"MC, I had a bad dream… can I come over?"

I stare at the phone's screen, half-blinded despite the brightness being all the way down. Blinking away sleep, I yawn and rub my eyes, trying to speed up the process. It's an unfortunately familiar thing to wake up to- goes back to when Sayori and I were kids. The first time, she scared the hell out of me, throwing rocks at my window from the backyard on a stormy night. As we grew up, this turned to calls, and then texts. Back home, it was a little more of a challenge- whether she was coming to my house or I was going to hers, one of us ended up having to climb to the second story. My house was a little easier- we had a little outbuilding Dad had built on the side of the house to keep the various recycling bins in, and you could easily shimmy up the guttering to the roof outside my window from there.

Now, meeting up was less work, more of a walk. Out apartment buildings aren't five minutes away like our childhood homes -it's more like twenty, now- but twenty minutes versus falling off the side of the house because it's icy or rainy and the gutters are slick… pretty clear winner.

"Of course. I'll have a cup of tea waiting on you :3" I send back, hoping she doesn't change her mind halfway again. As the phone's screen blinks off, I find myself blinded again, eyes focusing on an inverted square of like that isn't there anymore and flashes anytime I look in a different direction. After a brief fight with the bedclothes, I stagger out of bed and into the living room of my little apartment, groggily turning on the bedroom light behind me and closing the door halfway as I do- just enough light to see, not enough to burn my retinas any further. I end up leaning on the kitchen counter for close to ten minutes, drowsing on my elbows, fighting back sleep. Doesn't get any easier, waking up at three in the morning on a school day like this, but it's my burden to bear.

Maybe "burden" is the right word, isn't the word I should use. It's never been work, looking after Sayori. It's never been intrusive, or annoying… she's been my best friend as long as I can remember. We've always sort of looked out for each other, even before we realized either of us was doing it, before things got… weird.

I fill the kettle with water and set it to boil. Should still have enough time for the tea to be ready and a little cooled by the time she gets here.

Her nightmares started when we were eight, I think. It's been such a long time now that I can't remember when exactly that first night was, just that it happened. They've always been disorganized, coming and going, random clusters. Sometimes every day of the week, sometimes none for months. The first few years, when we were young, there wasn't anything particularly worrying or upsetting about it; I remember being worried, as much as a kid could be, but it never affected how I saw Sayori. Most of the time, if it was bad enough, she would ask to come over and sleep with me, or for me to come to her, on the worst nights.

Her parents put her through a gauntlet of child therapists and psychologists, several extended stays at different child psychiatric hospitals outside our prefecture, a trip to a world-renowned child psychologist somewhere in Europe when we were twelve. Despite all of that, neither cause nor cure could be found, and what few things the various professionals who studied her tried had little effect. Some of the medications made it worse; the worst of them was the one that drained all her energy and left her a tired, easily-weepy zombie-shell of a human being. Eventually, though, everyone stopped trying, Sayori included- with no real adverse effects outside the occasional loss of sleep, it was just easier for us to get together on the bad nights.

That complacency is probably how -or why, maybe- she almost killed herself in high school. I… don't think I'll ever know that, for sure, without asking, and I can't ask. I don't anymore, with how she locked up any time I tried in the past but… it bothers me, too. Sometimes I wonder if someone else had found her, maybe she would be okay to talk about it...

One of the psychiatrists diagnosed her with depression when we were twelve or so. I'm a little ashamed I can't remember the date on that, either, but it's not like it's an anniversary or a birthday. Not like I can ask about it without making Sayori feel self-conscious, or worse, bad, either. It may or may not have been related to the nightmares, they said, the lack of sleep, fear of falling asleep where the bad dreams could get to her. She was only on the medicine for that for a few months before she stopped taking it, and I don't know if it even helped, because I had no idea she'd been diagnosed until five years later.

That "five years later" happened in the aftermath of her trying to hang herself after a particularly rough day at school. If I hadn't found her before it was too late…

The timer dings, and I drop a bag into each cup before pouring boiling water over them. My timing is about right, should only be a few more minutes before Sayori's knocking on my door. At worse, by the time she's in and I lock back up and we get comfortable, it should be cool enough to drink.

