Janus's chair is still here. It's stupid, really, how a piece of furniture can feel like it's mocking me. It sits there in the common room, empty and useless, like everything he left behind.
I don't know why I came here. Maybe because it's quiet, and Sao isn't asking questions I don't want to answer. Or maybe because it's where I last saw him, sitting there with his stupid smile and all those promises I don't believe.
A cure. He said he'd come back with a cure.
Yeah, right.
I don't look at Sao when she shuffles into the room, her IV pole squeaking behind her. She's always making noise, even when she doesn't mean to. Janus used to say it was comforting—proof that she was still moving, still fighting.
To me, it's just a reminder of everything that's broken.
"You've been sitting here all day," she says, her voice soft but not quite timid. Sao doesn't do timid, not even with me.
"So?"
"So you're brooding again."
I snort. "What else is new?"
She sits down in Janus's chair, and I glare at her. "Don't."
"What?" she says, looking genuinely confused.
"Don't sit there."
She raises an eyebrow but moves to the couch anyway, her small frame sinking into the cushions. "You're being weird," she mutters, pulling her knees up to her chest.
"I'm always weird," I snap.
Sao doesn't argue. She just looks at me, her big, questioning eyes digging into my skull like she's trying to read my mind. Janus used to do that too, but he'd always say something annoying, like, "You can talk to me, you know."
Sao doesn't say that. She just waits, her silence louder than any words.
Eventually, I pull the crane out of my pocket. It's a little crumpled now, the edges softer from where I've been folding and unfolding it. I don't know why I keep it. Maybe because it's the last thing Janus gave me. Or maybe because I hate it, and I can't stop staring at it.
"What's that?" Sao asks, even though she already knows.
"Nothing."
She doesn't push, but I can feel her watching me as I carefully refold the crane. My hands move automatically, like they've done this a thousand times before, even though I only learned because Janus wouldn't shut up about it.
"It's a nice letter," Sao says after a while, her voice cautious.
I freeze for a second before continuing to fold. "You read it?"
"No!" she says quickly, her cheeks flushing. "I mean, not all of it. Just the part where he said he'd come back."
I don't respond.
"You don't believe him, do you?" she asks quietly.
I laugh bitterly, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "Do you?"
Sao hesitates, and I can see the flicker of doubt in her eyes. But then she nods, and her voice is steady when she says, "Yeah. I do."
I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't. Instead, I stand up, stuffing the crane back into my pocket. Sao looks up at me, her expression soft and sad, like she's trying to figure out how to fix me.
"You shouldn't waste your time believing in things that aren't real," I say, my tone sharper than I mean it to be.
"And you shouldn't waste your time pretending you don't care," she shoots back.
Her words hit me harder than I want to admit, but I don't let it show. I turn and leave the room without another word, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
Back in my room, I sit on the bed, staring at the crane in my hands. Janus's words play over and over in my head, like a song I can't turn off.
Take care of Sao. Take care of yourself.
I scoff, crumpling the crane into a ball before throwing it across the room. It bounces off the wall and lands on the floor, looking pathetic and small.
I hate him for leaving. I hate him for thinking he could fix everything.
But most of all, I hate that part of me still believes he can.
I don't pick up the crane that night, but I don't throw it away, either. It stays there, lying on the floor, waiting for me to figure out what the hell to do with it.