Work Text:
Speak up.
Speak up.
Speak up speak up speak-
"Mochizuki-san, is there something on your mind?"
Yamaguchi-sensei was the only person remaining in the classroom, tidying up the materials and completed worksheets from the history lesson he'd just been teaching. Everyone else had gone to lunch – or gone to find lunch – already; Honami was supposed to meet up with some of her friends from class today and they'd go to the school store together to purchase their food. She'd warned them she might be late, so there was a decent chance she'd end up alone for the fifty minutes of break again.
Her bag hadn't even been packed; her notebook lay open to her notes on her desk and her pencil case – the doodles Saki had decorated it with four years ago still shining proudly in their permanent glitter marker way – sitting peacefully on her desk as they had five minutes ago. "I'm all right," she said, though the artificial smile she'd found herself using more and more with her friends made its way onto her face. "Lost in thought. If you'll excuse me, I have some friends I was planning on meeting up with."
And then she was walking down the corridors, away from one of the only people in the whole building who might have listened to her worries and helped her work through the issues she often felt she'd fabricated in her mind.
Honami had begun to look only at the ground if she was not with friends so no one would look her in the eyes, realize who she was, and stop her (and her meagre confidence) in their tracks. She knew that even the people she hung out with hated how... accommodating she tried to be – if that was the right word for it. Was it wrong to want compromise? To walk the middle, to be non-committal so more of those around you were happy?
Her shoulder connected with another and she was staring into Shiho's pretty green eyes, like emeralds, she'd thought to herself one day when she'd gone home from a meet-up with just Shiho there and wondered why she had butterflies in her stomach. Now, those eyes were torn between frustration at being hit and concern because below her prickly facade, Shiho cared deeply about the people she'd drifted away from.
Speak up.
Let her know you still want to be friends.
Time had stopped, Honami swore, just for the two of them. The rest of the corridor's occupants moved around them, yet neither of them dared even breathe.
Their fingertips brushed against each other before Shiho made up an excuse about extremely overdue math homework, her face all red, and darted down the corridor leading to the science labs, getting scolded by a hall monitor for running as she went.
Or don't. Stay the indecisive, the try-hard, and all those other things they'd love to call you if you were listening.
Honami saw the clique she'd reluctantly joined, one storey below, chatting amongst themselves in the courtyard, and she headed towards the roof instead. They would survive without her; in fact, none of them would worry about her if she didn't show up. She knew as well as anyone that they would discard her the instant it would help them gain better relationships with another group of girls in the school.
The senior high school students would have gotten off lunch break twenty minutes ago, she reminded herself, so there was little chance of running into anyone who might have been properly her friend last year.
Most importantly, that meant Hinomori Shizuku would not be there, so Honami would not have to answer well-meaning questions about how Shiho was doing. About her friends (she was the school loner now, abrasive to everyone, made of ice, some of Honami's friends said) and if she and Honami had repaired their friendship.
Thankfully, there was no one on the roof. Honami ate her lunch in silence; it took her a very short time now that she was no longer trying to remain relevant in a group conversation and ensure she managed to eat enough of her lunch before the snackers in their little social circle took some of her food. This hadn't been a problem when it was Saki stealing her food, especially as both Ichika and Shiho would respect that Honami didn't bring a lunch for the four of them (and Ichika had her yakisoba buns every day so there was never an issue there). Now that there were four people who liked the food she'd make for herself... well, she'd started bringing extra snacks so she wasn't overly hungry in the afternoon.
(And on days where she ate with them and she forgot the snacks – well, she'd tell herself it wasn't a bother though she could barely focus during lessons.)
Why...
Why hadn't she said a word to Shiho? By this point she should have been past her childish days of blushing whenever their gazes met, or their hands touched, or Shiho gave her a genuine compliment, or-
... Honami did not think she had the right to be in love with a girl she had not spoken to in months.
Saki would tell her that "the heart wants what it wants!" and assist her in planning a way to confess to Shiho, her with her sunshine hair that was soft to the touch and ever so easy to braid. Her heart, so bright and bold; Honami loved her, too, had never been able to decided if she preferred one over the other nor if she even wanted to.
And Ichika... Honami had seen her in the halls on occasion, always quiet, speaking only when someone asked a question of her and even then, her voice was so soft, shaky, nervous, so unlike the vocalist Honami had known.
She missed them dearly but wasn't it her fault they'd fallen apart? She could have done more to keep Ichika in her life, to visit Saki in the hospital more often, to speak to Shiho without her face threatening to go all red like she'd just learned who she loved.
Honami told herself she would not cry at school, though her eyes stung with the telltale salt water already. She regretted everything she had done that had resulted in her drifting away from the three quarters of her heart she'd given as a young child.
So, her smile in place, she packed up her lunch tucked her lunch box away in her backpack and headed to her first class of the afternoon.
As she'd suspected, no one called out to her to ensure she was all right, nor did they ask her where she'd gone.
Speak up .
She was lagging behind her friends at the arcade.
Speak up.
The food she got at the cafe they all went to was the wrong order.
Speak up.
She passed by Shiho on the weekend when her friend group had been considerate enough to invite her to Phoenix Wonderland. Saw her browsing the Phenny merchandise with a focus previously unseen in humans. But she said nothing, for she knew multiple of the girls in her friend group hated the way Shiho acted and would tell her to just let go .