I don't want to think about that day any more than I want to think about another day about a week after it, but I can't help it. It happens a lot, those memories creeping in, with the wait between her call or text and showing up for these late night cuddle-calls.

It was a pretty, sunny day in late April. I got to leave school a little early, so I could take Sayori's work to her. Not a cloud in the sky, it was warm but not hot… a good day sit outside and read, or hang out with one of the friends I had made after Sayori dragged me into joining the Literature Club. It gets a little harder to remember the further we get from it, but I think I was actually supposed to study for a test with Monika that afternoon and ended up canceling after…

Sayori wasn't in a great mood when I got there. She hadn't really been in the best spirits pretty consistently the entirety of her stay in the hospital, and honestly, it was hard to blame her, considering why she was there in the first place. Never rude, just… distant. Not upset, more… moody. Not how I was used to seeing her most days, bright, bubbly… the light of any room she was in, except that one, it seemed. I went to see her every day, and it seemed like every other day up to that point, she'd either asked me to leave, or just stopped talking, almost cold-shouldering me to the point of uncomfortableness. That day, I figured enough time had passed since… then… it wouldn't be too smothering to stop a bakery on the way and get half a dozen cupcakes for her. Anything would be better than hospital food, right?

Sayori didn't seem impressed by the cupcakes. She smiled as she told me to set them on the cabinets in one corner of the room, but something about it felt… off. Hollow. In hindsight, it was achingly familiar, a fake grin I'd seen so many times over the years we'd been friends, but never realized what was kept bound and gagged behind it. I set both the cupcakes and my school bag on the cupboards and pulled up a chair beside her bed; she just sat there, looking a weird mix of happy-sad, nothing saying anything at first.

I had been there a least half an hour every day of the week she had spent in that hospital bed, and in that time, we talked pretty extensively about how she had been struggling with the crushing despair that had led her here over the last few years. Clearly a raw subject, but one she brought up; I hoped talking about it might do her some good, if she could just get it off her chest… some days I'm still not sure if that was the right decision. I hope she doesn't think about it as much as I do.

I… feel like it's my fault, sometimes. After all, that particular episode was brought on after she told me she was in love with me, and I just sort of stammered out that I didn't know how to respond to that like the clueless idiot I am. I must have played that scenario out in my head dozens of times in that first week, and thousands of times since. I guess in the end, it doesn't really matter what I answered, since I found her that day… I just can't help but wonder.

That day in the hospital, though, she didn't bring up depression. No, Sayori dropped another bomb on me that warm spring day.

"MC, have you ever… uhm…" Her index fingers touched beneath the sheet, an anxious tic. I waited for her to continue; not knowing what she was trying to say, I didn't know how to encourage her to spit it out. "Uhm… ehm…" Her cheeks flushed, embarrassment mixing with the happy-sad, maybe the first real emotion she had shown since that first day. "C-can I… c-can I…" I had to fight off the impulse to say "yes?", to prod her into continuing. "C-can I t-tell you something? Y-you have to promise not to- n-not to tell anyone…" The stuttering got worse the more she said. Even when she was nervous about something, it wasn't like her to lose control of her speech like that. I found myself a little more jittery with each word, wondering what was coming next.

"Of course?" I hadn't meant that to be a question. Shit. "Of- of course, Sayori. I won't say a word, unless you want me to."

"I… uhm… I-I…" With how open she had been about the depression, about trying to kill herself just a week before this, that she couldn't get whatever she was trying to say out was concerning. No, it was worrying. For a moment, I was afraid the conversation might have been heading towards some fucked-up-Sigmund-Freud-shit; as it turned out, I had the wrong psychologist, but I wasn't that far off. "I… hear things sometimes…"

"Uh…" Uh… what do I say to that? "Oh." Oh. Good… great response, MC. Ten outta ten, hundred outta hundred, best response, best response. A-game, perfect, suave, ladies' man, Master of Romance, interplanetary intrapersonal skills.

