𝔽𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣 ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟 || 𝕂𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕠 𝔸𝕪𝕒𝕥𝕠

31. A Million Things I Cannot Say

"Are both of you okay??"

Ayaka's voice brought Kanari back to the reality she wished she could escape. The light dancing on the rim of her glass glared at her as she stared at it, like it was as disappointed in her as the rest of the world. She nodded her head slowly, giving the princess her answer.

"I don't mean to offend, but both of you look terrible," she continued, sitting down next to Kanari with a worried expression on her face. "Did any of you get sleep?"

Ayato only hummed in response, sipping his boba wistfully. He kept sneaking furtive glances at Kanari when he thought she wasn't looking, which was stupid, she was always looking. Though she got barely a wink of sleep last night, she could not ignore any of the little things Ayato did, even if she wanted to. It was like a part of her always wanted to watch him, even though it just hurt her more.

Tired was an understatement for what she was feeling. After the outburst, she and Ayato barely spoke a word to each other. A silent contract of formality descended upon both of them, trapping them behind walls and curtains they'd spent the past month tearing down.

Instead of giving her the brief release of sleep, her mind was fixated on Ayato and her parents for the entire night. Guilt surged within her like the deadly currents of a river, threatening to pull her under the surface and drown her, once and for all.

Judging from the state he was in; a similar phenomenon had occurred to Ayato. His usually bright eyes were dulled, and sunken, with hints of dark circles appearing under them. He seemed to be tangled deep within his thoughts as he stared blankly at the other side of the room, seeing, but also not.

"Are you sure?" Ayaka eyed both of them skeptically, her eyebrows arched in questioning. "You haven't been overworking Kanari now, have you?" She turned to Ayato pointedly, in which he responded with an attempt at a scandalized look. The usual mocking effect he sought after, however, was somewhat dampened by his lack of enthusiasm.

"I would—" he glanced at Kanari "—never." He spoke softly, as if he was unsure of his words. Hesitancy was not a good look on him, Kanari decided.

If Ayaka had any further doubts, she did not voice them, much to Kanari's relief. She wasn't sure if she could keep up this facade of normalcy. Not when everything inside her threatened to burst. 

Bubbles, shiny glistening bubbles, they grow. Some grow larger than others. Yet, in the end, they pop all the same. Humans were like that in a way. We all change in so many diverse ways. Some people grow a lot, some never learn. Then, we all pop. If we're lucky, our death might leave an imprint, something a little more than the simplicity of being here one minute, gone the next.

Kanari could only hope to grow as much as she could before she popped.

༺❊ꕥ❊༻

The morning had gone by in a dreadfully slow manner, trudging through the hours as if in a marsh of mud and clay. The longing looks Kanari kept receiving from Ayato didn't help things either. They had continued their unspoken contract of limited communication, the most meaningful things they exchanged being glances that lasted just a little too long to be casual.

As soon as she'd finished her lunch, Kanari asked to be excused. She coveted a breath of fresh air after the suffocating hours she'd spent in the office. Work had become increasingly hard to focus on when Ayato was sitting right there. The castle didn't really help her situation, though. Not when everything she saw came with a little comment he'd once made about it, when he spoke to her like she was just a good friend.

She found herself walking down the familiar hallway to Kokomi's room subconsciously. Kokomi's burn should've healed by now, but it was her lunch break, so there was a chance that she was in her room. The thought of facing her best friend was both comforting and terrifying. How could she burden her friend with what she was going through?