[PP-F8] Ink Blot

[Mishiro 0]

And the cycle repeated once again. Mishiro took a step back from her emotions and found that she recognized this pattern. That downward spiral that led to those two years of separation. She never admitted it to him, but it felt... terribly lonely when they tore their friendship apart the first time. She liked those days spent strolling aimlessly through town, those fun conversations, and the laughter they shared. She didn't know how he did it, but she broke out of her shell the first time they met. Perhaps it was his weirdness and unpredictability. Like Arabelle. "If this person has no qualms about doing random, embarrassing stuff, then I suppose he wouldn't mind if I act less formally for once." Unusual reasoning, but it worked. But most of all, she liked his...

 

...

She hastily wiped at her face with a cold, armored hand and took a step back. She wasn't crying anymore. But it still hurt.

...

Her hands inched towards the Teleport Crystal that always hung from the belt along the inside of her white coat. 

...

What was the reason for their first parting? A terrible habit. That instinct. That [redacted].

...

 

The cycle was repeating. It had already repeated. What scared her the most was the prospect of this being the last time. Yes. Logically, it could happen. They would stop talking altogether. They would forever regret this moment they chose to walk away. Their conversations and those moments they shared would only be distant, unreachable memories. Or worse. He bore an orange cursor and the weight of his crimes. That cursor and the way he had recklessly acted would inevitably cause misunderstanding. Who else did he have with him? Was she the first who'd heard of this? 

 

What should she do?

 

What was the logical thing to do? What was the right thing to do? Did the answers somehow coincide?

 

But.

 

"Don't lie to yourself."

 

She once made a promise.

 

"I want to stay."

Edited December 23, 2018 by Mishiro

[Pinball 1]

Why couldn't she make this easy? He had already made her cry. He wanted her to go. He wanted her to leave him alone. 
Right?
Pinball stood. "I'm not lying to myself," he grumbled, glowering, "I know what I did and I know what I want you to do." He felt a dull throb in temple. These were things he shouldn't be saying. These were things he was saying as they popped into his head. Pinball took a few steps forward, glaring not quite directly at her. He couldn't bring himself to meet her teary gaze. 
His face softened. This hurt. He didn't want to do this. But he needed to. There was no other way. It was the only thing he knew how to do. 
Pinball grabbed the hilt of his sword, flexing his fist as his fingers wrapped around the leather grip. "I want you to leave," he said. His voice was tight, like it was being suppressed. But like all things with Pinball, that didn't last long. He only grew more agitated as he went on, his speech steadily increasing in volume. "I want you to leave." He pulled DawnBringer from the earth. 
"Leave, leave, leave, I told you to leave. Go away." The sword in his hand started to raise, the tip of the weapon almost pointing at her. He growled, then, loudly enough to the point where it was obvious he was trying to keep himself from yelling. If it made her cry once, it would make her cry again, right? 
"Why won't you leave me the hell alone?" 

[Mishiro 0]

He stood and she instinctively took a step back. "B-but, I know you..." I've known you long enough. You push people away at your worst moments. Mishiro attempted to reason, but with her trembling voice, she didn't sound so convincing. He was glaring, though not quite directly at her, but it still made her flinch. Her shoulders tensed and she thrust her shaking hands into the pockets of Roman's white coat. She didn't like this. She didn't like getting into arguments. It was scary enough when he yelled at her, and now he was looking at her that way-- "How can you explain that, then? Pin, I still remember that conversation from a few months ago. You told me everything, and you said that what you did was a... a mistake, so why are you doing it again?"

 

Why was he reaching for his sword...? She took a small step backward, her heart racing in her chest. Her hands moved out of her coat pockets and her stance turned defensive. He pulled his sword from where it was buried in the ground, and for a few moments - she didn't see him as her friend. He was an orange cursor with a weapon in his hand. But... but-- 

 

But most of all, she liked his smile.

 

-- He looked so sad.

 

"I'm not disregarding the weight of your actions! All I'm saying is that you don't need to be alone. And - and, I want to be here for you this time! I stopped talking to you when you asked me to go before, and you did get better with others' help, but I... I didn't do anything. I just made you mad, and then I left - and," Her sentences still had structure. But there was too much unnecessary information. This wasn't about her. This was about Pinball. For every step he took, she inched backward. This was a failure. She came here to talk to him, but somehow, she'd made everything worse. She dredged up painful memories and somehow had the nerve to ask him to continue. Staying was already asking too much of him. He didn't want her here. Not anymore. But she couldn't stop herself from talking - making endless, endless excuses, justifications, why she thought what she just did was right - and neither could she stop the tears that were flowing from her eyes. "I'm sorry if this sounds selfish. Those months after we talked, I liked being with you. It makes me happy, but I always thought I didn't deserve to be called your friend!"

