eclipse (IV)
summary: she was the moon, fading behind shadow until he became her eclipse, interrupting the darkness with a quiet and unexpected light.
pairing: akaza x fem!reader
genre: college au, suicide prevention month
chapter warnings: 7.6k w.c, mentions of suicide attempt (paracetamol overdose), emotional distress, depression, anxiety, implied smoking
masterlist ᯓ☾ page 5
two years had passed since the incident with (name)’s ex. the quartet was now patiently waiting for their parents to arrive—it was their graduation day. once their families arrived, they took pictures together with their parents and, of course, with each other.
akaza had been waiting for this day for a long time. he wanted to confess his feelings to (name) after two years of quietly liking her during their freshman and sophomore years, and two more years of being in love with her throughout junior and senior year. he decided to wait because he had been the first to witness her relationship downfalls and the way they affected her.
he remembered vividly the time last year when she almost overdosed on paracetamol, wanting to disappear.
akaza held (name) tightly as she threw up the dozens of paracetamols she had taken. akaza figured that (name) had forgotten about their unscheduled hangout, and when he came to check, he found her on the floor, struggling to make it to the bathroom.
he patted her back gently, tucking her hair behind her ear as she let out a weak sigh before muttering a soft sorry. akaza told her she didn’t need to apologize and asked how many she had taken and the dosage.
“lost count of it… but the dose is 500mg,” she said weakly, resting her head on his shoulder before leaning forward toward the toilet bowl again.
akaza’s chest tightened at her words, but he kept his voice steady. “alright… just stay with me, okay? i’ve got you.” he reached for the glass of water on the counter, pressing it carefully into her hand. she could barely hold it, so he guided it to her lips, making sure she rinsed her mouth before leaning back against him.
“you’re not alone, (name). i’m right here,” he whispered, more to keep her secured than anything else. her body trembled with exhaustion, the weight of everything she’d been carrying finally breaking through. akaza brushed his thumb gently across her shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut, tears streaking down her cheeks as her breathing evened out.
akaza’s mind drifted again, this time to another night he couldn’t forget.
arisa had insisted the four of them go to a bar after the preliminary exam ended. full of tension, (name) agreed, trusting that at least one of them would make sure she got back to her dorm safely.
arisa and (name) kept drinking shot after shot, laughing at everything they said while akaza and douma just watched from across the table. by the time it was time to leave, arisa was the difficult one—wide awake and stubbornly wanting to keep drinking. (name), on the other hand, was fast asleep on akaza’s back, her breathing soft against his shoulder.
douma had to drag arisa out as she caused a commotion, while akaza carried (name). the two of them left akaza’s motorcycle behind, hailing a taxi to get the girls home safely. thankfully, arisa was sober enough to walk, though not to string a proper sentence together. douma dropped her off on the 3rd floor, where her older brother was staying. her brother clicked his tongue, muttered for douma to piss off, and took her inside.
as for (name), she clung to akaza’s arm in the elevator, still half-asleep. akaza, already resigned, handed his keys to douma to retrieve his motorcycle later—ignoring his friend’s complaints with a sharp look. when they reached their floor and stopped in front of (name)’s door, akaza fumbled with her keys. that was when she suddenly wrapped her arms around him, catching him off guard.
“thank you,” she whispered groggily, before slipping into her room. she lay down on her bed with a faint smile and, just before drifting off, asked him softly to stay.
akaza locked the door behind him and lowered himself onto the edge of her bed, letting (name) ramble on about nonsense while he listened quietly. resting his elbow on the mattress, his knuckle supporting his chin, he watched her with a faint smile. (name) turned toward him, a cheeky grin spreading across her face as she told him that he looks cute, then shuffled closer, curling up beside him to sleep. akaza’s gaze softened, watching her chest rise and fall before he finally leaned back, letting the quiet settle around them.
the memories came flooding into his brain as he was called to go and walk the stage. (name) had already walked the stage along with her psychology classmates, and it was time for the physical therapy students to walk. he marched his way towards the stage, and once he was ready to take a picture, his eyes wandered to find her. to his dismay, he didn’t see her. he walked towards his seat and opened his phone to see no message from (name). thinking that she was just in the bathroom, he decided to go on with the ceremony.
as the ceremony ended, they flung their graduation caps into the air. arisa informed them to meet at the stage to take some photos. the three of them waited for (name) before deciding that maybe she had already left. arisa, who had an idea of what akaza was going to do, patted him on the back with a tight smile. “we’ll see her tomorrow at the dormitory,” and he nodded.
