's impossible for a blind person who has been that way since birth to know what red looks like, you know? If someone asked you to think of an elephant, you could probably think of it right away since I'm sure you've seen a picture of one before. You're," her voice becomes soft and gentle, "one of the luckier ones, Maki, believe me."

You don't know how to reply, so you remain quiet. You hear children playing and the elderly conversing, and you can't help but imagine what the scene must be like. You realize that Nico has a point, and you hold out your hand.

"You always want to hold my hand," you can hear a smile in her tone, "but is there a particular reason?"

There is a horrible thought at the back of your head that reappears whenever Nico makes you feel vulnerable yet comforted, and you know that you can't tell her. She would undoubtedly feel guilty and confirm against your suspicions until your ears go numb, but it wouldn't help bury the unsettling fear that she may not be real. Ever since she hugged you at your bedside, you have made it a habit to hold her hand whenever you feel scared to lose her, even if the action causes a pounding in your ribcage and your cheeks to flush.

She reciprocates and grabs your hand despite the question and, although it isn't as warm as it is on most days, the soft skin is already familiar to you and welcoming to the touch. You choose not to answer and, for the first time, ask her a question.

"Why are you here, Nico?" you ask, almost in a whisper due to the worrisome idea that she may feel invaded and walk away.

The reply is quick, "Therapy."

"Are you depressed or something?" you asked, frowning in concern.

"They say that, but how much is a diagnosis worth anyway?" she chuckles nervously, and it worries you further. As hesitant as you are, you manage to gently squeeze her hand.

"You can tell me if anything is bothering you. Please don't make this all about me," you assure her, knowing that she has been working harder on making you smile than the other way around. You appreciate it, but you admittedly care for her and would rather have her smiling – even if you can't enjoy the sight. You offer a smile of your own, "I want you to be happy."

"You make me happy."

You can't tell what's tighter – her hand or your chest.

X-X-X-X-X

"Why do you insist that I do this?" you groan, exasperated and slightly annoyed.

"Because you never finished it the first time! Nico Yazawa always gets what she wants!"

"I'm about to break that streak," you sigh, turning around and tapping the ground with your walking stick opposite of your forward foot, "and I don't see why you need this all of a sudden."

A cold hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back even as you flinch at the touch, "C'mon, Maki! I believe in you."

You bite your lip, "Wh-What if I freak out again?"

"You won't, I'll be with you," she reassures, as if she hadn't been there three weeks ago.

"You were with me last time, too," you counter.

She laughs, "Yeah, but that's before we actually spoke."

You groan again, "Fine."

You fold the stick and gently place it on the ground beside the bench. Holding in a breath, you wait while Nico links your arm and helps you to sit on the piano stool. You can hear her open up the keyboard while she sits beside you.

"I'm centered, right?" you ask, and you hear her confirm with a hum.

"Just try again. If you mess up, just take a moment to breathe and continue," she says softly, putting a palm on your shoulder, resulting in a shiver down your back.

"But why this piece?" you ask, stretching your fingers as you position them on the keys.

"It's weird, but whenever I hear it I think of walking in a cute snowy town during the holidays and looking into warmly lit store windows, and I even think of holding hands with the person I love and I'm pretty sure it's just a song that plays along to a dream I once had of a life I kind of want," Nico says, her words quick and almost incomprehensible from excitement, and you smile softly at the fantasy even though your ears feel warm at the idea.

It's enough to convince you.

Without another word, you release a breath and begin playing the familiar song. Your smile widens when you hear Nico sigh contently, but it quickly snaps into a frown and furrowed brow when you hear yourself make a mistake.

"Breathe," Nico whispers, placing a hand on yours. It's comforting but cold.

"Are you cold, Nico? Are you wearing a sweater?" you ask, turning your hand over to hold her, but she pulls it away.

"Stop stalling and trying to put the focus on me, I'm fine," she whines.

You sigh, "Even if I don't freak out, I still haven't practiced in a long time."

