symbol vi: closure of passings

uika glanced at her phone, only a look of pure horror washing over her features as she realised what the notification was.

oh, what the fuck.

mortis… knows?... she— she knows.

does saki-chan know? no—no, she can’t. she can’t know—she can’t, she can’t; she won't let her.

the room fell silent except for the faint hum of the recently-installed light bulbs overhead, a low, monotonous buzz that seemed to press against uika’s temple. she couldn’t look up—couldn’t meet sakiko’s intense gaze. instead, she stared at the dull wood of the floor, her breath shallow and uneven, her hands trembling so violently she had to clutch the hem of her jacket to still them.

mortis’s voice still echoed in her ears, sharp and cutting, like the screech of a blade dragged across metal.

“tell her, uika-chan. or i will. oh, wait—” she paused for a moment, bursting into a fit of giggles, “who am i kidding, i already did!”

her mind reeled, every thought collapsing under the weight of what had just transpired. she’d tried to stop her, to silence her before she could spill the truth, but mortis had always been cruel in her precision, her words a weapon aimed directly at her weakest point. and now, she had done exactly what she had feared most.

mortis’ mocking laughter bestowed a new fear, a new sensation of pure, untouched dread. 

“it was you, wasn’t it?” sakiko’s voice broke through the haze in uika’s mind, quiet but filled with a sharp edge that cut deeper than any shout ever could.

uika’s throat tightened, a nauseating wave of panic washing over her. her chest felt as though it were caving in, her lungs struggling to draw in enough air. she could feel sakiko’s gaze on her—heavy, questioning, and hurt.

“i—” her voice cracked, barely audible, as her eyes darted around the room, looking for anything to ground her, anything to cling to. but there was nothing. just the cold, sterile walls and the suffocating weight of her own guilt.

“you seriously tried to sabotage crychic.” sakiko’s words weren’t a question. they were a statement, blunt and unwavering. “you—” she paused, her voice faltering for a moment before regaining its strength. “you were the reason tomori fell apart. all of it. you did this to her, to me, to us.”

uika’s legs threatened to give out beneath her, her entire body trembling as she took a shaky step back. she opened her mouth to speak, to explain, to apologize, but no words came. instead, her stomach churned violently, a sickening nausea rising in her throat.

“why?” sakiko’s voice cracked this time, the raw emotion in her tone cutting through uika like a knife made of glass, practically shattering upon any abrasions of her skin. “why would you do this? what possible reason could you have?”

uika finally forced herself to look up, her wide, tear-filled eyes meeting sakiko’s. her lips parted, her voice barely a whisper.

“i… i didn’t mean—”

“don’t lie to me.” sakiko’s tongue was sharp, her expression a mix of disbelief and fury. “don’t you dare lie to me right now.”

uika’s chest heaved as she struggled to breathe, her vision blurring as tears spilled onto her cheeks. “i… i didn’t want to lose you,” she choked out, her voice breaking on the last word. you.

sakiko’s eyes widened; her brows furrowed in confusion and anger. “so you destroyed a girl you didn’t even know? the entire band? because you didn’t want to lose me?!”

“i didn’t know what else to do!” uika’s voice rose suddenly, trembling with anguish. her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she tried to steady herself, tried to make sakiko understand. “you were going to leave, and i—i panicked. i couldn’t stand the thought of you being so far away, of you forgetting about me.”

“forgetting about you?” sakiko’s voice was incredulous, her eyes narrowing. “uika, you were my best friend. i trusted you. do you even understand what you’ve done? do you have any idea what it felt like to watch everything i worked for fall apart without knowing why? especially before i could end it with my own hands! do you understand how hard i worked?! or how hard the other’s tried to keep the band together?!”

uika’s knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her head in her hands as sobs wracked her body. the room seemed to spin around her, her thoughts spiraling out of control. she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but drown in the suffocating weight of her own actions.

“i’m—i’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible through her sobs. “i’m so sorry, saki-chan. i—i never wanted to hurt you. or—or anyone!”

sakiko stood frozen, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she stared down at uika. her mind raced, a storm of emotions swirling within her—anger, betrayal, heartbreak. but beneath it all, there was something else. something softer. almost making her forget every negative emotion she felt to comfort uika, but for what? to comfort her after unraveling the true being she really is?

despicable, really.