the next day passed by, and the three of them waited for (name) to open her door. with no avail, they went to douma’s and akaza’s shared dorm, where douma leaped over the balcony railing to peek. when he came back, he said, “the room’s clean. no stuff of hers.”
the look on akaza’s face was dejected. how could (name) just go away with no explanations?
arisa then decided to message her best friend on social media, and to her surprise she found out that (name)’s account was deactivated. a curse left her lips as she realized that maybe (name) didn’t want them as friends anymore. as much as it hurt her because she saw (name) not only as a best friend but as a sister, she could only imagine the pain akaza must have been going through, having liked—no, loved—(name) for two years and more.
a day has passed, and they were already packing their belongings. at least douma and akaza were. arisa still wanted to take the licensed exams, which would happen in two months.
in the middle of her studying, arisa decided to text (name). to her relief, the message pushed through—but the chat stayed unread. there was no reply, no tiny notification that (name) had even noticed.
arisa tried to brush it off at first, but as the minutes stretched, the silence pressed harder against her chest. she stared at her books, the words blurring, until finally the weight of it all cracked something inside her.
she grabbed her phone and dialed douma.
when he answered, his voice was lazy as always. “you miss me already?”
“shut up and come here,” arisa snapped, her voice trembling. “i—just come. i don’t… i don’t wanna be alone right now.”
there was a pause on the other end. then douma’s tone softened. “alright. i’ll bring akaza with me.”
not long after, the knock on her door came. when she opened it, douma was there with his usual grin muted, and akaza stood beside him, quiet as ever but with worry flickering in his eyes.
arisa didn’t even try to hold it back anymore—her tears fell the second they stepped inside.
douma sighed, scratching the back of his neck before awkwardly patting her head. “jeez, you’re gonna drown the whole dorm if you keep crying like that.”
akaza, meanwhile, stayed close but silent, offering her a presence steadier than words. he handed her a tissue, his hand brushing hers just briefly, enough to remind her she wasn’t alone.
“it’s just…” arisa’s voice cracked as she tried to speak. “she didn’t even reply. i don’t know what’s happening, and i feel like she’s slipping away again. and i can’t—” she broke off, covering her face.
two days had passed since arisa’s breakdown. akaza remembered sitting quietly in her dorm, listening to her sobs while douma tried—and failed—to cheer her up with his clumsy jokes. he hadn’t said much then, just stayed by her side until she calmed down. but deep down, he felt the same fear she did: the fear of losing (name) all over again.
he told himself he would ask (name) out soon, before she disappeared completely. but as the days passed, hesitation ate at him. eventually, he decided maybe they were better off as friends.
yet (name) started to vanish again. she went from always reposting something to rarely, her page frozen in time like she’d stepped away from it. akaza checked her profile daily, waiting for signs of her, only to be greeted by the same post. the thought of her attaching herself to someone else made his skin crawl, but what could he do? it was her life, not his.
now, at 2:02 a.m., he sat in his dimly lit room, staring at the ticking clock. sleep refused to come. instead, memories filled the silence—vivid, unshakable moments that made his chest ache.
the first time she rode his motorcycle.
he had intentionally sped up just so she would hug him, and it worked—her arms clung around him as she screamed for him to slow down. instead, he pushed the throttle harder, earning a sharp smack on his forearm.
“i’m never going to trust you with your motorcycle again!” she shouted, legs wobbly from the speed she had just endured.
“fine, fine, i’ll go slower on the way back!” he laughed, placing a steady hand on her waist to help her stand.
“i mean it!” she huffed, crossing her arms even though her knees were still trembling. “one more stunt like that and i’m walking home.”
akaza chuckled, tilting his head. “walking? in this heat? good luck with that.”
she shot him a glare, but the corner of her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. “don’t test me.”
“you already tested my brakes,” he teased, rubbing the spot where she smacked him. “pretty sure i’ve got a bruise.”
“good. maybe it’ll remind you not to be an idiot next time.”
he grinned, unbothered. “next time, huh? so you’re riding again?”
akaza then stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard. he typed, erased, typed again, but nothing felt right. if (name) didn’t respond to arisa, why would she respond to him? still, he couldn’t sit still anymore. finally, he typed something simple:
akaza: hi, do you maybe wanna catch up?
he pressed send before he could second-guess himself, the message already pushed through, but the screen stayed quiet. no “seen,” no reply, just silence staring back at him.
groaning, he ran a hand down his face and flopped back against his bed. he felt ridiculous like some desperate ex clawing for attention. though the thought stung, he corrected himself bitterly: he wasn’t even her ex. just desperate.
he remembered one afternoon at the library, when she had dragged him along under the excuse of “needing supervision” because she knew she’d get distracted. he’d slouched in the chair across from her, earphones in but nothing playing, just watching her scribble furiously in her notebook.
