when you show up to her apartment your drenched from the rain. she hauls you in, comments that you look like a drowned rat— eyebrows furrowing in concern when the joke doesn’t land. its then that she takes in your appearance; dirt on your knees, blood on your shoes, broken nails blue still on the ones that remained. the new twenty minutes are somewhat of a blur, you take a shower, the water burns against your skin but you refuse to turn it down. you must’ve been the one to turn it up in the first place, knowing luka would never do anything to hurt you. afterwards you find yourself swaddled on the couch, buried between pillows and under a bubble-gum pink comforter. the shirt you’re wearing isn’t yours, doesn’t smell anything like iron and dirt—
“are you hungry?”
you shake your head. your voice hasn’t returned to you. luka asks what you need, what can she do, she doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t ask why you were in the rain, why you showed up on her doorstep with bloody shoes and empty eyes. instead she snuggles in bed beside you, reaches out her arms and lets you fall into them.
“i love you.” she says, “i really do.” and you know it, you do. but sometimes you didn’t know the why, or the how. she knew what you were. she knew what you did, what you’ve just done. and yet she tells you anyways, “i love you miku, so, so much. please believe me.” and you did, you do— but you long to ask her how? how could she possibly love someone like you? so pulled into the darkness you wouldn’t know light if you saw it.