#veryuki

"— And next time he dares to pull a stunt like that, I'll... I'll..."

Yukiko trails off, blinking dazedly at the tacky dresser that occupies the better part of one of the walls of Sharon's hotel suite. Truly, that thing must have been picked by a blind man.

"You'll...?" Sharon prompts when the silence stretches on a little too long. Yukiko, already lacking filters dictated by politeness when she's sober, has become even more unhinged after an evening spent drinking; she's no lightweight, but she seemed strangely determined to outdo herself tonight, for reasons that became clear almost immediately— another fight with Yusaku over... frankly, Sharon didn't pay much attention to the finer details. It's Yukiko's expressiveness that she was most captivated by, after all: her overall performance as she told her side of the story, incensed and so vibrantly furious because of the tiniest slight.

How could anyone see that and not find themself fascinated by the sheer amount of energy put into it? Yukiko has the uncanny habit of giving it her all in everything she does, no matter how big or small the feat. Sharon would very much like to know how she can just... do that; how she can care so much all the time, as fleeting as her passions may be. Isn't it exhausting?

"I'll..." Yukiko repeats under her breath. Her words have been slurring for a while now. She lights up all of a sudden then, looking immensely proud of whatever punishment she just came up with. "I'll show him! Yeah, I'll show him!"

Well.

"I see," Sharon nods as if that made perfect sense, indulgent. Always so indulgent... Were Yukiko anybody else, Sharon would have done away with her a long time ago. Some days she wonders which wires got crossed inside her head for her to allow Yukiko to get away with so much.

"And then... then..." Yukiko's head lolls to the side, eyes slowly falling shut for the nth time in the past half an hour. Unlike in previous instances, they don't snap open again. Dead to the world on a plush armchair, just like that. She's due for a nasty crick in the neck once she wakes up, that's for sure.

... She doesn't even look like she's breathing.

(Worn out, blazing eyes. Feverish. She used to be more squeamish. "That's the fourth one this month. I still haven't been able to successfully replicate the effects it had on you with any other test subject so far. It seems to me that you may truly be a freak accident— which is why it's so important that I keep studying your body. What is it about you that made the formula work this way?")

Sharon is out of her seat before she can even register that her body is moving. She doesn't sway on her feet, hasn't consumed nearly enough alcohol for that, but she still feels... unsteady. How ludicrous.

She crosses the space between her and Yukiko with decisive strides— to prove a point to herself, if nothing else— and doesn't hesitate at all to place her fingers over Yukiko's carotid artery. Her free hand goes to Yukiko's parted lips: immediately, her skin warms with miniscule but regular breaths, and eventually she finds a strong, steady pulse under her fingertips as well.

How silly of her, to think that Yukiko could be anything but perfectly fine.

Sharon snatches her hands back as if burned (as if the only other person in the room wasn't fast asleep and unlikely to regain consciousness anytime soon), cradling them close to her chest and rubbing away invisible flecks of dirt (proof of her weakness, proof that Miyano Elena can still make her feel something other than pure hatred, even from beyond the grave) before collapsing back on her armchair. Unsteady. Disgraceful.