(Trigger warning: suicide)
.
.
The content sigh behind her was so quiet, one could easily mistake it with the soft whistling between the crack of windows.
Kyoko stirred.
Something light as feather draped across her body. A finger traced circles on the back of her hand, leading her on a leash toward the realm of awareness.
She responded with a tired groan.
The tickling sensation continued, spreading upwards. To her wrist, forearm, elbow, then…
"For someone of a religious upbringing, your knowledge in this sort of things is certainly impressive."
Kyoko clung to the sweet darkness of sleep, willing it to return. It was much too late. She needed to get up on time tomorrow, or she risked losing the bonus. And god she needed that bonus.
"What?" The teasing laugh ghosted over her ears. "Tired after a little bit of exercise?"
Kyoko pushed back subconsciously, scowling a smile.
"Shut up."
By the time she realized her mistake, it had been too late. The sound of her own voice echoing in the empty room jolted her awake. Her weight fell through the body behind that never existed. And her own fingers brushed against bedsheet chilled by the night and her solitude, grasping for the phantom of a long abandoned dream.
She snarled an empty threat at the part of her mind that dared to suggest grief. It withered away under her wraith. But she was already awake, and angry at herself.
She got up and nearly pulled out some of her crimson locks in frustration. She knew there would be no more rest that night, so she did the only thing she could and got up to make herself some coffee. The cheap powder dissolved against boiling water, and she drank like someone dying of thirst, uncaring the burns sprouting from her lips to her tongue to wherever it went afterward.
Sometimes being a magical girl was indeed convenient. She didn't even feel the damage, only the boiling water at the pit of her stomach, fighting with the invisible flame.
Kyoko dreamt every night. Sometimes she woke up with a faint smile, which lingered until she remembered all there was to remember. More often than not, the dreams kept her awake with the taste of rotten apple.
It was her own fault she was in this situation, she knew that. She had seen it coming miles away. But she did the best she could and if that was not enough, what else could she have done? Even if she was given the chance to start over a thousand times, she had no doubt she would have chosen the same. And so, beggar can't be chooser.
She contemplated lying back down and staring at the ceiling until the alarm rang, but just the thought itself made her shiver again.
She kept to the left side of the bed nowadays, despite it being quite small to begin with. Just one of those habits, she supposed, that developed out of necessity, lingered even after the need for enforcement no longer existed, and just stuck with her like a tattoo. Like how she still closed her hands before a meal in thanks. Like how she still fought to protect the streets whenever she could. Like how she still looked for…
Like a lot of things, she supposed.
She made herself a second cup, and proceeded much slower this time. She was out of milk and sugar (and many things besides, to be honest), so she took the instant coffee black. It felt like she was drinking mud.
And it was fitting, because at nights like this the memory always came back, and they tasted worse than anything she had ever consumed (and she had, out of desperation, ingested many unsavory things). Because she would always remember Sayaka's brilliant smile and how it had been another lifetime.
If one was to ask whether Sayaka was ever happy when they were together, Kyoko could not answer with any degree of certainty. After so much time, she could no more tell the differences between pieces of scattered dreams and broken shards of memories than a blind man feeling for razors among shattered glasses.
Same difference, when you've lost someone to their own volition.
She closed her eyes and hid her face in her arms. If she stayed with her castle of shame, maybe she would not have to fall apart all over again.
She woke to low, irregular heartbeats. Knuckles against wood.
Someone was at her door.
It's probably her old drunk of a neighbor. God knows she should really file a complaint to the landlord. She buried herself deeper in her misery and tried to get back to sleep. It was definitely not time to get up yet.
But the knocking, insistent as her past, refused to cease. And before she fell to the dreamless sleep, the sound morphed with memories of her father knocking on others' doors, begging them to listen.
Kyoko got up, irritable, pushing the messy hair out of her face. She knew she looked like hell, but maybe that would be a good thing and teach her neighbor a lesson.
She marched up to the door, a fist forming in preparation to make acquaintance with her annoying neighbor while the other throwing open the door abruptly.
Then she caught herself.
No, not really. She didn't catch anything. Her heart leapt at the incredible sight in front of her, then took a spectacular dive worthy of all sport medals in the world. And she stood there dumb and confused and afraid and relieved all compressed into one giant ball of emotion that equated to rapidly beating damnation.