I could tell, almost instantly, that I had fucked up, and this was not the response she was hoping for. I'll never forget that look, like I'd just caught her cheating on a test. Scared, sick, exhausted. Maybe she was looking for some kind of reassurance, and I'd just let her fall. Fuck.

There wasn't any way to salvage the conversation after that. Sayori stonewalled me immediately after I lost the ability to words good, and every time for the week that followed. I still went to the hospital every day, with flowers, candy… Natsuki helped me bake a cake one of the days, and Sayori would look either of us in the eye when we brought it to her. She was allowed to go home after that second weekend, and another full week passed before she said so much as a single word to me. By then, she was back in school, and we had resumed walking home together, albeit on opposite sides of the road because she wouldn't even walk near me.

My phone buzzes, and frankly, it startles the shit out of me. I jump, the kettle still in my hand coming with me, very narrowly avoiding hot water shooting up into my face as it flies off the counter and onto the floor. Suddenly incredibly awake, adrenaline surging and heart pounding, I unlock my phone and she that she's here. Shaken from my reminiscion, I head around the counter to the door and let her in.

Her eyes don't meet mine. She's embarrassed, and mumbles "thank you" as she pushes past me into the apartment. I mention the tea but she ignores me, or maybe doesn't even hear me. Instead she makes a beeline for the couch, which she half-falls onto.

Before I've even closed the door, she's ugly-crying and trying to hide it.

I bring the two teacups over and set them on the small table next to the unoccupied side of the couch, then sit beside Sayori and put an arm around her shoulder. There's no point in talking when she's like this… just have to wait it out. She curls herself against me, face buried in my chest, and I pull a ratty, old blanket around her- it's one I've had since we were kids, and kept all this time specifically for her.

We sit there like that for so long that the tea goes cold. No big deal; it can always be reheated. More troubling is that this crying spell is lasting a lot longer than usual without letting up, and that worries me a little, like something happened. I mean, something had to have happened for her to be like this, just what that something might be is what bothers me. Instinctively, I check her neck, finding nothing, no marks or burns; it stills my nerves somewhat, but my fear is replaced by a red-hot wave of shame, that I don't trust her enough, to think that she might try again…

Maybe I should have splashed a little whiskey into my cup before I let her in.

"Eh- ehehehehm-ceeeeeeee…" Between shuddering, she tries to speak. She's not sobbing anymore, but the shaking must be out of her control still.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, just wait it out." I hug her a little tighter, kissing the top of her head. "Just wait, okay? Wait until it's not so hard to talk. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." I sneak a look at my phone. Close to six. Probably smarter to just skip class today… no point in trying to sleep before I have to leave for it, at least. This is infinitely more important than one day of lessons, anyways.

It's almost seven before Sayori speaks again. "Th-they're back…" It's a weak, hoarse croak, but she might as well have shouted it. Despite the words being half-whispered, it reminds me of how she screamed when I couldn't figure out how to respond to the first time she said she loved me.

"Okay." But it's been three years since that day in the hospital. I've learned. We've learned. "They can't hurt you, Sayori. They're not real, no matter what they tell you."

"I-I know, MC, they're just- it's so loud… I'm scared… I woke up from a bad dream and they were all screaming at me and I couldn't get up… I've been up since eleven. I wet my pajamas because I was too scared to get out of bed. It's just-" Her voice just cracked. I squeeze her a little harder, hoping she won't start crying again if I'm here this time. "It hasn't been this bad in such a long time…"

"It's okay, it'll be okay." It feels weird to keep saying the same thing over and over again, but the repetition gives her something to focus on. "We'll take the day off, see if your therapist can work you in. I'll make breakfast?"

"Pancakes?"

"With little fruit faces."

"Ehehe…" She smiles up at me. "Can I use your shower?"

"Yes?" Weird question. Probably better not to question it, though. "I moved your clothes, they're on the shelf in the closet now. So you know."

Sayori squirms out of my arms and almost falls off the couch in the process. Despite the tears still running down her face, she's smiling, and I feel a little less alarmed. After pushing herself the rest of the way off the couch, she leans down and kiss me on the cheek before disappearing into my room. I wait until I hear the shower running before I get up and begin to fix breakfast.

I have a feeling it's going to be a long day.