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The night was going very well, so of course Mika had to go and fuck it all up. It was just her and Mitsumi this time, a solo sleepover, which the Mika of a year ago would have thought of as an apocalyptic event, and the Mika of a year and a half ago would have viewed as social suicide. The Mika of today is not as callous as the Mikas of the past were, and had been actually rather excited for it all. And, well. She’d still managed to ruin the night, so maybe she shouldn’t be giving herself so much credit.
Really, as night-ruining went, Mika had at least chosen a somewhat opportune time. Near the end of the night, while their conversations, devolved into giggles and tangents and lapses of silence broken by more giggles, were held up more by the frantic desire to not end the night rather than the bounds of their circadian rhythms. To an outside observer it would have appeared natural, even, for Mitsumi to drift off around 1:30 am, nevermind the preceding fifteen minutes.
Hours earlier, the two of them had been studying, Mitsumi running down a color-coded list in a planner so stuffed with tabs and post-it notes and hastily (though, astoundingly, still neatly) scrawled reminders that Mika got a headache just looking at it. Her planner had been painstakingly selected based partially for its color (a shade Yuzuki had called bluer than the sky, referred to as “astral azure” on the website) but mostly because an influencer (popular enough to be trendy but not so popular for adherence to her recommendations to indicate mindless conformity) had recommended it.
Superficial differences aside, the two of them worked remarkably well as study partners. Mitsumi was a bit overeager in her explanations, sure, but she was a genuine help. Mika couldn’t help but to reflect the energy becoming a bit more enthusiastic as she talked through problems she understood but Mitsumi struggled with—which, unfortunately, did seem to help Mika understand the topics better herself.
Or maybe not “unfortunately”. Was it really such a bad thing, the way Mika felt a bit freer around Mitsumi? The way her internal barometer of how she was being seen, who was thinking what at what time, just…dulled, for a bit. It didn’t turn off—Mika wasn’t sure if it could ever turn off. Still. It was nice, to be unaware, just for a little while. To feel like it didn’t matter if she said something a little silly, laughed a little too long or a little too loudly, failed to notice a ramen broth stain that just so happened to look kind of like a nipple—or, that it did matter, but only in the way that lovingly poking fun at each other was a joy and a delight, not a source of torment or isolation.
Apparently it was a bad thing, or could be. In the sense that Mika, free and untethered, was also Mika, unrestrained from the worst version of herself, the self she hated more and more every day. The self she tried her absolute hardest to never let her friends (Mitsumi most of all) see. Which was only, apparently, a marginal step down from her usual self. Mika had already known that, of course, but she didn’t exactly relish the reminder.
Which brought her right back to: studying for chemistry. Pulling off a surprisingly accurate impression of their teacher bellowing “Correlation does not equal causation!” at the start of every lecture, as if the chemical formula for etching a phrase into your brain was volume plus repetition. Feeling joy blossom in her chest as she watched Mitsumi resist her natural urge to defend authority figures to instead laugh so hard at the impression that she tried to speak three times before any coherent words made it out of her mouth.
Correlation does not equal causation—not without a rigorously designed experiment, per Hamano-sensei’s bellowing. But Mika has a pretty solid foundation of evidence, here. Not enough for Hamano-sensei’s standards, maybe, but enough for her own. Mitsumi, yawning every other sentence, struggling to stay awake for their game of “Would You Rather”, but insisting that no, really, she wanted to keep playing Mika-chan, let’s keep going! Mika, continuing the game, showing too much of the parts of herself she usually tried to keep away from Mitsumi. Mitsumi, nodding off to sleep approximately fifteen minutes later.
It wasn’t exactly discovering the secrets of the atom to figure this one out.
The worst part was that Mika was at least 85% certain Mitsumi wouldn’t hold a grudge. Ruminate, sure. But hold it against Mika? Ice her out, ask her to come over to study a bit less, take longer to reply to her texts? Not likely to be on purpose, if it happened at all. So even in thinking (worrying) (spiraling) about what was to come next, all Mika could think about yet again, staring at the ceiling as she sprawled on the living room floor, was the inevitable fact that not only was she becoming a bad person, she’d just so happened to become friends with one of the best people she’d ever met.
