Forty Winks | K. Shirabu

┗ 𝘛𝘞𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘠-𝘚𝘌𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘋 𝘞𝘐𝘕𝘒

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𝘛𝘞𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘠-𝘚𝘌𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘋 𝘞𝘐𝘕𝘒:
— you make me lose myself.

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At what point can one person be good enough? What occurrence determines that they can finally accept themselves? How much improvement do they need to reach to be able to call themselves accomplished?

People dressed in white, sterile smell clinging to every inhalation, goosebumps on the skin — her hand ran through her hair, remaining at a place in the back of her head as she hung it low. Her knee buckled with her foot unconsciously tapping on the ground. Yet, her stare dwelled unmoving on the tiled floor in contrast with her eccentricities.

Like how one gazes upon the sea for the first ever in their lifetime, or how one watches the patterns of raindrops and the irregularities when they collide, her eyes were as placid as the midnight sky by the window.

She discerned that she was calm. Never wanting to be the same child that cried over breaking a toy nor the same child that tripped in front of strangers, there was no denying that she wanted to be calm in the eyes of others; a collected person, like her mother.

But, there are times when she can't really dictate her body to feel the same way.

When she gets caught up in the feels of a movie, loses a favorite handkerchief for the nth time, argues with people she found comfort in— she loses her cool. However, it didn't feel too bad as she thought it'd be. It felt more natural above anything else; for she was no commander of what she has to feel and no other individual can be given the right to validate her emotions.

This is exactly why she despised him and his desires over her decisions.

Still, he's family. She couldn't just cut him off like anyone else.

"Thank you for coming, Yui."

"Yeah." She closed her eyes to hinder the world from seeping through her dreams and tainting it with its monochromatic color, "What happened?"

"It's nothing serious. The doctor said I'll be fine after a rest." He took the glass of water beside the hospital bed and drank its content.

There was silence reigning over the room before Yui decided to pierce it with a nod, muttering words carefully thought over, "I see. Don't overwork yourself."

"Your acquaintance in that club said you declined."

She raised her head, looking outside the window— the barrier blocking them from the moonlight's essence. "Yes, and I don't see any problem with it."

"You're never certain of what you want to do."

Her lids fluttered one last time at the moon as she bid it goodbye, shifting her attention to the man. Her catatonic look rendered him to narrow his eyes, "Did I stutter?"

He sneered, and she simply looked elsewhere, "I didn't raise you to talk back like that."

"I'm glad." She pressed both palms together, "I grew up. Face that already."

"You're mistaking disrespect for maturity."

Interlocking her fingers, she exhaled a breath of pent-up emotions, "I didn't mean to sound disrespectful, Hideo-san." Yet, her words held no sentiment. "Sorry."

"I don't need a half-assed apology."

"I really respect you and I meant every word that you should take care of yourself more." Her constant tapping on the ground continued with her voice, "But that is an entirely different matter from allowing you to make my choices for me."