“you’re staring,” she muttered without looking up, her pen scratching across the page.
“i’m not,” he lied flatly.
“then why do i feel your eyes burning holes into my forehead?” she snapped, though there was no bite in her voice. finally, she peeked up at him, cheeks faintly pink, before scowling again. “stop. you’re making me forget my train of thought.”
he’d smirked, leaning back in his chair. “maybe i’m helping. you think better under pressure, right?”
she groaned dramatically, dropping her pen. “akaza, i swear, if i fail this moving quiz tomorrow, i’m haunting you.”
“deal,” he said without hesitation. “then i’ll never get rid of you.”
the memory made his chest ache. his thoughts lurched to another moment, late evening at a convenience store, both of them half-delirious after cramming all day.
she had grabbed the last pack of spicy noodles, holding it above her head like a prize. “mine.”
he raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see about that.”
the both of them wrestled in the middle of the aisle like children, muffling their laughter so the clerk wouldn’t kick them out. in the end, (name) kept the noodles, but only after promising—between wheezes of laughter—that she’d “allow” him two bites.
it had been stupid, simple, nothing special. but that was what killed him the most, how easy everything felt with her.
akaza rubbed his temples now, the weight of it pressing down on him. the contrast between the laughter and the tears, the light moments and the ones where she fell apart, was tearing him in two.
and yet, through all of it, he’d never once wanted to run, he just stayed. so why, now, did it feel like she was the one running from him?
months flew by quickly. akaza found a job near his place, one that finally allowed him to take care of his father while working. he even made a new friend at work, though, in truth, he found the guy more annoying than anything since he never stopped gossiping about the rest of the staff.
he told himself he had moved on—or at least, that’s what he whispered at night to make it easier to fall asleep. but the truth gnawed at him in the quiet. he, douma, and arisa rarely talked anymore, and sometimes he wondered if (name) had been the thread holding them all together. maybe she was just the starting point of their separation.
akaza’s new routine was simple, almost mechanical. wake up early, make breakfast for his father, go to work, come home, repeat. some nights, he would stay out on the balcony with a cigarette between his fingers not because he liked the taste, but because the smoke kept his hands busy.
but every so often, something would pull him back.
once, during lunch break, one of his coworkers passed him a cup of chocolate milk, saying the vending machine had two and they didn’t want the extra. akaza froze, staring at the condensation on the plastic bottle. it reminded him of that afternoon when (name) had dragged him to the convenience store across campus, insisting he had to try it because “it tastes like childhood, idiot.” she had watched him take a sip with her chin propped on her hand, grinning like she already knew he’d like it. he remembered the way she had hummed happily, proud of herself for converting him to something so simple.
he blinked, and the chocolate milk was just a drink in his hand. still, he finished it.
another time, the staff at work invited him out for karaoke. he almost said no—he hated crowds, hated the noise—but he ended up going anyway. the room was full of laughter and awful singing, and it should have been distracting enough. but then someone picked a song that (name) used to hum when she studied. akaza sat frozen for a moment, the lyrics hitting him like they were meant for him alone. he didn’t sing along, but his grip on the microphone stand tightened until his knuckles turned white. nobody noticed and he was glad nobody noticed.
sometimes it was even smaller things. a passing motorcycle. the scent of her perfume on a stranger in the train. the sound of someone’s laugh that almost matched hers. they all tugged at him in different ways, reminding him of a past he kept trying—and failing—to bury.
then an event came up that he couldn’t ignore. a personal friend reached out, inviting him to a gathering. at first, akaza didn’t want to go—he never did these days. the idea of smiling, of pretending he was completely fine, felt exhausting. but when he looked at his calendar, he noticed he hadn’t touched his monthly day off.
the invitation was from muzan, one of his old high school friends. apparently, muzan had just taken over as the new head of his family’s business, and to celebrate, he was holding a small party. the word small made akaza raise an eyebrow as muzan wasn’t the type to throw casual get-togethers. in high school, he was always sharp, composed, and strangely distant. if he was the one arranging a party now, it had to mean something.
so akaza decided to go.
he told himself it was just to show his face, congratulate muzan, and leave after an hour or so. nothing more. but as he dressed up that evening, buttoning his shirt in front of the mirror, he caught himself hesitating. it had been a while since he’d gone out for anything other than work.
arriving at the venue, akaza paused near the door, letting his eyes sweep over the room. laughter, music, and the clatter of glasses filled the space—an atmosphere far warmer than what he usually allowed himself to step into. he wasn’t much for parties, but this was muzan’s gathering, rare enough that skipping it would’ve felt like ignoring history itself.
as he moved further in, weaving past familiar-yet-forgotten faces, someone caught his eye.
