[It's good he says what he says. Somehow, without knowing, he knows: she's so scared of not being enough. Not so much not good enough, because neither of them are good; plainly and simply not enough. She can't touch him. She can't help him. She can't be good for him or take care of him because she doesn't know how to. She's not suited for it. She isn't soft. All of her edges are razor-sharp. He should go find someone else. Someone sweet.]
[But his hand is in hers, their fingers laced together, except for how they're not; and Komaeda doesn't mind that. He looks . . . happy, but tired, but happy, and the edges of her tremble again because she doesn't understand it. Why he came to her, when she can't even touch him right.]
[But she believes him.]
[There's another moment of hesitation, a frisson of static in the border of the void that she is; then she nods, hesitant and shy, and leans into him, and kisses him, soft and barely-there. And falls. Cascades, maybe. She's never been on a lazy river, but it feels kind of like what she imagines that's like: strange and impermanent and comfortable. Maybe it's because she has permission, but his body feels like it's welcoming her; she settles into him like a relieved exhale at the end of a never-ending day.]
[As soon as she can, she opens his eyes and looks at the opposite wall. Sensations are still rolling in, and most of them are bad. Before they all hit her at once, she whispers in his head what she didn't want to say out loud.]
Please don't leave me alone again.
[It isn't fair. But that's not why she didn't want to say it. She didn't want to say it because it's weak — but in the privacy of this secret space, she can. Komaeda already knows.]
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[But his hand is in hers, their fingers laced together, except for how they're not; and Komaeda doesn't mind that. He looks . . . happy, but tired, but happy, and the edges of her tremble again because she doesn't understand it. Why he came to her, when she can't even touch him right.]
[But she believes him.]
[There's another moment of hesitation, a frisson of static in the border of the void that she is; then she nods, hesitant and shy, and leans into him, and kisses him, soft and barely-there. And falls. Cascades, maybe. She's never been on a lazy river, but it feels kind of like what she imagines that's like: strange and impermanent and comfortable. Maybe it's because she has permission, but his body feels like it's welcoming her; she settles into him like a relieved exhale at the end of a never-ending day.]
[As soon as she can, she opens his eyes and looks at the opposite wall. Sensations are still rolling in, and most of them are bad. Before they all hit her at once, she whispers in his head what she didn't want to say out loud.]
Please don't leave me alone again.
[It isn't fair. But that's not why she didn't want to say it. She didn't want to say it because it's weak — but in the privacy of this secret space, she can. Komaeda already knows.]