Chapter Text
Ever since Ena deleted her selfie account in Pixshare, Mizuki has had no way of subtly knowing whether her friend was doing alright, or not.
Previously, when Ena would be busy with her art class assignments, Mizuki would open that social media account on her phone while working on storyboards, or editing videos. She would wait for that notification ping in the corner of her eye. She would open it, and be greeted by a pretty little picture of Ena, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by a plushie. She would stare at the photo for a few seconds before tapping the like button. She’d say it was out of pity.
Though, in truth, that would be a lie.
She looked at that account quite a lot. She enjoyed scrolling through the many pictures of Ena. A few of said photos were taken by her.
So when Mizuki opened the app on her phone and entered Enanan’s display name on the search bar, only for it to come out null—an error, she panicked. Did Ena get shadow banned? Mass reported? Hacked?
No, none of that. She simply deleted it. One and done. Blink of an eye. All those photos, those followers, those comments and compliments, and those precious likes.
Gone.
“I’m done running.”
Ena stated that night.
“I still have a long way to go but… if I want even the smallest of chances to get into Tokyo University of Arts, then, I have to let go of some things.”
It has been several days since, and Mizuki is still somewhat distraught. She admits to it when she ran into Mafuyu in the Sekai. If Ena’s okay with it, then who is she really to say otherwise?
She wonders…
Would Ena be willing to send her a copy of all the photos?
“What the hell am I thinking?” Mizuki says aloud, shocked by her own train of thought. “That’s creep behavior. And I am not a creepy perv!”
She’s incredibly thankful her microphone was on mute, because if Enanan heard that from the other side of the call then she’d have a lot of explaining to do. Speaking of…
She clicks the unmute button. “Enanan, you there?”
A beat. Before, “Yeah. If you’re asking for more assets, then you’ll have to wait.”
Succinct, and straight to the point. When she’s in the zone, Enanan turns into a no nonsense girl. That, or she goes quiet and hyperfocuses on work. It reminds Mizuki of that one time she saw her at the park, minutes turned to hours as she mumbled, and sketched water ripples over and over. “No, no. Nothing like that, uhm…”
“Then, what’s up?”
How does she word this without sounding desperate? “So, uh, since you deleted Pixshare, you don’t really see any of the new trends anymore, right?”
“I still have my art account so I see some in passing. Just,” there’s a pause, “I don’t spend my time on the app as much.” Ena still sounds exhausted. Those art classes of hers must be intense. “Why are you bringing this up? Saw something interesting?”
“Just making conversation!” Lies. “But I did see this new cafe while scrolling through, and it looked real nice~”
“Hmm, that so?” Ena’s clipped responses indicate she’s only half listening. Which means, now’s a good time as any for Mizuki to…
“So, I was wondering if you’d want to go with me?” Mizuki swallows as a wave of bashfulness hits her. But she pushes through. “Y’know, to check what all the fuss is about?”
“Uh-huh.” Oh, Ena’s definitely on autopilot mode.
“Cool! How about tomorrow? We could go have lunch there while we’re at it.” The trap has been set. “Aaand,” Mizuki singsongs, “since you’ve been working so hard lately, it’ll be on me.”
“Wait, what?”
Mizuki grins. Like a Cheshire cat. Then continues, feigning ignorance, huffing into the mic as she adds, “Even though you didn’t buy me that ice cream cone a while back—”
“What’s happening?” Oh, Ena is so lost right now. “What did I just agree to?”
Mizuki laughs. “Nothing, nothing! I just—” asked you out “—thought you’d wanna have lunch with me?” She clears her throat, timid all of a sudden as the thought flashes in her mind. “It’s been… sometime since we hung out.” Her voice thins to a whisper. “Just the two of us.”
“Oh…” Mizuki glances at the minimized window where Enanan’s icon blinks green with every noise, every movement. Mizuki wonders what she’s thinking right now. The longer Ena doesn’t respond, the more her mind is overrun with excuses to brush off her invitation. A feeling of cold feet. The suspense gives her the jitters, she notices; leg bouncing up and down. When, finally, Enanan’s icon lights up consistently as she says, “Well, if you’re the one buying then…”
“O-oh, you heard that?”
“No take backs, Amia.”
“Enanan with her selective hearing!” She whines loud into the mic.
“Ugh, my ears!” Ena hisses and then shoots a threat, “I’m gonna deafen.”
“Wait, no, come back! I promise I’ll be good!”
“…I’m turning you down by five percent.” A compromise.
Mizuki giggles at the familiar back and forth. “So, meet you at Hachiko’s statue tomorrow…?”
“Hmm…” There’s a faint tapping coming from Ena’s side. Her pen? On the table, perhaps? “Fine. This cafe better be good.”
“It has pancakes.” Hook.
“…Okay. Just because it has pancakes, doesn’t mean it’s automatically good.” There’s inaudible grumbling from Ena, her voice cutting in and out. Mizuki swears she caught the words, “…not fluffy” and “sad flat thing” and “false advertising”, or so she thinks.
She snickers, amused at Ena’s venting. “What happened that made you so upset about… flat pancakes? Isn’t that just normal pancakes?”
“It was supposed to be a soufflé!”
“Well,” Mizuki has to steer her away from further rampage, “by the looks of the pictures I’ve seen, the pancakes in this place are fluffy. Someone even called it cloud-like, whatever that means.” Line.
“…Show me.” Sinker. “D-don’t give me a link though! Just, show me like—I don’t know, the menu photo.”
Mizuki smiles. She really is trying to limit her exposure to social media, scared of relapsing to her old habits. “Alrighty, hold on, lemme just grab it.” She tabs out of her editing software, clicks on the post she has opened for a while now, copies the photo, pastes it on their private channel, and hits send.
There, in the middle of an array of asset links and video clips is a wonderfully color-graded, beautifully lit picture of fluffy soufflé pancakes, topped with a dusting of icing sugar, a hefty scoop of cream, a generous helping of fruit and berries, and a steady drizzle of syrup. “Ah…” Ena’s breath hitches.
“Sooo,” Mizuki smirks triumphantly, “how does 8:30 sound?”