“akaza?”
he turned, finding kaigaku grinning at him from across the table. they’d been schoolmates in college, though in different programs. kaigaku was the kind of person who always had a reputation for stirring things up—sometimes sharp, sometimes playful, always carrying a spark of trouble.
“been a while,” kaigaku said, lifting his glass slightly before setting it down. “thought you disappeared after graduation. didn’t think you’d show up tonight.”
akaza gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching. “i almost didn’t.”
kaigaku chuckled. “figures. you never did like crowds.” he leaned back in his chair, studying him with that same probing look he used to have in class when he wanted answers without asking directly. “so, what have you been up to?”
“working,” akaza answered, voice low but steady. “near home.”
“responsible as ever,” kaigaku teased. “by the way, have you seen douma?”
akaza let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “didn’t see him on the way here. don’t tell me that bastard’s going to annoy—”
“akaza!” a voice boomed from across the room, loud enough to turn a few heads.
“—me again…” akaza froze mid-sentence, his jaw tightening.
douma shouted cheerfully, weaving his way through the small crowd like he owned the place, his grin so wide it was almost blinding.
kaigaku snorted, trying and failing to hide his laugh behind his drink. “speak of the devil.”
akaza dragged a hand down his face. “why does he always have to make an entrance…”
as the three of them chatted, catching up on small things and trading light jabs, akaza eventually excused himself when he spotted the host of the night.
“i’ll be back,” he muttered, brushing past a few people before reaching muzan. akaza thought it was only right to offer his congratulations, even if it was just in passing.
after that, he drifted toward the food table, finally letting himself focus on the smell of roasted meat and freshly cooked rice. he made his way toward the food area, plate in hand, scanning through the dishes laid out neatly.
he’d just begun to serve himself when a familiar voice broke through the chatter behind him.
“akaza?”
he looked back and saw a familiar girl, arisa. her hair was styled differently than he remembered, but the smile she wore was the same.
“wow, it’s good to see you,” akaza said, setting the plate down on the table. “though i might ask, why are you here? are you and douma still together?”
arisa laughed, shaking her head. “no, no. douma invited me because he didn’t want to go alone, and i’m not entertaining guys anymore, if you know what i mean.”
akaza blinked at her words, then let out a small chuckle. “huh. well, good for you. at least you don’t have to deal with idiots like him anymore… do you maybe wanna eat with me, arisa?”
“yeah, sure.” she grabbed a plate. “douma’s face can get really thick, you know? i didn’t really wanna come, but he insisted. if i hadn’t seen you, i probably would’ve just stayed in the corner or left already.”
they found a quieter table near the corner, away from the loud laughter and clinking glasses. akaza dug into his food, while arisa sat across from him, her plate barely touched as she talked animatedly about her life after graduation. she told him about her work, and the people she met. akaza listened, genuinely glad to see her doing well, occasionally adding in his own updates about his job and how he was balancing it with taking care of his father.
“sounds like you’ve been doing alright for yourself,” arisa said with a grin, twirling her fork between her fingers. “better than douma, at least. he’s still a mess.”
their laughter faded into a comfortable pause, the kind that came with years of friendship. but then arisa’s expression softened, her voice quieter when she asked, “hey… have you moved on from (name) yet?”
the question landed like a weight in his chest. akaza froze, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth before he set it down carefully. he didn’t answer right away but his silence said more than words could.
arisa sighed, “akaza… you need to. i know it’s hard, but you can’t keep holding on forever.” she gave him a faint smile, though her eyes were heavy with her own memories. “i’ve gone through it already, you know? the five stages of grief.”
“were you ever mad at her?”
“yes,” arisa admitted softly, looking down at her hands. “because i didn’t want to be mad at myself… for not trying harder to reach out.”
akaza stayed quiet but her words hitting deeper than he wanted to admit.
weeks slipped by like sand through his fingers. work, home, sleep—repeat. that was his life now. the routine dulled the ache, but it didn’t erase it.
at work, akaza found himself lingering longer in conversations with his coworkers. the guy who gossiped too much—who he once wrote off as annoying—turned out to be funny in small doses, especially when he wasn’t the target of the chatter. another coworker, a quiet woman from accounting, occasionally shared snacks during break, and akaza found himself saying “thanks” without the stiffness he used to carry.
then after work, he started taking the long route home. walking instead of riding his motorcycle, just to clear his head. sometimes he stopped by the convenience store to pick up canned coffee.
he began sleeping earlier. not always—sometimes the night dragged him into old thoughts—but more often than not, he let his body rest.
on weekends, he started cooking meals with his father. simple ones at first, but enough to remind him that taking care of someone else didn’t have to be heavy. his father, frail as he was, always insisted on chopping vegetables even when akaza tried to stop him.