"You're traumatized too easily," she comments, "and I think you need to get over this. You told me that you were a magnificent pianist, and I plan to hear it!"

"I-Idiot," you grumble, bringing your hands back to the starting point. You begin again, focusing on the way your fingers waltz along the keys to the music. Everything begins to melt around you, your body relaxing as your hands dance, and you feel as though you're slipping away into a different reality.

Nico's fantasy begins to play out in your head, a small village in mind as you make your way down snowcapped cobblestone toward a small bridge over a river. There are couples and young children lingering in the buildings of little shops, and the sight makes you grin as your grasp tightens on what you did not notice you had been holding.

You see her in your peripheral, snowflakes decorating her pigtailed hair like white freckles upon a raven. Her face is a blurred smudge aside from her smile, the kind that pulls you toward her and leaves you staring while you struggle for any word that can do justice to the joyous dimples in her grin. You have never seen someone so happy before, let alone around you, and you can't help but look down at your joined hands with a blush.

Snow continues to fall, the moon in the sky a spotlight on this moment as she turns you toward her radiance. Her eyes begin to take shape, morphing into a pair of gemstones that feels as rare as her smile, and you remain transfixed as rubies stare deep into your pools of amethyst.

You're terrified.

There is a silence in this scene, accompanied only by the sound of Chopin, and a tension that you can't place. Her free hand goes to intertwine with the fingers of your opposite hand now that you are facing toward her on this frosted bridge. You can feel your heart racing rapidly as the music fades, your breathing becoming heavier as she gently pins you against the rail and rises on her toes, her face inching closer until –

"That was beautiful, Maki," Nico croaks, and you're suddenly ripped away from your fantasy with a jerk. You feel her hand on your back to keep you from falling before she shakily asks, "Are you okay?"

You blink a few times reflexively, momentarily stunned as you find yourself in the void once again. Releasing a breath, you bring your attention back to Nico's voice, which sounds out of place.

"Are you… crying?" you ask, unsure of the accuracy of your guess. You're worried, regardless.

"Y-Yeah," she chuckles weakly before sniffling, "I'm just, um, really moved. You didn't even slip once. I'm really proud of you. That brought me back…"

You blush, sort of in disbelief considering the depth of your imagination moments ago during your performance. Her chilled hand is on yours again, and you gently move it until it's captured in between the warmth of both of your palms.

"Thank you," you smile, realizing you had managed to get through the piece, "Perhaps you're a good inspiration, after all, Super Idol Nico Yazawa."

You hear her choke down a sob before you wrap your arms around her and pull her into your embrace.

You can't help but cry along with her.

X-X-X-X-X

It isn't until the first week of the second month that it happens.

You are stressing out internally, remaining in your bed throughout a majority of the day and hiding your worried forehead beneath the rim of one of your beanies – it's your favorite from when you were in high school. You have the television turned onto a channel with a standup comedian. The man is funny and makes fantastic political points, but he isn't enough to quell the loneliness you feel when not a single person has come into your room all day.

You realize you hate the way you have lost your ability to be self-reliant. You were never like this in school; you were independent, quiet, and required nothing to get by other than good grades and your piano. You did not realize that your eyesight was a part of that list until this past month.

But you are sure that you can become accustomed to this somehow, even if it takes years. As long as there are people like Nico around, any mountain is easy to climb.

Multiple stand-up shows go on before nightfall, and even a nurse stops by once or twice to deliver food to you and check your adaptability and ability to walk with your stick. Each time, you ask for the time; three, five, and then eight in the evening.

Some time passes before the door finally opens and familiar footsteps stride into the room.

"Hey," Nico greets, coughing a bit before sitting next to you on the bed, "I'm sorry I came so late today, I had an appointment."

"Therapy can run this late?" you ask, surprised. Nico has had appointments here or there in the time that you've been together, and she usually seems a bit off in the few days surrounding her meetings. She usually perks up, but you can't lie and tell yourself that it doesn't worry you a bit.