“you don’t get to be the victim here,” sakiko said quietly, her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “you don’t get to cry and say you’re sorry and expect everything to be okay.”

uika flinched at the words, her sobs growing quieter as she curled in on herself, her body trembling uncontrollably.

sakiko took a shaky breath, her fists unclenching as she forced herself to calm down. she knelt beside uika, her expression softening despite the anger still simmering beneath the surface.

“look at me,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “now, uika.”

uika hesitated, her hands slowly lowering as she lifted her tear-streaked face to meet sakiko’s eye.

“you hurt me,” sakiko said, her voice steady despite the tears shining in her eyes. “you broke my trust.” she hesitated, her gaze searching uika’s for a long moment. “i need to know if you meant it. if you meant to destroy everything, or if you were really just… scared.”

uika’s breath hitched, her voice barely a whisper as she replied, “i was scared. i didn’t think. i just—i didn’t want to lose you!”

she desperately grasped the air, her eyes wide as ever, almost manically—she panted with pure and utter distress. “i... i’m sorry for saying something so— something so selfish...”

sakiko closed her eyes for a moment, taking another deep breath before opening them again. “i don’t know if i’ll ever forgive you for this. not yet, maybe not ever at all. but… i need time to think. and you need to figure out what kind of person you want to be. you can either continue playing innocent, or embrace the individual you really are.”

uika nodded shakily, her tears falling silently as sakiko stood and turned toward the door.

“we can talk when i’m ready,” sakiko said quietly, her voice heavy with finality. and with that, she walked away.

mortis spared her a pitiful look—pity? was it even pity to begin with? she’s mocking her—that bitch is mocking her. how dare she? after making saki-chan leave her? 

“tch, it was due time, wasn’t it, misumi-chan?”

she left, too, hoping to erase anything she bore witness to from her (or mutsumi’s) memory, eventually leaving uika alone in the silence of the room, her guilt and regret consuming her entirely.

the front door shut behind them. that’s it—this is it.

the air in uika’s apartment was heavy, suffocating her within its stillness. the murky whirr of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards were the only sounds, but to uika, they were deafening. every small noise echoed in her ears, amplifying the silence left in sakiko’s absence.

the conversation—no, the confrontation—played on a loop in her mind, each word from sakiko cutting deeper than the last. uika sat slumped on the couch, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if that could somehow hold her together. but it couldn’t. nothing could.

her phone sat on the coffee table, the screen dark but taunting her with its presence. she had typed out message after message, each one pleading for forgiveness, for a second chance, but she hadn’t sent a single one. what was the point? sakiko had made it clear.

“i don’t know if i’ll ever forgive you for this. not yet, maybe not ever at all.”

not ever at all, uika thought bitterly, her stomach twisting as fresh tears burned at the corners of her eyes. she had ruined everything.

and now she was alone.

a-fucking-gain.

sakiko stared outside the window of the car, her reflection barely visible against the tinted glass. the city lights blurred together as they were glued in place, smearing into streaks of green and red.

she tightened her grip on the strap of her clutch, her knuckles whitening as she tried to focus on the rhythmic clatter of the traffic ahead of her. but it didn’t help. her thoughts kept returning to uika—her tear-streaked face, the way her voice had cracked as she begged for understanding she knew would never come.

“i didn’t want to lose you!”

the words rang hollow now, their desperation eclipsed by the weight of everything else. sakiko’s jaw clenched, her heart heavy with the conflict raging inside her. she wanted to scream, to cry, to demand answers that would never satisfy her.

but most of all, she wanted to stop feeling this way.

she had packed her things in a hurry, only about 2 or 3 blouses, grabbing whatever she could fit into her shitty little bag without looking back. the moment she had stepped out of uika’s apartment, she knew she couldn’t return. not now. not ever.

it was over.

she knew this already, but why did it hurt so much?

she knew it wasn’t uika’s fault for crychic’s departure. if anything, it was saki’s herself—she was the one who made them disband in the first place. but after their first live performance, it was obvious the mood was up—tomori, silent as a flower bud, mutsumi, tense as ever, taki, more stressed than usual, and then soyo—oh, soyo—the band's only hope: soyo. 

the one who so desperately tried to save crychic, only to fail oh-so pathetically.

