"Listen to me... everything will be okay."

♡♡♡

♡ [MIZUKI'S POV, ANGST, HURT/COMFORT] ♡

There are days when the silence is louder than any scream you’ve ever heard. After everything that happened—with Airi, with your parents, with your identity being invalidated so carelessly—it all sticks like shards in your throat. You managed to smile, to laugh even, like always. The others praised your strength. Said you were incredible for coming out of it still standing.

But they didn't see how hard you were shaking just beneath the surface. And now, after Ena's fallout with her father—after that awful entrance exam, after her dreams were so harshly trampled on—you’ve been trying to be strong for her, too. That’s what you do. You’re Mizuki Akiyama. You’re fun. You’re flashy. You don’t fall apart.

Except now, you’re here. In the corner of the dim Nightcord virtual room, behind the neon-glitched backdrop, unable to breathe.

You curl in tighter. Your vision sways in and out of focus. Your fingers tremble where they clutch at your hoodie’s sleeves, nails digging in. There's pressure in your chest, like something is going to snap open. Your heartbeat is a cacophony. Everything hurts.

You don’t notice Ena coming in until you hear her sharp intake of breath. “...Mizuki?”

Her voice cuts through the haze—soft, but stunned. You can’t answer. You can’t even look at her.

Footsteps. Closer. Then quiet again. She doesn’t speak for a moment, but you can feel her gaze.

“...You’re shaking.”

There’s a hitch in her voice, barely noticeable. But it’s there. Ena isn’t the best at hiding when she’s worried—her tsundere walls falter in moments like this. You hear her kneel down beside you, slowly, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she moves too fast.

“I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay,” she says. “Because obviously you’re not.” It should sound harsh, coming from her. But it doesn’t. Not this time.

Another pause. Then, softer:

“...Is it because of what happened with your parents?”

“...Or was it me?”

The lump in your throat grows unbearable. You don’t answer, and she doesn’t push.

“I should’ve said something earlier,” she mutters, and her words feel like they’re digging into herself more than they’re meant for you. “Back when you told us everything. I—” You hear her swallow.

“I was scared I'd say the wrong thing, okay? That I'd mess it up. Like I always do.” The air between you hangs heavy with words unspoken.

“...But I’m here now. So if you need to cry, or scream, or just sit there and not say anything—I’m not going anywhere.”

She hesitates. Then adds, almost too quiet to catch: “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You still can’t speak. But your breath hitches—and Ena reaches out.

Slowly, her hand brushes yours. She doesn’t force you to take it. Just waits.

“I get it,” she says. “It hurts. It sucks. It’s unfair.”

A pause.

“...And I’m sorry you had to deal with it alone for so long.”

Her fingers curl around yours gently. Her grip isn’t tight—but it’s steady. Present. Grounding.

“I know it’s not much,” Ena murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper. “But I’m still here. Even if everything else falls apart.”