Mika’s back twinged. She was unused to being conscious in this position. Normally, she’d be out like a light within five minutes of properly settling into her sleeping bag. She’d tried that after Mitsumi had fallen asleep, to no avail. Mika didn’t particularly relish the idea of tossing and turning until her mind had worn itself out, and anyways she was feeling a bit thirsty. If her mind wasn’t going to cooperate, she could at the very least attend to her body. Wasn’t that what she’d always done, after all?
(Attend to, not take care of. There was a difference, as Mika had learned, the knife’s edge distinction between doing something to yourself and doing something for yourself.)
She’d been here enough times, whether for a sleepover or a study session or a “let’s all try to talk Mitsumi down from making any more changes to her hair without consulting someone” gathering, that she knew exactly where to step to make the least noise as she padded her way to the kitchen. So it was a shock when, as she turned from filling her glass of water, she bumped into Nao-san, only managing to avoid spilling the entire glass on the floor by virtue of the fact that half the water ended up soaking Nao-san’s aspirationally cute nightshirt.
Mika attempted to say “Nao-san?” and “I’m so sorry” and “Let me get a paper towel” at the same time, so what emerged from her mouth was a grotesque, incomprehensible mash of syllables and half-formed words. Face burning, she turned to at least clean up the mess. But the paper towels, where were the paper towels, no, seriously, she thought she’d seen them right there as she and Mitsumi grabbed cutlery for their takeout, where were the paper towels—
Nao-san’s hand landed, gently, so gently, on Mika’s shoulder. Something in Mika recoiled, instinctively, at the knowledge that she’d allowed herself to be seen as someone who needed comfort, even from Nao-san.
“O-Mika, don’t worry about it, really. You should refill your glass and go back to having fun.”
Mika stilled, but didn’t turn around. “Mitsumi-chan’s asleep,” she said.
“Oh,” Nao-san said, with a knowing tone in her voice. “Having trouble doing the same?”
“Something like that,” Mika replied absently, having finally alighted upon a sliver of the paper towel roll, peeking out from a just-barely opened cabinet. Mika had to stand on her tiptoes to reach it, a position that conveniently allowed her to pull away and continue to hide her still-burning face from Nao-san. “Did I…did I wake you up? I’m sorry, I was trying to be quiet—”
“No, no. I just wanted to check on you two. Not that I wanted to interrupt your fun, just….” Nao-san trailed off as Mika started mopping the puddle of water still on the floor. Nao-san had stepped out of the blast radius, her soaking wet shirt leaving little droplets scattered across the floor. There was a lot more water than Mika had anticipated, or maybe these paper towels were much less absorbent than advertised.
It was only when she paused, strategizing how much to tear off the roll to maximize the effectiveness without being wasteful, that she finally heard Nao-san calling her name, sounding as if she’d been doing so for quite some time.
“O-Mika!”
Mika looked up wordlessly. Something in her face must have been concerning, because Nao-san’s voice softened, and she crouched down next to Mika with a gentle smile on her face. “It’s okay, really. Let the adult handle this, okay? Go back to sleep. I know you and Mitsumi must have big plans for the morning.”
Mika instinctively bit the inside of her cheek to keep from replying unthinkingly. And Nao-san, as was her way, didn’t push. Left the space open for Mika to fill, if she so wished.
“I—I don’t know, Nao-san.”
Nao-san tilted her head. “Don’t know…”
The wet paper towel still in Mika’s hand drip-drip-dripped onto the floor. “Don’t know if we will have plans. In the morning.”
“Well, not if you don’t sleep you won’t!”
“No, I mean—” Mika paused. “I think we’re in a fight.”
“You think you and…O-Mitsu? Are in a fight?” Nao-san said the word fight like she couldn’t conceive of that word ever being applied in this context.
“She’s asleep,” Mika said by way of explanation. Then, seeing the confusion on Nao-san’s face, couldn’t help herself from continuing, “She’s asleep, because I think I upset her earlier, and it’s my fault, and I know it’s my fault, but that doesn’t mean I like how it feels.”
It was shocking to hear herself speaking so frankly. Mika had learned long ago how to tell people what they wanted to hear, or at least to prevent herself from saying the things people very much did not want to hear. Her mother would never, ever hear from Mika’s mouth how much she struggled to make friends before she’d decided to remake herself into the shape of someone who might finally be loved. Mitsumi would never know about the small fountain of jealous resentment that still burbled away in the back of Mika’s mind. And no one, ever, could know about the way Mika still heard a voice in the back of her head telling her that her body would never be enough, no matter what she did to it.