even if sakiko never left them, the band would’ve failed regardless.

maybe that was uika’s fault.

uika hadn’t moved from the couch in hours. the dim light of the living room cast long shadows across the walls, swallowing her in darkness. she didn’t bother turning on the overhead lights—didn’t bother eating, drinking, or doing anything that required effort.

all she could do was sit there, paralyzed by the weight of her own mistakes.

her eyes flickered to the door, half-expecting sakiko to walk back in. but, of course, she didn’t. she wouldn’t.

uika felt the nausea rise again, her stomach twisting as she clutched the edge of the couch. how could she have been so stupid? so selfish? she had destroyed sakiko’s band, her career, her dreams—all because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

but in trying to hold on, she had pushed sakiko away.

a part of her knew none of this was true.

a part of her knew none of it was her fault whatsoever.

you were well within your rights. she wants to agree with herself, she really does. 

her mind is in a state of conflict, contradiction taking place every moment with no rest. a small fraction of her blaming herself, another calling her selfish, another saying she did nothing wrong at all—which was right?

she pressed her palms to her face, her fingers digging into her skin as if the pain could somehow ground her. but it didn’t. not even the desperate scratches on her arm, on her wrist; nothing could ease the ache that settled deep in her chest, an emptiness that seemed to grow with every passing second.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered into the silence, the words trembling on her lips.

or is she?

as the car pulled into its destination, sakiko gathered her belongings before stepping onto the pavement. the cool night air greeted her, brushing against her face and carrying with it the faint scent of rain.

she walked with purpose, though each step felt heavier than the last. the clutch that clung to her arm seemed to echo her thoughts—a weight she couldn’t escape, no matter how far she went.

funnily enough, her bag was nearly empty.

she found herself standing outside her grandfather’s estate, knowing exactly what was to come if she ever dared to enter back inside togawa house.

she was right to expect the worst. her grandfather, a man of many words while sparing none of kindness, pledged a room to her only if she studied hard to be the heiress she was born to become.

silly sakiko, always agreeing to things against her will out of pure, utter and pathetic hopelessness.

the guest room, one of many, was simple and quiet, the walls painted a muted beige that seemed almost comforting in its blandness. sakiko sat on the edge of the bed, her hands resting on her lap as she stared at the floor.

she thought about uika—about the nights they had spent talking until dawn, the feeble laughter they had shared, the unspoken feelings of fervour that had always been there. and then she thought about the betrayal, the lies, the manipulation.

it was too much.

she couldn’t go back.

not to someone as masked as uika. she couldn’t even tell what uika was feeling right now—fake, that’s what she is, regardless of what she feels.

uika stared at the photo on her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. it was an old picture, taken during one of their first performances together. sakiko was smiling—only subtly, even behind the mask, her eyes shut closed.

she looked so pleased—so alive.

and now, that sakiko is gone. she ceased to exist.

will they ever perform together again? no, no they will not.

uika felt the tears spill over again, her chest heaving as she lay on her side. she wanted to go back, to undo everything, to take away the pain she had caused. but she couldn’t.

that’s what she should feel, at least. in reality, she doesn’t care much about anything but the fact saki left, she left her—how could she be alone again?

not again. please, not again.

how was she supposed to be isolated again? all alone, all by herself?

she’d lose her mind like this; it was inevitable.

all she could do was sit there, drowning in her own regret. (not for ruining tomori’s self-esteem, though. truthfully, that was one of the last thoughts she had right now.)

sakiko lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of the day finally settled over her. she felt drained, emotionally and physically, but sleep wouldn’t come.

her mind kept replaying the moment she had walked out of uika’s apartment, the look on her face, the way her voice had cracked.

“i’m sorry,” uika had said, her voice barely audible.

but apologies couldn’t fix what had been broken.

sakiko closed her eyes, willing herself to let go, to move forward, as the ex-crychic members already had a while ago. but as the hours passed and the silence stretched on, she realized that some wounds were too deep to heal so easily.

and as much as she wanted to forget, she knew she never would—for uika was the spring she waited so eagerly for.

even more ironically, uika was no spring, nor was she a flower.

that woman would be her downfall.

even if it wasn’t on purpose, she knew uika would never give it up.

no wonder saki hates overly possessive people so much.