“my hands still work, don’t they?” his father would grumble.
akaza would just smile faintly and let him.
bit by bit, the edges of his life softened and he didn’t think of it as moving on. he just thought of it as living again.
graduation felt like it was supposed to be an ending and a beginning at the same time, but for (name) it was only an ending.
the cap and gown, the pictures, the fake smiles—none of it mattered when her mother was already calling, already rushing her out of the auditorium before the applause even faded.
she barely got to say goodbye.
her suitcase had been packed days before, shoved into the corner of her room like an omen. her mother didn’t want her lingering, didn’t want her ex to get even the slightest chance of finding her again. the restraining orders hadn’t done much the last time—he still showed up, still watched, still made her family feel unsafe.
so when the ceremony ended, she didn’t go to dinner with her friends just as they promised, she didn’t laugh in the parking lot or take a lot of group pictures under the pink-orange summer sky with their diplomas and certificates. instead she climbed into the car, her gown still wrinkled on her shoulders, her stomach twisting with everything she couldn’t say.
renji sat beside her with a handheld game console in his hands, the bright screen lighting up his small face. he kicked his feet restlessly against the seat, unaware—or maybe just unbothered—by the heaviness that hung over the car. meanwhile haruna was quiet in her own way, sat on the other side of (name). she had one earbud in, music turned down low, but she wasn’t fooling anyone—she kept sneaking glances at her older sister with concern.
the drive to the airport was filled mostly with their mother’s anxious reminders—delete accounts, change numbers, no posting online, keep your circle small. (name) nodded along, but her mind drifted elsewhere.
she thought of arisa, her laugh ringing louder than the music that night they stayed up way too late in (name)’s dorm room.
arisa had sprawled across the floor, textbooks tossed aside, balancing a bag of chips on her stomach while (name) tried to paint her nails.
“you suck at this,” arisa teased, wiggling her fingers and smudging the polish on purpose.
“stay still—” (name) said before giving up and tossing the bottle at her, only to miss.
arisa was the first one to laugh before (name), and soon they both collapsed into laughter so hard that the person who lived across from (name)’s dorm had to come knocking on the door.
a bitter smile appeared on (name)’s face as she absentmindedly followed her mom’s orders. when she was done, she removed her graduation gown and cap and stored them away. she stared down at the dress she had picked with arisa’s help.
“oh my god.” she slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “your breast is about to explode there. not that.”
(name) frowned, pulling at the hem. “it’s fine! you’re exaggerating.”
“exaggerating? please. one wrong move and we’re all going to jail because you flashed us and the audience look at you,” arisa said flatly, already waving her back inside.
grumbling, (name) went to change again. this time, the dress was long and plain, a muted color that hung too heavily.
arisa took one look and groaned. “absolutely no. you look like you’re attending your own funeral.”
“seriously?” (name) snapped, glaring at her in the mirror.
“seriously. i’d rather set the dress on fire than let you walk out in that.”
offended, (name) crossed her arms. “maybe i like it!”
arisa smirked, leaning back in her chair. “fine, wear it. look like a corpse on graduation. i’ll make sure everyone knows i tried to stop you.”
that finally cracked (name)’s stubborn pout, and she threw the hanger at arisa, who dodged it with a laugh.
after several more disasters, the fitting room floor was buried in rejected dresses. but then (name) stepped out in one that made arisa pause. her teasing stopped, replaced with something softer.
“now that,” arisa said, smiling, “is the one. you look like you already made it.”
as they arrived at the airport, (name)’s mom gently pulled her aside.
“i still have to work for a while, so i’ll be there with you three in about a week or so. i want you to take a rest, breathe, and let your grandma cook for your siblings and you. or better yet, get them to do something—help out or maybe learn cooking.” (name) nodded as her mom handed her the boarding ticket, along with instructions on where and when to go. when she was finished, she pulled all three of her children into a tight hug. “renji, behave, okay? and haruna—help your grandma. the last time we went there she told me you were just on your phone. i’m giving your older sister the leverage to confiscate that.”
haruna grumbled under her breath, something muffled about “favoritism” and “unfair treatment.” her mother only raised an eyebrow. “what was that?”