But maybe Nao-san could.
Mika recalled something one of her classmates had told her—not quite confiding, just announcing, which Mika should perhaps have taken as a sign that the friendship would never be more than surface level. “My cousin must be so annoyed about me telling her all my problems. But I mean, some things you just can’t tell your friends, right? And my mom—” here, the classmate had laughed, and Mika laughed too, at the thought of ever telling her mother anything outside of the strictly circumscribed set of topics that would allow her mother to continue believing she was never anything but a perfectly happy child.
But Nao-san, who wasn’t quite a friend in the same way Mitsumi was, who definitely wasn’t her mother…maybe Nao-san could know, and it wouldn’t ruin anything at all.
“It’s just—it’s hard, you know? To realize how different her view of the world is. Not that—I don’t want to speak badly of her. She’s my friend, and she’s your niece, so don’t misinterpret me, but I just…”
Nao-san smiled, a little sadly. “The people we love the most shine the brightest, but that makes them hard to look at sometimes, doesn’t it.”
Mika nodded, her throat feeling tight, her eyes feeling suddenly hot and prickly. The paper towel continued dripping on the floor, undoing all of Mika’s hard and futile work.
“How about this,” Nao-san said. “I’ll go change into something that isn’t dripping wet, and you take a seat at the kitchen table. And then I’ll make some tea, and we can talk about this more, alright?”
“Okay,” Mika said in a small voice. “And, um, the puddle—”
“Can be a problem for after tea,” Nao-san replied, rising to her full height and tip-toeing around the puddle, her face delicately creased with disgust, which she quickly tried to modify once she saw Mika looking.
Mika snorted wetly, which Nao-san responded to with a somewhat offended huff, only faintly audible as Nao-san walked away. Mika couldn’t help giggling as she carefully made her way to the kitchen table.
***
By the time Nao-san returned in a new, equally aspirational and equally cute nightshirt, Mika’s giggles had faded away, replaced by a restless boredom she attempted to dull by scrolling through her Instagram feed. As Nao-san put the kettle on and bustled around the kitchen (carefully), Mika bookmarked a few memes she wanted to show Makoto (it was much more fun to see her reaction in person, and anyways Makoto never replied to anyone but Yuzuki with less than two hours of delay), sent Yuzuki a post about the latest release from their favorite skincare brand, then paused, her finger hovering over the bookmark button for a pair of earrings made by a small artist she followed, someone’s friend’s cousin’s friend whose posts had been shared down the grapevine to eventually reach Mika.
“Oooh!” Nao-san said, peeking over Mika’s shoulder at a slight distance so as not to slosh any of the tea in the cups she was holding over Mika’s head. “Those are so cute. You should totally send those to Mitsumi-chan. We just went shopping, and I think it would really match the outfits I helped her pick out.”
Mika, who had thought of Mitsumi as soon as she saw the post, still let her finger dangle over the bookmark button for a moment before she finally pressed down and set her phone face-down on the table. Nao-san slid her a cup of tea, which Mika sipped at gingerly as she tried to think of what to say.
Nao-san started speaking before she figured it out. “I’ve never told you about what it was like for me, when I was younger.” She paused, but before Mika could reply she continued. “It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even fun, really, not the way it is for you girls. And I love my life now, I do. But when I see Mitsumi-chan, who’s never even had to pretend to be anyone other than herself…that’s not easy, either, no matter how happy I am for her.”
“It’s not,” Mika said, feeling like a pressure cooker finally letting off steam as she said it out loud. “It’s not easy at all.”
She sat in silence for a moment, staring at her murky reflection on the surface of the tea. But the trouble with letting off steam was it was rather difficult to stop once you got started, so she couldn’t help but to continue, childish as the question felt. “Does it ever get easier?”
“It does,” Nao-san said finally. “It does, but it never goes away. It just started feeling smaller, once I loved myself in the present.”
Mika couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Of course Nao-san, glamorous, beautiful Nao-san, who made everything she wore look effortless, who had a boyfriend who loved her, who Mitsumi stared at like she hung the moon and stars, could love herself. What was Mika supposed to do, just wait until all her striving maybe, finally, paid off 10, 15 years down the line?
