"Remember To Forget About It", Eri/Shiki, Rated T, Complete
Remember To Forget About It
Rating: T, but for safety.
Warnings: Spoilers for Week 1, established Eri/Shiki, very close Neku/Shiki friendship, violent images, and a character having difficulty getting over some experiences in the Game.
Disclaimer: I don't own The World Ends With You, and am not making a profit off of writing this stuff.
Summary: If you want to stay his friend, you need to let go of what he did. Now if only she'd let you.
It's not Neku's fault. Shiki knows it's not Neku's fault, because he's changed since then. And even if he hadn't changed, which he had, it still wouldn't have been his fault. He didn't remember who he was, or what was going on, or why they were playing the game in the first place. He didn't want to kill her. The Reaper had practically forced him to do it! Neku's changed since that Reaper opened up her cheap bargain-brand lipstick mouth and lied to him in her needlestick voice, because after all, it really was about her. It wasn't Neku almost killing Shiki, it was the Reaper almost killing both of them.
He'd saved her so many times, too-- he took up the slack when she was tired and drained and felt Mr. Mew going limp, like his usual lovable floppy self instead of something that would keep them both from getting killed, and he pushed her to keep going when she was ready to give up. He wasn't, isn't, really very good at being nice, but Shiki likes him anyway, likes him better than almost everyone in the world besides Eri and maybe even just as much.
Anyway, he didn't mean it.
Shiki tells herself these things, and she knows that they're true, but it doesn't change a thing. It doesn't make it any less terrifying when she can't catch her breath, or when somebody (anybody: Eri, or Neku, or even Rhyme; it didn't matter) touches her neck, or when she's kissed hard enough that she needs to gasp for air. It doesn't make anything any different at all, because right now, his hands are around her neck. He's being direct about it this time-- instead of holding her up in the air and waiting for her to choke, he's pinning her to the floor and leaving bruises that would give everyone who saw her the completely wrong impression and totally embarrass her and don't matter because she's not going to be around to be embarrassed. She tries to scream.
Please, don't--
Her throat's crushed shut and she can't make a sound. She struggles. He's stronger. She tries to look him in the eye, but he won't stop. She doesn't know why. There's no point in knowing why. He's killing her because she doesn't mean a thing to him, because he's getting something out of it that's more important than her, and because he doesn't care enough not to.
She can hear her heart beat louder and louder, feel him breathe. She tries to breathe (louder and louder). She tries to struggle. She tries to scream (quieter, now), and then suddenly she's awake and she does scream.
Shiki opens her eyes, and the ceiling is covered by the pastel-colored canopy of a bed, not the cheap white paint in her own family's apartment. Oh, she remembers, I'm at Eri's. She hopes she didn't wake up Eri's parents. Chances are pretty high she woke up Eri.
“Shiiiiki,” Eri whines from the other pillow, then flops over onto her side. “What is it?” Shiki closes her eyes again and lies very still, trying to convince Eri that she's still asleep, that there's nothing to worry about, because Eri knows and Shiki's not going to deal with this at what, if she could see better, Eri's alarm clock would tell her was three thirty seven in the morning.
But it's not Eri's fault. It was Shiki's choice to tell her everything, everything, from the way Eri's clothes fit on Eri's body (and the way Eri's hands felt sliding through Eri's hair, resting on Eri's hips) to the way the concrete felt on impact. Everything, from Mr. Mew to everybody she hangs out with now. It wasn't much of a choice. They were out of sync-- Eri could tell something was wrong, and Shiki could feel that they didn't go together quite properly even when they linked arms or hugged or slept curled up together with Eri's stomach against Shiki's back. They were like hot pink and forest green, something that almost matched, but didn't quite. The secrets and memories and things that one knew and the other didn't grated and grated, wouldn't fit together, and before Shiki knew it, she was spilling her guts. One moment, she was trying to draw a pair of cargo pants and hoping all of this wouldn't divide them too much, and the next moment she was leaningon Eri and crying and telling her that yes, she'd died, and this is what had happened.
Shiki honestly didn't expect Eri to listen, or to believe her, or to think she was anything other than crazy, but Eri did. Then again, a part of her had hoped that Eri wouldn't think she was a nut, part of her had seen it as a possibility, even, that Eri wouldn't think she was a nut. She was surprised, but not blindsided, when Eri had let her rest her head in Eri's lap and stroked her hair. For once, Eri didn't know what to say apart from the occasional “I believe you,” which Shiki would have suspected to be fake if Eri was using that bubbly voice she used on strangers. But she wasn't, so Shiki believed her, too. She really didn't expect Eri to gasp and shift her weight and interrupt her story, a tiny part of her story that had been glossed over and sanitized and all about that horrible woman, and ask, “Wait... he tried to kill you?”