Her visitor cocked her head at first, and Kyoko was suddenly blinded by the ashen reflection of drifting snow past the doorway. Moonlight bruised her unexpected guest who stood stark against the lonely night.
I must be dreaming. She thought numbly, staring, feeling her heart breaking all over again.
Her salvation and nightmare stood leaning against her door frame, shivering as if she had never felt warmth.
And for reasons she couldn't comprehend, what she thought had died long time ago stirred back to life.
Sayaka tilted her head and smiled, but offered no greeting nor explanation of where she had been for the past three years. Kyoko wasn't sure whether the lack of movement was due to fatigue. All she could focus on was the pair of blue eyes captivating hers.
And Sayaka smiled an innocent, mirthless smile.
"I'm pregnant."
She's too thin. Kyoko decided. Weightless. A breeze could carry her away.
The thought scared her, so she ducked behind the kitchen counter and rummaged through her drawers. She could feel Sayaka's curious gaze on her back, and she had to suppress both the tears and the urge to stand up and scream.
What more do you want from me?
"Okay, so." She mumbled from somewhere out of sight.
Sayaka leaned on the counter to hear her. Kyoko heard it but didn't dare look up, afraid of what she'd see from the reflection. She weighed her options as her hand trailed through boxes and bags of her reservoir. She peeked out, ashamed.
"I have pasta."
Sayaka blinked. And started laughing.
"What?"
Sayaka was laughing so hard she had tears streaming freely down her cheeks. Kind of like raindrops clinging to Kyoko's dirty apartment windows which blurred the sky outside. (She never did anything about it, but she also never stopped looking out either.)
"Nothing." Sayaka said. She was breathless, wiping the corner of her eyes.
There was a snake coiling around her lungs. It squeezed down. Kyoko growled, or at least she thought she did.
"Don't make fun of me."
Her voice was so quiet, so tired, so defeated. Even the words themselves felt wrong as soon as they slipped out. She hated it. She hated what this reunion was doing to her and how she hated absolutely nothing about it at all.
They stared at each other, Kyoko wounded and challenging, and Sayaka surprised and amused. The scene was all too familiar. With a start, Kyoko realized what it was. They were actresses who had their scripts exchanged the night before the grand performance.
"I'm not." Sayaka hummed, smiling with her chin resting against her palms. She was oblivious of Kyoko's discomfort. Or perhaps just didn't care about it enough. Another smile crept up to her lips, and Kyoko loathed the mocking innocent of it. "I'm just really happy."
Kyoko swallowed the lump on her throat. She was the first to look away.
You had my heart.
"About what? Pasta?"
"No." Sayaka stood up and sauntered to her side. She was smiling that infuriatingly fake smile which once upon a time would have driven Kyoko mad with fury and passion.
Now she just stood there, mute and numb, observing their proximity from the next galaxy.
Sayaka leaned in, her lips barely grazing Kyoko's. Her breath burning, bitter cold, sent shivers down Kyoko's spine and lit fire in her stomach. She realized she was shaking only when their skin touched.
But then Sayaka's gaze softened and flickered like pale wintry stars. She drew back and stole yet another handful of fragmented souls from Kyoko she wasn't even aware she still had.
Sayaka stared at her as with one eyebrow raised, as if daring her to speak.
Kyoko gritted her teeth and balled her fists and smothered the boiling emotion from where she imagined her soul was. She turned and proceeded to shove a banged-up pot under the faucet with more force than required.
Sayaka didn't push for her reaction. She stalked back to the chair, light-footed.
By the time Kyoko moved the half full pot to the stove, she was almost calm enough to assess the situation more rationally. Homura had been a good influence on her like that.
And then, of course, Sayaka had to speak again.
"I'm sorry."
Kyoko pretended to not hear it over the still running faucet (which she totally didn't intentionally forget to turn off). And she reminded herself. Pain is optional.
They always fought for dominance. Who gets the last word in an argument. The last stick of pocky in the box. It was their way of passion, and it had started long before they had tangled themselves up in this mess.
If there was one element that defined Sakura Kyoko, it would have been fire. She was driven by the anger of the unfairness showered on her father. She was reborn (or left over, depending on how you view it) from the blood that took her family. She lived until her own heat created sparks with someone of her equal, until they could create a fire together.