 

She ran out of ground to step on, then she half-turned and leaped over the stream, ending up on the other side. Then she took a deep breath and told herself to stop. Maintain the right distance from her personal feelings on the matter. That "right" distance had gradually been lessening ever since the start of the game, but not so much that she would have an outburst like this. Now he wouldn't see her the same way he did before. "Please disregard what I last said." Mishiro drew in another breath, but even as she paused, her tears wouldn't stop falling. "It doesn't accurately represent my personal feelings on the matter. I apologize for making you uncomfortable."

 

Her hand reached for the Teleport Crystal.

 

"Delilah."

 

Before he could reach her or do anything else, her virtual body had already disappeared.

[Pinball 1]

He watched as she go, his grip on his weapon loosening as she hopped over the stream. 
Then, in a flash of blue light, she was gone, leaving Pinball alone with the sigh of the grass and the trees and the soft trickling of the stream. She sounded hurt. Then she sounded formal. 
Pinball felt his chin start to quiver as he turned, holding back another unsightly barrage of tears. That was a barrier he thought he had broke through a long time ago. He remembered why he had started talking to her in the first place. 

He had thought she needed to smile some more. 

But look at him now. Look at what he was doing. Again. Like he always did. Pinball's efforts to hold back his cries were in vain. He erupted in a short scream, and he hurled his sword across the clearing where it struck the dirt, the blade cutting into and sticking out of the ground in a puff of dirt and rock and grass.
He grabbed the sides of his head, yanked on his hair, and fell to his knees, growling to himself, unable to control the sobs that followed. 
You're a bastard, he thought, a dirty, filthy, reprehensible, son of a... 
His thoughts trailed off as they turned into a mindless scream at nothing. He sunk to the ground, his forehead touching the dirt, his body racked with steady shaking. 

[Mishiro 0]

❄❄❄

 

The door opens. A hesitant voice calls out my name and it's followed by a light set of footsteps as they venture into the empty, unlit shop. Only one person has access to Cafe Myosotis after it's closed for the night. I shut my eyes and listen to the pattern of their footsteps. It's a comforting sound. He's here. I'm not alone. He calls my name again and he passes the first row of tables. I don't respond. I don't understand myself, currently. Even with this simple decision, I can't settle on one answer. I want him to find me, but at the same time I don't. I want him to stay beside me, to hold my hand - to hold me close, and tell me everything's okay. But I don't want him to ask. I don't want to see the disappointment in his face as I tell him, "I don't want to talk about it." I don't want to explain in detail, or even provide a summary. Because when I think of him, when I recall those moments and along with it, the thought never again--

 

--It hurts. I can't decide. I can't trust my decisions. I can't trust myself, in this current state of mind. So I'll let him decide for me.

 

"Shiro..." His voice is softer this time. Gentler. He must have seen me. I open my eyes and tilt my head up. Moonlight frames the silhouette of his face. I had seated myself behind the counter - locked up the shop as soon as I arrived and curled up without bothering to go upstairs - and he's leaning over it with his elbows propped up on its wooden surface. His gaze meets mine. Searching. Questioning. "You're crying." It's true. The evidence is right in front of him. I don't feel the need to give an affirmation. He vanishes. Footsteps again. He circles around the counter and sits beside me. It must be uncomfortable. I myself would rather sit on my warm, fluffy bed. But I don't feel like moving. Something warm, a bit heavy is thrown over my head and darkness briefly envelops my vision. I reach up and tug his coat off. It's the brown one, my favorite. I hold it close to me and turn my head to look at him. "Weren't you with Arabelle earlier? Did she say something to you?" He reaches back and loosens his hair tie. Pink - long locks of pink - spill down his shoulders in waves. I don't respond. I don't feel like talking. He looks at me. "You know, Arabelle doesn't always mean what she's saying. If you ask her to tell you the truth, she will. Most of the time."

 

"I wasn't with her." At least, resolve this misunderstanding. I don't want to put the blame on Arabelle here. She wanted to spend time with me earlier, but then agreed to set that aside when... that matter came up. I turn away from him and wrap his coat around my shoulders. He was wearing it until just a few moments ago. It's still warm. It feels nice. Safe. I tell him, "I left her earlier. I...was with someone else."

 

"Oh. That explains the 25+ messages in my inbox." I almost smile. I can imagine her doing that. He doesn't speak for a few moments. He doesn't look directly at me, but I can tell. He's waiting for me to say something. But I don't volunteer any information. I don't want to. I bury my head in my arms. He's right beside me. I'm not alone. I should feel better. But it still... hurts. He told me to leave. He's gone. I can't talk to him again. One person, no matter how close, can't replace another. "Do you want to talk about it?"