"Yep," she mumbles, without anything else. The quiet that follows isn't unusual for when this happens, but you hold out your hand just in case. It doesn't come as quickly as usual, but a chilled and clammy hand finds itself wrapped in yours. You feel nervous, unsure if Nico is nervous or not feeling well. These hands of hers were once warm and soft, never icy or moist.

"Nico, are you okay?" you ask, wondering if the gulp you swallow down is audible.

And then you hear her sobbing, and you are suddenly sitting straight up in your bed to face the sound. Your free hand runs up Nico's arm until you find and cup her face in order to confirm your suspicions. Her cheeks are cold and wet from fresh tears, and you can feel fabric in the way of your wrist. You wonder if she is wearing a hoodie, but you realize that you can't feel the familiar strands of hair and suddenly wonder if she also has her hair tied back.

"Maki, I –"

You remain silent, waiting for her to continue.

"F-Fuck, I… I can't fucking s-stand it," she is struggling, and you can hear her trying to force herself to remain clear and articulate.

"Did your therapist say something to upset you?" you ask in a whisper, reaching for the remote of the television and fumbling with it until you manage to turn it off – or mute it, you're not sure.

Nico laughs, a bitter and sarcastic sound, "What didn't he fucking say to upset me?"

Your fingers lace together with hers as your grasp tightens. She is scaring you.

And there is more crying. It pulls at your heartstrings in a way that stings your throat, its sound so weak and torn that you cannot stand to hear it from the one person who can make you happy so easily. You continue to squeeze her hand with every change in pitch in her cries, and it isn't until her voice cracks and she hiccups that you can no longer bear it. The hand upon her cheek rubs a thumb against her temple before pulling her in.

Her lips are not what you expect, but you do your best to melt the warmth of your lips into hers, astonishingly cold and chapped. You have never kissed anyone before, let alone a girl in the middle of a breakdown, but you know there's a tilt involved and you opt to avoid the tongue you also used to see in films. The taste of salt passes through your lips and trickles onto your tongue when Nico pulls away roughly.

You're horrified to hear a choked whimper and a stuttering squeal of dismay, and you feel as though you did something wrong. Her following statement does not help you feel any different.

"N-No, Maki, pl-please don't do this to me n-now."

You are aware that you are frowning, but you can feel your expression contorting further in a way that reflects the intensely upset emotions coursing through you.

"Okay," you say curtly, removing your hands from her altogether and closing your eyes. It doesn't change anything, but you feel more shielded from her presence when hidden behind these blinking walls.

Her hands suddenly reach for yours and, although you try to pull away, she embraces them with a tender and affectionate touch that you have yet to experience. It is strange and unnerving, and you can't help the solemn wave of anticipation as you ask once more, "What is it, Nico?"

Her hands squeeze yours as she swallows down one last sob and exhales a shaky breath.

"Chemotherapy."

The puzzle pieces fit instantaneously before she can even finish the word, and everything falls silent. You are aware of her constant sniffling and frequent bouts of higher pitched cries, but the sounds seem muffled as you feel yourself losing touch with your surroundings. An overwhelming fear slams into you, the power of ignorance making itself clear as you realize how obvious this would have been had you been able to see Nico just once. All it would have taken was a single glance, but fairness is never given so easily in a hospital.

"How long?" you ask, scared by the unfamiliar and clear articulation coming out of your mouth.

"A year," she says, her voice hoarse as she struggles to clear her throat despite the continuous tears you can assume she's fighting off.

The words echo from you, your mind stuck in an incredulous stasis, "A year…"

"I lost my h-hair a long time ago. Today is the f-first day in a few months that I haven't worn my wig. I've been taking pills and lately doctors have been putting me through some radiation treatment, but t-today," she tries to explain before breaking down again, and you can feel her hands move away as her sudden sobbing becomes muffled. You briefly wonder what the point is in her hiding her face when you can't see her.

