Chapter Text
Ena had been staring at the same sheet of paper for more than half an hour. She held a pencil between her fingers, but the tip was still not touching the paper.
She wasn't blocked, nor was she short of ideas. What kept her from drawing was something much more... profound.
Her room was completely silent. The only sound was the distant ticking of her clock and the echo of her own frustration.
She was supposed to like this, drawing was supposed to be her refuge. Lately, however, it felt like a taut string. As if with every line she drew, she was drifting further and further away from what she once loved.
She tried to draw something; a face, a flower, anything. She erased them after the second stroke.
And then, as she erased what must have been the sketch of a dog, the memory hit her hard. A memory that she would've rather left forgotten.
Back then she was six, maybe seven years old. She had spent the whole afternoon drawing a portrait, trying to copy one of her father's favorite paintings. It wasn't perfect, but she was proud. For the first time she felt her father would see her as a true artist.
“Did you do it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ena nodded, smiling nervously.
“Hm” He said after a few seconds, looking at the paper casually. “The proportions and colors are wrong."
She felt her pride slipping through her fingers. As if what she had built all day would crumble in a heartbeat.
That night, Ena cried silently, her back to the door, while biting her sleeve to keep from making noise. However, Akito heard her. He always did
“Ena...” Akito whispered from the threshold, in that small child's voice.
“Go away” She answered without looking at him, her voice breaking. He didn't know anything. He didn't have to know.
“But I...”
“I said go away!”
Her brother backed away. But before he left, he left her favorite stuffed animal by the door. The one he couldn't sleep without.
And, unintentionally, her mind kept flashing back.
A couple of years later, she had just come home early from school. She kicked off her shoes and set her backpack on the floor, noticing how the bathroom door was ajar.
She walked in without thinking. There was Akito, standing in front of the mirror. He had a pair of scissors in one hand and a lock of hair in the other. He was crying.
“What are you doing...?” whispered Ena, frightened.
Akito looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. And he was afraid, very afraid.
“It doesn't come out right” He said, his voice trembling. “I want... I want to cut it, but I don't know how. Can you... help me?”
Ena hesitated. She didn't quite understand what was going on, but she nodded. She sat behind him and began to cut carefully, clumsily, with hands that didn't know what they were doing but were trying hard not to tremble.
The haircut wasn't perfect; the bangs were uneven. But when Akito looked at himself in the mirror, he smiled. He turned and hugged her tightly.
"Thank you Ena. You're the best sister."
Ena felt tears well up in her eyes. Not only because of the gesture. But because she didn't comprehend how someone could thank her so much for something she didn't even understand.
That same night, Akito had returned to seek her. They sat on the edge of her bed while he kept moving his hands, as if he didn't know what to do with them.
“Ena, there's something I want to tell you...” He said, finally. "I'm not a girl. I never was."
He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, as his sister watched him silently.
"I am a boy. I just... I was afraid to say it. But I don't want to hide anymore."
Ena didn't answer right away. She looked at him. She saw the fear on his face, the desperate hope for acceptance.
“How long have you known?” she asked quietly.
“Since always, I think...”
Ena did not hug him, nor did she cry. She just watched him, feeling something that shamed her deeply: envy.
How she wished she could have that courage; to be able to show herself vulnerable to others as well.
“Then... it's okay” She muttered finally. “If that's what you are, I'll support you.”
Akito smiled, with a smile that seemed lighter than ever. But Ena only felt the emptiness inside her grow.
Ena let out a sigh. She had decided to put the drawing aside for now, and logged on to the voice chat, more out of habit than desire.
Mizuki was talking excitedly. While Kanade was half-absent. Mafuyu was also online, though she wasn't speaking.
It was comfortable. Or at least it had been once.
“Ah, Enanan!” Mizuki exclaimed upon seeing her connect the call. “Were you drawing again? I really admire your persistence. If I couldn’t make anything beautiful, I would have stopped trying.”
It was a casual phrase that was meant to be a compliment. But to Ena it stuck in her chest like a needle.
“What do you mean by that?” she spat out, louder than she should have.
There was an awkward silence. Kanade let out a barely audible “uhh”, while Mafuyu, in that monotonous voice, replied,
“You know it’s true.”
And that was enough for Ena. Without another word, she disconnected from the call, and slammed her laptop shut. She felt ridiculous.
She didn't understand why everything hurt so much. Why couldn't she just ignore it?
And, as if the universe wanted to mock her, a notification popped up on her phone.
“Vivid BAD SQUAD finally manages to surpass the legacy of their idols.”
Ena read the headline over and over again in disbelief. Something burned in her chest. It wasn't anger, or sadness, or pride. It was something much more complicated: the feeling of being left behind.
Akito was moving forward. He had found something he loved, and had turned it into a path, into a future.
Meanwhile she... she was still stuck. Drawing no longer felt like a passion, but an obligation she was failing to fulfill. Every stroke was heavier, every sheet was emptier.
And the worst thing wasn't that she couldn't move forward. The worst thing was that she didn't even know if she wanted to keep trying.
Ena got up from her desk, she needed to find something to distract herself.
She opened the drawers looking for a pencil, an eraser, anything. And then, among crumpled papers and old drawings, a folded sheet of paper appeared.
As she looked at its contents, Ena's heart squeezed. It was that drawing.
She was ten years old back then. She was sitting at the table, drawing silently, concentrating.
Akito, with his own sheet and pencils, sat next to her.
“Will you teach me how to draw?”
Ena frowned. “Don't copy everything I do.”
"I don't want to copy. I want to learn." He replied, calmly.
But Ena was already annoyed. She felt invaded. She was having such a hard time finding something that was hers... and her brother was taking it all with that ease that was getting on her nerves so much.
She didn't say anything else, just continued to draw.
Akito didn't say anything either. On his sheet, without his sister noticing, he traced her silhouette. With her hair down and her expression of concentration.
When he showed her the drawing, Ena didn't know how to react. They were shaky strokes, but done so carefully that it hurt.
“You look great when you draw.” He told her.
Ena wasn't even sure why she’d kept the sheet. Maybe it was because it was the only trace left of the girl someone once admired.
Now, years later, that same girl was holding the drawing between her fingers. Squeezing it angrily. And, in an impulse, as if her body acted faster than her soul, she tore it up.
Once. Then another.
And just as she was breaking it in eight, she regretted it. But it was too late. Her fingers trembled, and her throat burned.
Ena dropped to her knees in front of the desk. Her cry was quiet, contained, like everything she had felt for years.
She did not scream, nor did she ask for help. She just cowered in on herself, wrapping her arms around her legs, as if that could keep her from completely falling apart.
She was all alone. And she knew it.
Akito was still ahead. With his freedom and confidence. While she was still stuck. Trapped in the same room as the now shattered drawing.
Ena covered her face with her hands; she didn't want anyone to see her like this. Especially not him.
Because if he saw her broken, maybe he would know that his sister was never strong. That everything she did, everything she pretended... was part of a disguise. And she couldn't bear the thought of Akito seeing her weak.
So she cried alone. As always.