“When?”
“When, what?”
“When did you feel like that?”
“It took a long, long time. I won’t say it didn’t. You know, when O-Mika was young, I used to babysit her, and even then I wasn’t who I wanted to be. But then I moved to Tokyo, and I started being that person—”
“But what if,” Mika interrupted, “What if I already tried that, and I only made myself worse.” Her voice cracked on the word worse, and she looked down into her teacup again.
“O-Mika,” Nao-san said softly, setting her teacup down on the table with a soft thump.
“No,” Mika barreled on, her internal pressure cooker apparently not yet done releasing. “No, because I’ve spent all this time trying to be someone, but then everyone I want to talk to the most doesn’t seem to care, or if they do care it’s only because I’ve made myself worse. So what am I supposed to do, Nao-san?”
“I built myself too, O-Mika,” Nao-san said. “And you know what the nice thing about that is? It means you get to decide who you are. You never have to feel trapped, ever. All you have to do is answer the question of what you want for yourself.”
“I…I want...” To be worthy of being loved. But then—
Laughing so hard her stomach hurt. Going shopping together in the wintery cold, which was only bearable because they were together. Looking over at her pinned chats and seeing the group chat with the four of them lighting up at random points of the night when they were all supposed to be asleep. Sharing knowing looks with whoever happened to be uninvolved in the shenanigans of the week, warm with the comforting blanket of being in cahoots with someone. Feeling safer, freer, happier than she’s been for nearly as long as she can remember. Wanting, more than anything—
“I want to be worthy of the love I already have,” Mika said in a quiet, choked voice.
Nao-san inhaled sharply. It was a few moments before she responded, smiling despite the sudden sheen to her eyes. “Ah, well. That’s the easy part. The hard part,” she said, voice going a bit hoarse, “The hard part is believing it.”
Mika glanced involuntarily in the direction of the living room. Then she looked again, more closely this time, at Mitsumi’s silhouette, too faint with distance and darkness to make out much detail aside from its general orientation: upright and very much not strewn across the couch, head swiveling from side to side. By the time she looked away, Nao-san was already standing, placing her cup in the sink with a brisk efficiency that in no way indicated she’d had tears in her eyes only moments before. She whirled to face Mika.
“I’m going to mop the floor before bed, or I’ll never do it and we’ll have a tragic accident on our hands in the morning. If you’d like to have more tea, or to share some with O-Mitsu, feel free to take the kettle into the living room. And sleep well, both of you.”
Mika stood but didn’t leave the kitchen, watching as Nao-san opened a cupboard, retrieved the mop, and began mopping with vigor.
“Nao-san,” she said. Nao-san didn’t look up, but did make a hum of acknowledgement as she continued mopping, so Mika continued. “You believe it too, right? Not about me. About yourself.”
Nao-san stilled, the mop held out at its furthest distance. “Of course I do,” she said, with a fierce conviction that made Mika suddenly conscious of the fact that before Nao-san was glamorous, beloved Nao-san, she’d been someone who needed to fight to believe that she was worth loving.
So instead of any of the follow-up questions she could have asked, Mika only said “Good. Good night, Nao-san,” and grabbed the kettle and two cups to take back to the living room.
“Good night, O-Mika,” Nao-san replied.
Mika walked back to the living room, careful not because of fear of waking anyone up but because she didn’t want to create another spill from walking too vigorously with the kettle. Only she never made it to the living room, because Mitsumi decided to meet her halfway.
“Mika-chan?” Mitsumi said, hair mussed and eyes bleary. “Were you in the kitchen? I was looking for you.”
Mika held up the kettle. “I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all. Nao-san made tea.”
“Oh,” Mitsumi said, “Well, I’m sorry for falling asleep. I was a lot more tired than I thought, and—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Mika cut in, because she wasn’t quite sure she was ready for Mitsumi to explain, not yet. Maybe in the morning, when she awoke to the sun streaming through the windows, to the hum of Tokyo traffic intermingled with the chirping of birds, to Mitsumi watching a funny video on her phone that she couldn’t stop laughing at long enough to even explain its premise to Mika. When the future Mika had felt like she was running towards for years finally felt a little closer. When the ground felt a little less shaky under her feet.
But in the dark quiet of the night, all Mika said was “Come on. Let’s drink the tea before it gets too cold.”