“nothing,” haruna muttered, clutching her phone a little tighter. renji snickered beside her, earning a light flick on the forehead from (name).
“ow—hey!”
“you deserved that,” she said, half-smiling. “now come on, we’re boarding soon.”
the announcement echoed through the terminal, calling their flight number. haruna sighed dramatically, slinging her backpack over one shoulder while renji bounded ahead, too excited to notice the faint tension in his sister’s voice.
(name) adjusted the strap of her bag, stealing one last glance at the bustling airport. the people, the chatter, the bright lights—it all felt oddly distant. she’d left in a hurry, telling herself she needed a break, a pause from everything that hurt too much to face. but as she followed her siblings toward the boarding gate, she couldn’t shake the quiet ache that settled beneath her ribs.
the flight attendant scanned their tickets, smiled, and gestured them forward.
haruna went in first, still sulking. renji waved at every crew member like it was his first time on a plane. and (name), trailing behind, exhaled softly before stepping through the narrow entrance—leaving behind the city, and everything she wasn’t ready to confront.
the house smelled the same as it always did—old wood, faint detergent, and something warm lingering in the air. she remembered it from when she was younger, visiting during long vacations. back then, it had felt like a temporary pause from the world. now it was the only place left that didn’t ask her to explain anything.
her grandmother fussed over them at first, telling haruna to help with the bags and renji to wash his hands before touching anything. (name) stood quietly by the doorway, her shoes still on, eyes darting between the small living room and the open window that looked out to the fields. it was almost sunset. the sky was a color she hadn’t seen in a while—soft orange melting into gray.
the first night, she couldn’t sleep. the room felt too still, too honest. in the city, there had always been noise to drown things out—the sound of cars, late-night chatter, the hum of the refrigerator in her apartment. here, there was only the chirping of crickets and her own breathing.
she turned on her side and stared at the faint pattern of light on the wall. her phone rested on the bedside table, dark and silent. she had deleted his number just a few hours ago, though sometimes she still scrolled through old photos she hadn’t managed to erase. not out of longing, she told herself, but because she didn’t know how to forget without proof that it had once been real.
it wasn’t until the third day that she started to feel time again. mornings were quiet—her grandmother would water the plants, renji would run errands to the nearby store, and haruna would sleep in. (name) helped where she could, but her hands always felt unsteady.
she would sit on the porch with a cup of tea, watching the clouds move lazily across the sky. it should’ve been peaceful, but peace wasn’t what she felt. it was more like floating—detached, as if she’d left some part of herself behind in the city and didn’t know how to reach for it again.
sometimes her grandmother would talk about neighbors or family friends. she’d nod at the right times, but most of the words slipped past her. her mind wandered back to a small memory—akaza sitting across from her in a dim café, the table cluttered with papers and coffee cups. he’d been trying to help her review for an exam, tracing notes on her pad with the back of his pen.
“you’re thinking too hard again,” he’d said, eyes narrowing slightly in that way he always did when he was both amused and worried.
“i’m trying to remember,” she’d answered, tapping her temple.
he’d leaned back in his chair. “your brain’s fine. you just don’t trust it.”
it was a simple exchange, nothing special, but it stayed with her—how easy it was for him to notice the things she didn’t say. she blinked the memory away, staring down at the empty cup in her hands. the tea had gone cold. she set it aside and stood, stretching slightly before heading back inside.
days turned into weeks, weeks into months. seasons folded over one another, soft and uneventful. the world outside her grandmother’s house seemed to move at a pace she could finally keep up with. mornings came slow; afternoons hummed quietly with the sound of radios from nearby houses. sometimes she’d walk along the narrow roads, counting clouds until she ran out of numbers.
she’d almost convinced herself this was enough—that stillness could be a kind of safety—until she stumbled upon an old notebook tucked behind a stack of folded linens. dust clung to its corners, the paper yellowed and soft. she opened it carefully.
one page stopped her cold.
“akaza used to joke that i could turn a grocery list into an existential crisis.”
the words blurred as her vision wavered. she shut the notebook before she could think too long about it.
her graduation had come and gone in a blur, and that night, she’d erased almost every trace of herself online. her mother had insisted—new number, no social media, no contact. it was the only way to stay safe. sometimes she wondered if he hated her for disappearing. she wouldn’t blame him if he did.
time went on like that. eventually, she started reviewing for her licensure exam. the pages of her reviewer smelled faintly of ink and time. she’d read until her eyes blurred, forcing herself to focus on what was in front of her—terms, theories, cases—anything that wasn’t memory.
still, she couldn’t help it. some words had ghosts attached to them.
