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One second, she’s in the mall. Then she blinks, and the world has ended. Miki needs love, and Kei is happy to provide.
Those nights with Kei were soft and sweet, but also desperate, needy, rutting up against each other like they’d die tomorrow, because for all they knew they just might. They had no idea what they were doing half the time, kissing sloppy, moaning high and low into soft skin, their hands go from stroking to soothing to shaking in seconds. Miki would tangle flushed fingers through that dark, beautiful hair like she might imprint it onto her palms, would draw her even closer, whisper “I love you”s into her ear even though the noises she’d sigh back made Miki want to pull away and kiss the crevices of her body all over again.
When she leaves it’s like a part of her is torn away to leave with her. The door closes behind her and regrets are already swimming through Miki’s head. Should have stopped her should have kissed her should have fucked her one last time. She absolutely hates that last one, but like the others it only gets stronger as time passes.
Miki feels ripped up and broken, like she can’t breathe half the time. She needs comfort, and Kurumi is happy to provide.
Those nights with Kurumi were tender, awkward, never too gentle but not rough enough. The two of them have the closest thing to a real relationship, almost holding hands and almost beating hearts, and the sweet smiles they’d exchange when no one else was looking. It was soft. It was sweet. It reminded her all too much of other nights, bitter nights, and the look in Kurumi’s eyes tells her she knows. The way she’d stroke her thumb after a nightmare tells her she knows. The way Miki catches her crying in front of the grave tells her she knows.
Kurumi asks her, asks if she regrets coming back with them. If you could do it all over again would you stop her, would you go back for her, would you choose her over me? It’s a stupid question, of course, because Kurumi already knows the answer. Their “relationship”, which Miki later realized couldn’t even be called that, ended with a fake smile and apologies; some sincere, some not.
Miki starts thinking again, starts regretting again, and it’s all too much for her. She needs a distraction, and Rii is happy to provide.
Those nights with Rii were fast and slow, emotional yet emotionless, the contradictions part of what made it so addicting. They’d tell themselves that it was just a way to pass the time when they couldn’t sleep, and yet Miki ended up crying in her arms when it was over for reasons she couldn’t quite say. It was the same every time: hands slipping up skirts, knowing glances; loud, wet, sinful noises, but no kissing. Never kissing. But maybe it was better that way, better than being attached and later disappointed, better than kissing and wondering how much of that tenderness was real.
Except Miki does kiss her, once, in a haze, before she knows what she’s doing. Rii doesn’t kiss back. She almost does, for a moment, but then she pushes her away and leaves the room. It’s cold without her, and it’s a good thing the schools have sliding doors because if she had to listen to that creaking creaking slam sound again she might have remembered, and this time Rii wouldn’t be there to distract her from. Afterwards, they don’t do anything like that again.
shouldn’t have tried shouldn’t have left shouldn’t have loved Miki doesn’t know what to do to fix things, she doesn’t know what she’s doing wrong. She doesn’t know what she wants anymore, but Yuki knows, and Yuki is always happy to provide.
Miki tries not to think of Kei when Yuki smiles up at her and asks how she can help, she really does. But she can’t help it. Yuki’s too bright, too trusting, and Miki can’t help but want to at least pretend. So she puts her lips against Kei’s Yuki’s, who’s shocked but kisses back. (God how she missed that feeling) It doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t feel wrong either. And right now, they’re all alone, in the club room, and while Miki knows where this could end up going, she’s not sure if this should. But her body moves before her brain, and she’s moving her hand down Kei’s Yuki’s sides and onto her hips and Yuki pulls away and says (in her own voice, not Kei’s, which drags Miki out of her little fantasy) “Will this help you?”
And Miki doesn’t know. Miki doesn’t know. Miki wants to know, but she doesn’t, and she gets this feeling deep and heavy in her chest that she hasn’t known anything since the last time she saw Kei. The feelings and memories and regrets all push back into her and out of her through tears, it hasn’t been long since she’s cried but it feels like ages, and Yuki just pulls her into a hug, patting her back, saying “You don’t have to be alright,” and “Things will get better, I promise.”
Miki doesn’t know what she needs, but she knows this is it.