Ah, yes. Let go of someone she loved.
Of someone who probably still cared about her. Who would listen to her when she spoke.
Was it selfish to want to relearn how to stand up for oneself?
Speak up.
One of the girls dragged her out of the merchandise store and made some comment about Shiho's presence being a little bothersome and Honami prayed she didn't overhear because it would only reinforce the belief in Shiho's mind that she was the reason why their friend group had fallen apart – and that Honami should stay further away from her so nothing else happened.
They got churros and tea as a group, then went on the roller coasters.
Honami found herself wishing Saki had been on the rides with her.
Speak up.
Sometimes when Yoisaki-san would come out of her room to grab herself another drink or make herself cup ramen or to eat the food Honami had prepared for her, she would look into Honami's eyes with the sort of concern that was so gentle it meant she completely understood that Honami was struggling, but she did not know how to fix it, so the composer with her long, long hair would give her a gentle smile and say that while she was not always proficient at taking care of herself, that did not mean she could not be a confidant. A listener.
On one occasion she noted how awful Honami felt and responded by telling her that if she did not feel well enough to perform all the tasks she normally would, it was fine if the living room was a total mess.
Later that week, she came out of her room looking very determined for someone who could usually be found muttering to herself about this and that and how nothing in her demos fit as well as she wanted it to and the like. And, with one tap on her phone's screen, she filled the room with a melody so pristine and beautiful it stole a piece of Honami's heart and sang it to sleep.
Honami would forever be grateful to Yoisaki-san for allowing her to keep a copy of the song for herself and for holding her hand when she cried over how kind it had been to create that music just so she could feel better.
Speak up speak up speak-
Honami was alone.
Lying on her back on her futon, looking at the ceiling and admiring all that it had to offer. Which – well, Saki had stuck glow-in-the-dark stars up there a few years ago, so it wasn't as boring as watching paint dry.
She'd insisted on labelling all the constellations she'd created, too, grabbing little strips of paper and taping them to the ceiling so Honami could know what she was looking at.
The memory of it – of Saki's boundless enthusiasm when she'd decided Honami's room needed that – made her feel a sorrowful emotion she could not name. Perchance it was melancholy; on the other hand, it could be despondency.
So many words, so many she had said and not said and so many she used now but what was the point?
She'd fallen apart from the three friends she'd cherished more than anything else and now this was her fate, how she was paying the price for her imprudence.
The tears fell from her eyes freely now.
And the logical part of her mind would argue that all of them – except maybe Saki, who hadn't had much of a choice in the matter – had been responsible for this, for the fallout of their friend group that had been so quiet it was as if their bonds had been set aside for the moment, only to be picked up the second they needed each other.
Honami knew no one would hear her if she called out for them now.
And she wanted them back but then whenever she thought about it her mind would go in circles and she would re-conclude that staying impartial, avoiding conflict, being complacent , would benefit her more than speaking up for herself despite the mountains of evidence it did not.
She'd been keeping Shibao out of her room while she slept because it wasn't the greatest idea to allow her dog to get too used to sharing a bed with her. He had his own places to sleep, three of them, in fact, and Honami was fourteen years old. She was supposed to be old enough to handle her emotions on her own.
But she let him peek his nose in and edge the door to her room open anyway. Left the door slightly ajar so he could leave if he so desired and let him curl up on her chest like a fuzzy, breathing weighted blanket to soothe her fears and stop her tears.
Honami did not know if she cried herself to sleep or if her eyes had gotten tired of the irritation from the salt water and stopped her tears before her mind allowed her to rest.
Either way, her imagination presented her with a bittersweet dream, one in which Ichika, Saki, and Shiho came over to her house with their sleeping bags and the four of them talked about everything and nothing until those hours of the day that were too late to be considered nighttime but too early to be considered the morning crept up on them and someone advocated for them to get a little rest. The next day, in this dream, Honami made pancakes for breakfast with Saki, who was happily making shapes out of all of them. Then they went to the park and Phoenix Wonderland and laughed until their sides ached.
That night, they looked up at the stars and saw them falling from the sky.
And they went to bed late again, except this time they were all on the same mattress in a hotel room. A king bed if Honami's mind had thought through it properly, and while in the dream she woke up with Saki half on top of her, it was... a nice feeling. Being cuddled by her, and then in turn holding Ichika, while Shiho was on Saki's other side.
It was so perfect, so real , that when she woke up and Shibao was the only one in the room with her, she cried.
For in the dream, she could've sworn that Ichika had messed with her hair and done it in a braid before turning her around and kissing her nose. That Saki had cuddled her as they watched a movie as a group, and that Shiho had held her hand as they walked around the town and kissed her lips after brushing her teeth so she tasted like strawberries because everyone knew she hated the aftertaste of mint.
Those little things – all the affectionate gestures, everything, really – she yearned for them. For the day where she could say that she loved all of them in a romantic way and know that they reciprocated. And even if they remained friends, that would be enough.
So – when she figured out how to be confident – Honami promised herself that she would never allow their friendship to dissolve because of something little or a few kilometres. And if they ever got close enough that she could confess to them all her love, she would love them with every last fractured part of her being she had.