“projection,” she read aloud one night. “the act of seeing one’s own emotions in others.”
she could almost hear his voice again, teasing her from across the study table.
“you do that a lot, you know.”
“do what?”
“pretend you don’t care about things that hurt.”
she had rolled her eyes back then, but he’d just smiled.
she closed her book and leaned back against the chair, her throat tightening. outside, the sky was heavy with clouds. a faint drizzle tapped against the windows, and for a moment, it felt like everything she’d run from had caught up to her again.
when her exam day finally arrived, she was calm in that strange way people are when there’s nothing left to lose. she sat in the testing room, eyes scanning the questions, mind oddly clear.
it wasn’t until she handed in her paper that the weight of it all hit her. she’d done it alone. no one to wait outside, no one to share the relief with. just herself and the long road home.
her grandmother cried when she passed. haruna clapped lazily, pretending not to care but smiling anyway. renji shouted that he’d always known she’d make it.
(name) laughed with them, but something in her chest still felt hollow.
somewhere between that laughter and the quiet nights that followed, she realized two years had slipped past her.
a week later, she received an email from a hospital in the city—one she must’ve applied to a month ago and forgotten about. they had a position open for a registered psychologist specializing in child development.
later that night, she showed her the email. her mother was sitting by the window, folding laundry, the faint sound of the television playing from the other room. when (name) handed her the phone, she read the message twice—once quickly, then again slower, like she was hoping the words might change.
“it’s in the city,” her mother said quietly.
(name) nodded. “i know.”
a long silence followed before her mother set the phone down on her lap, hands still gripping the edge of the folded shirt.
“you remember why we left,” she said finally. “he knew where you lived. where we lived.”
“it’s been two years,” (name) murmured, though even as she said it, her voice sounded unsure.
the words lingered in the air, and for a second, she felt small again—like she was back in that car after graduation, the city lights fading in the mirror, her heart beating too fast to breathe.
but she wasn’t that girl anymore, was she? she wanted to believe that the fear had faded, that the world had changed shape in her absence. maybe it hadn’t. maybe she had.
“i just want to try again,” she said at last, her voice quiet but steady. “i don’t want everything to end there.”
her mother sighed, folding the last shirt and setting it aside before speaking softly. “then be careful this time.”
(name) smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. that night, she drafted her reply. her fingers hovered over the send button for a long time before she finally pressed it.
on the morning of her departure, her grandmother hugged her tightly. “don’t let the past chase you,” she whispered.
renji tried to act brave at first, hands shoved into his pockets, pretending to be more interested in the suitcase than the fact that she was leaving. but when she knelt down to say goodbye, his lips trembled and his eyes filled fast.
“i don’t like it when you go,” he mumbled, wiping at his face with the back of his sleeve.
(name) smiled softly, brushing a hand through his hair. “i know. i don’t like it either.”
he threw his arms around her neck, clinging tight like he used to when (name) goes back to her dorm in college. she held him just as firmly, breathing in the faint scent of soap and grass that always followed him.
when he finally let go, she kissed his forehead and stood, forcing herself not to look back as her grandmother pressed a small charm into her palm.
the flight back to the city was quiet. clouds drifted beneath the window, soft and shapeless, and she wondered if coming back meant starting over—or just returning to what she’d tried to escape.
by the time she landed, the sun had already dipped below the skyline. she took a taxi to a small apartment near the hospital, the kind with thin walls and a single buzzing light in the hallway. it wasn’t much, but it was hers.
she unpacked carefully, folding clothes into drawers, arranging dishes into cabinets. by the time she finished, it was past midnight. exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders, but sleep didn’t come easily. she lay in bed staring at the ceiling and for the first time in years, there were no cicadas, no distant ocean—just the low murmur of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog.
morning came slow and gray. she dressed neatly—a beige blouse, slacks, her hair tied back—keeping everything simple, professional. her reflection in the mirror looked composed, though her heartbeat said otherwise. she double-checked her folder: identification, résumé, recommendation letter, certificates. everything had to be in order.
before leaving, she lingered by the door for a moment, staring at the single potted plant on her windowsill. she wasn’t sure why she’d bought it, but the quiet green made the apartment feel less empty.
the taxi ride to the hospital was quiet. she watched the city pass by—the people, the buildings, the blur of lights—until the sight of the hospital gates filled her chest with something between hope and dread.
the hospital smelled faintly of antiseptic and paper and almost too bright for her still-adjusting eyes. she arrived fifteen minutes early, clutching her bag a little too tightly as the receptionist led her through the maze of corridors. the walls were lined with cheerful posters about mental wellness and empathy, though most of the staff looked too tired to notice them.