It's too hot outside to sleep very close together tonight. Eri's on the side of the bed with the dresser and Shiki's on the side of the bed with the clock. There's usually some kind of mutual nervousness that Eri' parents are going to open up the door and see them like this, something that would look much less like what it was if Eri bothered wearing normal pajamas instead of the stuff they sold at D+'s not a worry right now, and she doesn't need to worry about this, doesn't need the stress. But Shiki would have liked the closeness tonight because maybe it would have caused her to dream about something different than being strangled against the floor again.
That's not entirely accurate, she tells herself. Just now she was strangled against the floor, but it's usually not so bad. It's usually not so violent. Three nights ago, she was held up against the wall and choked by her own gravity. The week before that, he drowned her. No, that's not right. The week before that, she was drowned, because it still isn't Neku's fault. She dreams about other parts of the Game sometimes, too, but she wonders why she isn't dreaming about the Reaper killing her instead. It wouldn't be as hard. It wouldn't scare her so much.
“Shiki?” Eri says under her breath, awake enough now to be less annoyed that her beauty sleep's been ruined, and more concerned that something's really wrong. “Shiki? What happened?” Shiki lies there and does her best to pretend to be asleep, kicking out her leg a little and tightening her fingers around a handful of Eri's floral-print sheets.
“I can tell you're awake, you know,” Eri says. She's talking a little louder now, but still nothing that could wake up her mother. Shiki sighs and opens up her eyes.
“Sorry,” Shiki whispers quietly, like if she's just nondescript about it enough Eri will be okay wih it all and fall back asleep and forget about the whole business with Neku. “I didn't mean to wake you up.”
“That's not what you're like when you're asleep,” Eri says. She smiles a moment-- there are lights on outside shining through Eri's window, and Shiki can kind-of-almost see the expressions on her face through the dark and the nearsightedness. “Did you have that dream again?”
She squirms a little closer to Shiki and runs her hand up and down Shiki's side. Shiki murmurs contentedly. It feels nice, even after the dream, even though no doubt Eri's going to try to get involved again and get it all wrong and make Shiki wish that she hadn't said a thing. If only she'd lied about that teeny tiny moment in that week, a little white lie that wouldn't do anything but make it easier for everybody to just get along. No. She wants to be honest with Eri, but Eri brings it up so much that it's getting harder for Shiki to move on from it herself.
“He can't get you here, okay?” Eri whispers, moving her forehead against Shiki's. “It's okay, he's not here, it's okay...” Shiki pulls away.
“Eri, it's not like that!” she protests. “He's my friend.”
“He's not even that cute,” Eri scolds into the sheet. They've been through this before. They've been through this before about seventeen times, only Shiki's lost count because she doesn't want to deal with this. She doesn't want to think about it.
“Eri, it's not like that, either,” Shiki says. And it's not like that. She's grabbed Neku's hand when she needed to pull him in a certain direction, and she's hugged him when she was happy to see him, but she wouldn't let him hold her like this. Hell, she doesn't think that Neku would be interested in holding anyone like this, let alone plain old Shiki with the glasses and tomboyish haircut. She's his partner, but not his partner. They aren't close enough to want that. They're too close to want that. She doesn't understand it herself. She hasn't ever had a friendship like this, and she can't stay upset or scared if it means she's going to lose him.
“Sorry,” Eri apologizes into the sheet, the turns her head back up. Shiki can't quite see it, but she thinks Eri is trying to look her in the eye. “It's just...”
“Please,” Shiki says. I know it isn't fair, Eri, just please, let me be over it.
“Sorry,” Eri repeats. Shiki doesn't know what else to say about it. Eri doesn't seem to, either, but she moves her hand from Shiki's side to Shiki's hair, and waits very quietly for what feels like way too long to see if she can hear her mother's light footsteps or her father's heavy ones approaching from down the hall. Then she pulls Shiki closer, touching their lips together in the space between the pillows.
Whatever else Shiki feels about Eri right now, she's grateful at least that Eri is considerate enough to kiss lightly and let her breathe.