It was odd sometimes, living with the knowledge that she had. For most people, if you were good at something- that was it. You can't truthfully boast that you're the best in your craft, even if you're pretty sure- because how would you know? There are millions of humans, and every day around 151,600 people die, and 15,000 are born. How can you keep track of who's the best when the 'best' changes from minute to minute, from person to person based on context and background and different ideas of what it even means to be the 'best'.
But Homura actually knew she was the best. Not at everything mind you- though she supposed maybe one day far in the future (and very close by) she would be. But she knew for a fact that no one in the world could solve her math classes problem as quickly as she did. Every loop her math teacher would ask for her to come up and solve the advanced question on the board- mistakenly thinking that she had been a part of his class for awhile. She doesn't remember what it felt like, but she does recall her nervousness when she was first asked- her hands shaking as she took the marker from the man, eyes swimming at the jumble of an equation that she had been sure she would never be able to solve. Now it's like breathing or writing her name. Fitting she supposed, an equation would be a perfect name for something as robotic as her.
(Homura/human)(wishes))infinite time loop= (blank)empty)(inhuman))divide by the power of Madoka.
A person who parkoured for a living and was training for the Olympics couldn't scale her schools walls as swiftly as she could, an expert hunter who only killed white rabbits could locate and shoot kyubey with as much efficiency as she could, no one Madoka knew or loved would ever know about or understand her like Homura did- which was saying something, because that girl still managed to baffle her.
Back when she was still relatively new at this it had been creepy almost. Knowing what was going to happen and what people were going to say and do- it felt like an invasion of privacy. You can only read a book once- after that it's never the same. You flip around to the parts you like best, ignore characters you had once put up with but were no longer interesting, skip the sad but now tiresome monologues about backstory, your memory of how the characters end up ruining any enjoyment you could of once had. What was the point of fully engaging herself every single time, when every single time every single one of them would end up dead anyway. She had debated to herself on the subject before- what if this cycle was the one where she saved everyone- surely you wouldn't want that one to be the one where you acted standoff-ish and lonely?
But it never was. It never was the cycle in which things worked out and everyone lived- and Homura was starting to understand it never would be. Then why try at all?
Homura blinked at Madoka, the pink haired girls eyes filled with tears, her voice wavering.
"I promise I'll never forget you either!" Homura fought the urge to scowl, to scream, to yell at this stupid stupid girl she had spent a million lifetimes protecting- Stop it- just stop- I don't want you to remember me- I don't want to keep going- I can't save you- I can't save us- if you would just give up then I could too-
But Homura simply sighed and clenched her fist. She had been through so many things with this girl- and she had never given up, even as she lay dying, even as her friends dropped like flies. Madoka would never quit.
Homura felt a spark of long lost pride rise up within her- one that would rear its ugly head every now and again, usually prompted by Madoka's damn stubborn hope.
Fuck you- she thought bitterly at Madoka- fuck you and your naïve kind expression- the day I get you out of this is the day I'm going to rub it in your dumb stupid face, and I'm going to hold your dumb stupid hand and look into your dumb stupid eyes and tell you that I won-Homura loses to no one, not even herself.