her new supervisor, dr. hayashi, greeted her with a polite smile. “we’re short on child specialists,” she said, flipping through her file. “i called your professor when you submitted your résumé online and she spoke highly of you. said you were patient and observant. and you told her before that you wanted to be a child psychologist.”
she nodded, unsure how to respond. patient didn’t feel like the right word—not when her hands still shook at sudden noises, not when she sometimes woke in the night, heart pounding from dreams she couldn’t shake.
after a long interview, dr. hayashi told her to go sit in the cafeteria while they discussed her application. she wandered there quietly, clutching her bag, and sat at a corner table, pretending to busy herself with the paperwork even as her stomach twisted with nerves.
by lunchtime, she sat alone in the cafeteria, staring into her untouched food. conversations buzzed around her—doctors laughing, nurses sharing gossip—but it all felt distant. she was used to being quiet, invisible even, but this kind of silence pressed against her ribs.
her phone buzzed on the table. a message from her mother.
[mom]
mom: how was your first day?
(name): it’s fine. i think i’ll be okay.
she set the phone down and exhaled, eyes unfocused on the window’s reflection. she almost didn’t notice when a nurse approached her table.
“(last name)?” the woman said gently. “dr. hayashi asked me to let you know she’s ready to see you again.”
her stomach lurched, and she nodded, gathering her papers. the cafeteria noise seemed to fade as she walked back toward the supervisor’s office. the corridors felt narrower this time, the fluorescent lights harsher.
dr. hayashi looked up from her desk, offering a small smile. “thank you for waiting,” she said. “we discussed your application, and we’d like to offer you the position. starting next week.”
relief and anxiety collided in her chest. she nodded, trying to steady her voice. “thank you. i appreciate the opportunity and will work hard to meet your expectations.”
“i know you will,” dr. hayashi said, handing her the official schedule and office key.
she took the papers, her hands still trembling slightly, and tucked them into her bag. the moment felt surreal—like stepping into a world she had imagined but hadn’t dared to reach for until now.
she left the office with her key clutched in her hand, walking past the corridors that had once seemed overwhelming. now, the same halls felt slightly more like they could hold her.
later, in her small apartment, she unpacked the forms and placed her office key on the desk. she checked the schedule once more, double-checking her first week’s assignments, then set her bag aside.
that night, she slept early, letting the quiet hum of the city seep through the thin walls and when morning came, she dressed carefully, packed only the essentials for her first day—pens, notebook, water bottle—and took a deep breath before stepping out. the hospital awaited, bright and sterile, and for the first time in a long while, she felt ready to meet it.
she arrived slightly early, the lobby buzzing softly with the usual morning chatter. she nodded to the receptionist and made her way to the elevator, clutching her bag a little tighter than necessary. her office was quiet, the fluorescent lights and the faint scent of antiseptic filling the room. she set her bag down, took a moment to organize the pens and papers on her desk, and reviewed her schedule—appointments with children, consultations with parents, and a few follow-ups. the rhythm of the day settled around her like a careful plan, waiting for her to step into it.
her first patient was a young boy, shy and withdrawn, gripping a worn toy car tightly in his small hands. she knelt slightly to meet his gaze, speaking softly. “hi, i’m (name). would you like to tell me about your car?”
he hesitated, then nodded, a faint smile breaking through. she listened carefully, encouraging him with gentle prompts, observing not just his words but the subtle movements of his hands and eyes. every tiny interaction felt significant, and she wrote down notes, careful to capture the details that might help her understand him better.
as the morning passed, she began to find a rhythm—listening, observing, guiding. each session left her exhausted but strangely energized, the sense of purpose quieting the tension that had lived in her chest for so long.
lunchtime came, and she found a corner table in the cafeteria. she ate slowly, letting the buzz of conversations and footsteps wash over her without feeling pressed to join.
the afternoon stretched on with more sessions, each one a careful balance of attention, patience, and empathy. by the end of the day, her notebook was full, her mind heavy but her spirit steadier. she packed her bag, locking away her notes, and stepped out into the soft glow of evening and made her way near outside, her attention half on her phone and half on the world around her. as she glanced up, her eyes flicked to where someone had been standing before she left the building.
akaza stepped out of his office, bag in hand, his friend already gone and the shared office left perfectly tidy. he froze for a moment when he saw her, the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way she held herself slightly apart from the crowd, and his chest tightened as their eyes met, even if only for a brief heartbeat.
“(name)...?”
☾☼ reblogs and notes are appreciated !
☾☼ eclipse — sft-chrries 2025