Fire could warm. Fire could shine. But at the same time, fire could also burn and hurt and drive away. It was at Sayaka's unannounced departure that Kyoko realized, with laughters that would not die and tears that would not dry, that she had forgotten the very nature of flame.
And afterwards she bore the cross the way she was supposed to. When there's no one else there to share the fire, it consumes its owner.
As the days rolled by, she had become accustomed to the dying flame.
When you grow old enough, your emotion is no longer a rollercoaster ride. You learn to apply the brake, or better yet, hammer the railroad flat so that you never risk the fall.
She thought she had it all figured out.
And then again she watched it all went up in flame.
She didn't need to ask.
Sometimes she would catch a faraway look on Sayaka's face, as she fiddled with her Soul Gem absent-mindedly with one hand, and stroking her belly with the other.
Sayaka was lean and pale when she came to Kyoko's door, but Kyoko had set her mind to fix that. And she did. Months later, Sayaka had regained her natural color. In these time, she had begun to show.
Kyoko made it a ritual to stand by the door and watch Sayaka from a distance. She wasn't sure whether she had any place in her life anymore. She waited for either invitation or rejection, but was content with just being there to witness it all.
One day Sayaka asked, without looking back to Kyoko by the door. "Aren't you going to ask?"
"Ask what?"
The hand stroking the belly ceased, and Sayaka turned fully to Kyoko. She looked, for the first time since her sudden arrival, surprised. And Kyoko wasn't sure if it was her misconception, but Sayaka also looked lost. But only for the briefest of moment.
Something fleeting flashed across the youthful feature of her mermaid princess. But she voiced none of those.
Instead, when Sayaka did speak again, it was full of something Kyoko was afraid to make sense of.
"You are an idiot, you know that?"
It was the tenderness that made Kyoko realize what Sayaka was asking about. She shifted on her feet, while a hand scratched her cheek with embarrassment. God she felt like a sheepish high-schooler in love.
"Well." She shrugged. Maybe she was. It didn't matter. "What's for dinner?"
Sayaka laughed. And it wasn't one of those half-smile that seemed to have molded onto her face recently. It was joyful. It was real.
"Dummy." She quipped lightly.
It was pleasant. Kyoko didn't even realize she was smiling too. Kind of like taking a stroll in a spring evening, surrounded by the comforting fragrance of blooming flowers.
A piece of her mind told her this wouldn't last. That it wouldn't lead anywhere good. Just like last time.
She told it to shut up.
Sayaka was still chuckling as she got up from her seat by the dirty window. "Go take a shower." She chided with the first hint of motherly love. "It will be ready when you come out."
Kyoko shrugged again and retreated from the room.
It never occurred to her to ask. Now that she thought about it, she supposed it was quite odd. But at the same time, the only important question (as far as she was concerned, anyway) was what Sayaka wanted to do with the baby. And since the answer to that was quite obvious, she never thought to question anything else.
Besides, there were plenty other stuff to worry about. Sayaka only ever said it once when they were much younger, but Kyoko could tell she was still very much bothered by the fact she was a "zombie".
Kyoko never convinced her otherwise and, knowing how stubborn Sayaka could be, she had settled to show her she was as human as anybody else by actions and not words.
Besides. She thought to herself as she retrieve her clothes. I had my own things to worry about too. Now that Sayaka was here, Kyoko would need to find a second job to make up for the expense.
How her meager salary was going to support Sayaka and the child was beyond her. Still, the prospect of a purpose alone was enough to send her skipping through the city.
It really didn't matter who the father was.
As with most tragedy of her life, the bad news came unannounced, unprompted, and caught her off guard.
She rushed to the hospital when she got the call. Her blood was frozen solid with fear. She couldn't drive way the image of her father hanging from the beam of the church, accompanied by the unmoving bodies of her dear mother and baby sister whence the river of blood came from.
She sat in agony outside on the bench. Mami was coming. Madoka too, and probably bringing Homura.
She had informed them of Sayaka's return (with her permission, oddly enough). And although Sayaka had shunned away from any human contact aside from Kyoko (she tried not to think about it too much, lest she got her hope up again for nothing), they were presences Kyoko could count on at time of crisis like this. She didn't trust herself enough to comfort others.
The doctors emerged from the operating room before any of them arrived.
