All My White Lies | bnha

fifteen | the tether between heaven and hell

EVERYTHING WAS CLEAN AND THE SUN was on her face when I woke. Nejire's hair was tousled, thrown across the bedsheets like strokes of periwinkle against a blank canvas. My face felt hot, body still weak as I reached over, fingers barely hovering above her skin. I didn't want to touch her though, in fear that the ashes of Hell would taint my Heaven.

She squirmed, lips parting and eyes fluttering once before ultimately opening. A low hum left her mouth, her gaze adjusting to the light as my hand moved to block the sunlight from her face. "Are you feeling better?" Her figure unfurled like a curled-up cat, her arms stretching upward with casualty, eyes closing in bliss.

"Sure, you can say that," I stifled a grin, laughing softly when she nudged her cheek up against my mattress, pressing into it as if the coziness would envelop her and swallow her whole. Nejire eyed me, looking me up and down before her gaze stayed on my own. "Here," She brought out a pink pen, brightly colored.

It was hot pink, my least favorite color to draw with, but my favorite ink to devour. And she knew that. It was like putting the prettiest bandaid on a child's knee scrape; a chunk of happiness within the pain. "You brought one?" I questioned, dismantling the pen with such ease and quickness, years of practice all balled into seconds of time.

She shook her head, cheek molded against my bedsheet again. "I picked it out of your collection," Nejire pointed over to the bag of pens on my desk, one of them heavy and chunky with some of my favorite flavors. I usually liked the black ones—the blossoms of blackberries and the blue ones held tinges of blue raspberry.

However, the pink ones were always my favorite. They held a hint of sweetness, sometimes sweeter than usual. It was unpredictable like a strawberry, but the base flavor always stayed the same: bubblegum. I kept those stored away for my worst days. And from the grin on her face, she had decided that herself.

This was one of my worst days.

And she was here to make it all better.

I couldn't have expected her to run down the convenience store searching for a pink pen and I chuckled, sticking the ink tube in my mouth. I pierced it easily, pink blooming onto my tongue instantly as I hummed with delight. "Tamaki and I checked your temperature earlier, you're not sick," Nejire edged closer.

Her words were like waves, pulling back and forth toward a conversation she knew I didn't want to have. I didn't like discussing my health with others, my moments of weakness weren't fractures of pride; they were of vulnerability. And the last time I had let anyone see that, I had ended up with a red print on my face.

"Could be psychosomatic,"

"Psychoso what now?"

I had hoped that by bringing up something she didn't understand she'd possibly drop it, but her curiosity only piqued. Nejire leaned up, elbows dipping into my mattress as she watched me slide to the edge of my bed. "Psychosomatic, my brain's making up physical enigmas in order to convince myself I'm sick," I muttered.

The wood met my feet and I wiggled my toes as if hoping to draw warmth from it, to take root into it like a tree. It was easier to be anything other than myself at the moment. "Well, do you think you're sick?" She asked. Her hands glided over the bedsheet, drifting over and growing closer and closer to my fingertips that rested against my bed.

"I'd have to be to pull away from you," I smiled at her, it was shy, fleeting. The way my eyes flickered to her inviting touch and to the joy that lit up her face at my statement. We were always touch-and-go, untalked about but not unrequited. It was easier to watch the ghost of what could be versus bringing it to life.

I created things for others; never for myself. "So then what was that earlier? Your entire body just. . . moved," Nejire looked for reasoning, her lips pulling into a pout. I didn't want to state it then, but I hurt her, whether intentionally or unintentionally. "I'm not sure," I excused, tongue poking at the pink ink that was slowly beginning to drizzle out.

There wasn't much happiness left to drink from. My Heaven smiled at me, her hands just centimeters away from my own. "Then let's not focus on earlier. If I touch you now, will you move?" My own smile dropped slightly, a twinge of anxiety welling up within me at the thought.

My hands still felt as if the ashes of Hell lingered, something that would plague the very Heaven that I swore on protecting. "Let gravity take its course, it's okay," She spoke softly. I knew she didn't have to think hard to see the fear in my eyes as she did all the movement. Her arm moved across, fingers already outspread.

The nonjudgmental expression never left her face, a certain staleness, almost softness to it as her eyes locked onto my fingertips. She was my heaven and my hope, all balled up into one, tethered to the idea of gracing Hell's ashes. The burning in my fingertips grew but I reached over anyway.

Her hand was warm when it met mine, a comforting glow compared to the scalding burn that radiated within my veins. Nejire squeezed my hand, smiling at me. "Mirio went down to the store to grab some food by the way. He said your fridge was empty," Her frown returned, brows knitted.

I aimed to pull away, maybe reach for another stick of happiness, but her grip kept me in place. As if she needed this more than me. "How are you supposed to tattoo me if you can't even touch me?" I grew flustered, face growing hot instantly as I stammered for words. "You still remember me agreeing to that?"

"Of course, it's been a year, not an eternity."

My tongue poked at my lips, "What would you even want tattooed on you?"

"Anything. You get creative freedom,"

"Even though I'm a shit artist?"

"Especially because you're a shit artist,"

There was a grin on her face, one that told me that she meant every word. Nejire was never the type to lie anyway, I did that enough for the both of us. "It means I'll get a piece of artwork just like you," Her fingers flexed, threading through my own and curving in an attempt to meld our hands together; to make us one.

The gravity tugged us closer, instinctively deciding we were better together than further apart. "One of a kind, unique, with a signature of emo-laidback." Nejire's shit-eating grin didn't falter and I playfully scowled at her, pulling my grip away from her own as she whined like a denied child.

I had been wrong when I had assumed Nejire and I were akin to stars. Perhaps I was simply another moon, orbiting around a heavenly-colored planet all on its own.