"How long?" your voice cracks as you ask again with a different intention, but you manage to swallow down the growing lump in your throat. You cannot say that the direction of this is unpredictable, but it hurts nonetheless. Hopefully she doesn't mistake your question for insensitivity.

The abrupt and intense fit of sobbing that follows is all you need to hear.

For the first time during your time here, you are thankful that you cannot set your eyes on Nico Yazawa.

You wrap her arms around her and pull her close, lifting up the blanket and tucking the both of you underneath as you lie down. She does not seem to resist until you attempt to take off her hood, but you give a firm tug and she lets go reluctantly. You press your lips against her scalp, unfamiliarly bald, and you are frightened by the low temperature that greets you. You remove your beanie and gently place it on her head, despite your struggle to find the right placing.

Nico says nothing, the only sounds from her rising in the form of hiccups and weeps. You embrace her, your arms and legs wrapped snugly around her body as you kiss her cheek and rest your head on her shoulder.

"I love you, Nico Yazawa," you whisper softly.

She snivels, muttering a weak, "You c-can't…"

You pause before speaking again, "Who doesn't love their favorite super idol?"

Her head turns, forcing your face to back away a bit before she captures your lips with her own. Her mouth is gentle despite its cold exterior, and you can't help but push further into her. Your fingers apply pressure into her sides, your hips pressing tightly against her as the kiss deepens. The tears are prevalent still, but you are no longer sure if Nico is the only one crying now.

The kiss is longer than the first, quiet moans mixed amongst the snuffling, but you both inevitably pull away to breathe.

"I-I love you so fucking much," Nico says, breathlessly, "and I'll never regret anything more th-than not telling you sooner."

You aren't sure if she is referring to the confession or her illness, but neither matter anymore. You turn her completely on her side so that she can bury her face in the crook of your neck. There is little else you can do now but comfort her, and you swallow that fact down as easily as swallowing a block of lead.

"Let's make sure the shining super idol in front of me has nothing but happy days from now on."

Nico whimpers, and you can feel her nodding against your skin.

You want nothing more than this to simply be a nightmare.

X-X-X-X-X

It is unfortunate.

The day comes before your stay at the hospital is over, so, when you finally leave, everything feels surreal as though you are leaving an alternate and distorted universe.

The last three weeks that followed the reveal were filled with nothing but bliss, complication, and pain.

Then again, love tends to be that way.

There were good days – days full of kisses, warmth, first times, and sweet nothings exchanged amongst each other. Intimacy was never an issue until the final week, when Nico was forced to stay in her own hospital room and the positions had switched around. Her leukemia had made her physically too weak to hang around and do much else aside from eat, but you made sure that you were always by her side.

The rough days were nightmarish, and sometimes you can still feel the way Nico would shake.

You are grateful to those nurses who had supported your relationship, even if they only assumed it was a friendship. Then again, Nico Yazawa had been the best friend you have ever had the honor to gain. Your parents visited you less than she had done so in those short two months, and you know that coping with your blindness was only possible with her at your side. She helped you walk distances that you thought would be impossible without sight; she became the eyes you needed.

On one of the final days before Nico became bedridden, the two of you had revisited the piano so that you could play the same piece for her again. You had offered to play something different – anything else at all – but she refused.

"This song reminds me of our meeting, and at least that is a dream that came true in comparison to dumb snowfall in some chilly town," was what she had said to justify listening to it for a third and final time.

The memory is enough to make you cry, but you smile anyway.

It never does you well to remember that final week, but there are gruesome things that you know you will never be able to forget. Never in your life had a hospital seemed so terrifying, and you cannot fathom how you had ever wanted to work in one before. Sometimes you can still hear the screams and feel the blood on your lips as though they had never gone away along with her.

But that is not how you choose to remember the girl with the ruby eyes.

Super Idol Nico Yazawa was an angel who enjoyed her final days here on earth, despite the pain she may have felt in her last moments, and you will never remember her as anything less.

She had been the one to bring light into the sudden darkness of your world.