And Kyoko didn't need to ask to know what happened.
She knew it was not her fault, but she couldn't stop blaming herself anyway.
As with most obstacles in their life, this particular problem was not a question of "what to do next", but rather a statement pointing out "good things never last".
That's why Kyoko did not remove Sayaka from her room, from the fortress of pillow and blanket in front of the television, after the days she lost the child.
It wasn't until she was sorting through the bill, days later, that she realized there was only buzzing snowflakes on the machine for quite some time. She had avoided looking at Sayaka's face thus far, fearing she would lose her resolve to be strong when they both needed her strength and income. And every day she returned the house was quiet and she was too tired and afraid to check on Sayaka.
But presently she threw down the bill at the realization, and barged into the room.
Sayaka sat unmoving in front of the television where she had left her.
Kyoko came to her side, and kneeled down next to her.
Sayaka did not react in any way, simply let Kyoko carefully pull her into her arms. Her eyes never left the snowy screen, unseeing.
And Kyoko waited. She had always waited. She figured this wasn't that different.
After an eternity, Sayaka relaxed in her arms. Her voice was hoarse even in whisper.
"His room was going to be painted blue and red."
Kyoko stroke her hair. It had grown long, passing her shoulder. She murmured something of acknowledgement, even though they never talked about the child and the arrangement after Sayaka gave birth. It even came as a surprise to Kyoko that it would be a boy.
"And there'd be a lot of model airplanes hanging from the ceiling."
How could you break your heart for someone yet still willing to give them them everything you have left?
"And when he had nightmares, we'd both go rock him back to sleep."
She could hear the nonexistent mobile hanging above the curb they could not afford. Another life cut short. How could this world be so cruel when it had given her the best thing that ever happened to her?
"I'd play him classic musics. And you'd tell him all those stories about heroes and miracles."
Stories where love and courage triumphed. Fairy tales that had no place in their life. Their world. Kyoko would have given up anything to bring Sayaka such a world, but for that to happen, it would still have been too perfect of a world. A world where she could have been something more than a sorry excuse of life. A world where she was for once the hero who saved the day instead of the abandoned child nobody cared enough to take with them.
"And…"
It started raining. She pulled her closer to shelter her from the downpour.
"...and he would be the happiest child ever. You've always been so good with kids, Kyoko. I've always known."
She wasn't living in abandoned buildings under collapsed roofs anymore. But the rain drenched the front of her shirt anyway.
All she ever wanted was to protect her. Consequences be damned.
And it must be something in Sayaka's voice or the way her lips curved against her collarbones or something equally ridiculous that made Kyoko realize that, fuck it, she still loves her.
"You'd be a great parent."
Kyoko wasn't sure who said that. She pulled away just long enough so she could tilt Sayaka's chin up and kiss her. Gently. Calmingly.
Sayaka reciprocated with the ferocity of a storm. She clung to her for dear life, searching, begging to be anchored. And Kyoko gave her everything and more.
In the end, she touched their foreheads together. All the hope and despair and pain and love and loneliness and everything she did and did not understand melted into the greatest confession of a lifetime. A whisper that blew hope into her fucked up life.
"Will you marry me?"
Sayaka smiled through her tears and kissed her back.
But she never gave a reply.
The next day, Kyoko walked into the bathroom to find a mermaid bathed in crimson.
"Are you going to be okay?"
She looked up to see Mami's concerned face. She pulled her lips up into a tired smile and looked through her mentor, to the grey sky behind.
Madoka was beside herself with grief when she graced Kyoko with her presence just moments ago. She had pulled the smaller girl into a somewhat awkward hug to offer her condolences and let go before the gentle-hearted young woman could cling to her for comfort (or was it the other way around?)
Kyoko handed Madoka back to Homura, who stood one step behind and watched the scene unfold with the same detachment she had grown quite used to.
(She was ignoring the sympathetic sorrow in her friend's eyes, because if she admitted she had seen it, she would have to also admit there was a hole ripped from her soul. Again.)
"I'll be fine." She told Mami, but she wasn't fooling anyone.
A survivor she may be, but there was only so many times something could break before it was deemed irrevocable destroyed.
Looking up to the bright blue sky that resembled all and nothing of the love of her life's eyes, Kyoko wondered.
She wondered if there's anything else left in her to break.