 

"A bit." I relent. I had to remind myself that it was just him. He's been with me ever since the start of the game. No, longer than that. I can tell him anything. He hardly gets mad at me. But maybe that's what I should have said. "Do you want to talk about it?" is a question, much less demanding than "Tell me everything." which only sounds like an order. The former gives the person being asked a chance to say no. Or they can limit the things they say, like I just chose to. They can do the same with the latter, but it exerts a greater emotional pressure. "My friend and I had a fight. It was... bad. We had a similar fight before, but now, I don't think... I just wanted to help, but I did something wrong, and towards the end, I said some things I shouldn't. I said sorry, but they - they told me to--"

 

--"I want you to leave." Why was he reaching for his sword...? "Leave, leave, leave. I told you to leave. Go away!"--

 

Whatever I wanted to say next is interrupted by a quiet sob. I push it down. I don't want to continue anymore. That's all I want him to hear. I lower my head and rub my eyes. It hurts. My head feels heavy. I can't get rid of that tightness in my chest. He must have felt the same way. I know now. I understand why he got so mad. I understand why he cried. But... that's all. It's over. It's all over. It's over. I won't ever see him again. He told me to go away. He never told me I could come back. I don't want to leave. I want to stay. I want to keep being friends. I want to keep seeing his smile. I want to stay by his side like I'd promised to. I close my eyes. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. "I'm sorry. I can't. It's too..."

 

"Don't push yourself. I get the gist," he says quietly. I stopped talking in the middle of a sentence earlier, he must have thought that pause was me trying to continue. I rub at my face with his coat's sleeve and pull my legs close to my chest. I'm half-glad it's too dim for him to see me. "You had good intentions, but you ended up saying the wrong things. But you apologized in the end, didn't you?" I don't open my eyes, but I nod silently. "It's fine if you feel bad after an argument. It's fine if you want to cry. Well, you're already doing that. But I still get the feeling that you're holding back." Right again. I let out a small, bitter laugh. He knows so much about me that it's almost embarrassing. "You can let it all out. Seriously, you'll feel better after you do. If it assures you, there's research from the real world that backs it up."

 

I almost laugh again. Research. I haven't heard that word in a long, long time. It always seems to comfort me when something is proven by science. I wipe my tears with his coat sleeve and open my eyes to look at him again. There's no science for solving friendship problems, so without a definite solution, I'm at a loss. "But what do I do?"

 

"Honestly, I have no idea," he admits with a sigh. "I don't know what you and your friend fought about and it's fine if you don't want to talk about it; and I don't understand your friend as much as you do. So how you're going to make up for it, it's up to you." I look down, dismayed. I understand. I can't rely on him - who's not even involved - to solve this problem. "And do it tomorrow! It's hard to think properly when you're emotional. Trust me, I know." Maybe I will. I follow him with my gaze as he pulls himself up and glances around the dim cafe. "What time did you get back? Have you eaten yet?"

 

...

...

...

 

I open my eyes. Sunlight is streaming in through the window. The curtains are drawn. The bottom left field of my vision says that it's 10 AM in the morning. I sit up and blink, disoriented by the change in surroundings. This isn't the back of the wooden counter. This is the backroom of Cafe Myosotis, also my temporary bedroom. I scan the room again, noting the things that are out of place. An extra blanket. The brown coat from last night is missing. The remains of a scented candle on the work desk, the one that smells like the sea. My favorite. I always sleep well when its scent is floating through the room. I slightly understand now. I swing my legs off the bed and leave the room, re-entering the main shop. 

 

It's two hours past the shop's opening time. I suppose I'm keeping it closed today, too. But even if it's closed, there's one other person in the main area. Seated at the table nearest the door, he has one arm propped up on its surface and a half-empty mug of coffee placed. He looks up and makes a swiping motion. The semi-transparent windows hovering in front of him close."Good morning! Are you feeling better now?"

 

"Mhm," is all I can manage. After that ten-hour sleep, I can say that I feel a bit refreshed. I don't feel like crying anymore. I just feel a bit... numb. I take the seat in front of him and materialize a prepared mug of brown coffee from my inventory. I still had one left. His menus reopen, and we continue in silence. Then I remember something and look up. "What do you think of a person who goes out and fights without protective armor? Let's say, a full DPS build. They take Recovery and Keen instead of Mitigation, Regen, or Evade."

 

"That's not advisable," he says. "I wouldn't recommend it, even if you're a support player who doesn't attack. Not all mobs follow the 'hit the person with the highest Hate until it dies' mechanic and there are many instances when you would have no choice but to fight something alone, so it's best to be prepared for anything. So to answer your question, either that person doesn't have any knowledge of game mechanics, or they have something like a death wish. Don't go down that path, Shiro. Extra offensive capability is always good, but not if you have to sacrifice protection for it."

 

I set my mug of coffee down. Pinball's story. "I still wasn't in a good place." That question he asked, but didn't want to explain. That guilt. That disgust. That anger. The comment the person in front of me just made. Somehow, it makes sense. 

 

I know the answer to Pinball's question, and it's a scary one.

 

"Thank you, Roman."

 

❄❄❄

 

For breaking their friendship, Pinball and Mishiro are each rewarded:

• 1 SP
• 200 Col