Yuri Worlds
[20] Warmth
Once the heater was warming up their section of the modest hut, Yuka cleared an area to spread out the towel. It clung heavily to the wood but didn’t seem quite as drippy as before. Without warning, Yuka then unbuttoned and turned her blouse inside out to peel it off her skin. A silvery bra glittered damply across her chest. That was all Misaki saw before she swiftly turned away and shielded her eyes. Unfortunately, she swung around too fast and smashed her toe into something metallic and hard. Even though the pain was sharp and throbbing, she kept her reaction to a groan and breathed deeply through the worst of it.
Soon, Yuka flicked on a tiny LED light in a corner and went over to check on her. She explained that the huts were linked in series to a small diesel and solar generator on the side of the temple. Not a lot of electricity, but enough to keep this stretch supplied until their wiring finally rotted out. Misaki‘s eyes bugged out when she realized that the silver bra was also gone from Yuka’s body. With a playful smirk, Yuka asked, “So, the universe you’re from doesn’t have a lot of naked people, huh? I know there are some robes, kimonos, and really nice blankets typically stashed in here. Good stuff. Just gotta find the right drawer.”
Intellectually, Misaki knew that Japan in her world didn’t have big issues with being naked. Bathhouses, changing for sports, and a bunch of other stuff that slipped her mind right at the moment because the little snail that could down below was doing zippy laps. It didn’t take long before Yuka hung up the rest of her clothes and draped the blanket over her shoulders. You offered to continue sharing the blanket if Misaki wanted to hang up her clothes to dry as well.
The windbreaker shed practically a bucket’s worth of water, and the clothes underneath felt clingy and damp like they had gone through the washing machine, but she couldn’t bring herself to undress further. If she even attempted to poke a zipper or press a button, she knew that everything was liable to literally Melt worse than all the warnings from the company.
Checking the wristband, it was flecked with water but had no complaints about being out in the rain. Not for the first time, she idly pondered what would happen if she actually took it off. She suspected that a screaming alarm similar to a smoke detector or anti-theft tag would go off. But they were in the middle of a downpour in the woods. She strongly suspected there was no way they would ever know she took it off, and briefly adjusting it because of the storm was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why it might come off. It wouldn’t cause any reprimands or alerts anywhere. She was almost sort of certain of this.
Yuka giggled as she poked around something deep in a cupboard and showed off a suit blazer traced in the dim light the hut could provide. She pronounced, “How old-fashioned! I wonder if Kosame might try it on. She has a thing for suits, but this one is so subdued and totally colorless that it must be from the administrator of the temple. She’s quite traditional. This is the last resort. I don’t wear suits well. They’re from the warring goddesses era of history. They lay flat and taut across the waist. They billow on me with too much sleeve, way too much waist, and lots of wrinkles. Like trying to fit a lost girl into a mature woman’s clothes. Oh! Here we go! Spare kimono underclothes, and I see some robes as well. And a dry blanket. Smells a little funky, but looks fine.”
Swiftly, Misaki helped Yuka cover up with at least the underkimono outfit over her body. Her clear discomfort absolutely tickled Yuka. But once Yuka was dressed again, she nudged Misaki to take her clothes off and get into something similar. Stammering through an explanation that her clothes weren’t all that damp and they would just dry with the space heater running in here and she didn’t need to undress…didn’t seem like a good reason to Yuka.
Anyone just outside, despite the continuing roaring storm, would have easily heard a lot of rolling, screaming, and banging within the cramped contours of the little shack and had a multitude of uncomfortable questions.
Misaki wasn’t stripped. She ultimately did everything on her own. Yuka didn’t gawk, leer, or even smirk again. She was immensely helpful with switching over to dry clothes, and they shared a towel to dry off their hair. Even though she attempted to mentally block out most of the clothing incident, there was a truth lodged in the depths of Misaki’s consciousness that she had been naked in front of an anime girl, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that information.
A creaky, sagging bench pulled out of a corner provided a place to sit, similar to but not nearly as nice as the bamboo one in the bathroom behind the kitchen. Yuka spread out her dark hair and stretched back, as though attempting the world’s slowest gymnastic vault. She picked up the previous thread and mentioned, “I know wearing a suit is required of lawyers. Honestly, that’s a little bit of where I learned how dumb they look on me. Mock trials. A fun one involved prosecuting ancient folklore figures for modern crimes. I looked pretty good that time. But only that time.”
Misaki felt her hair drip with excess water. Even heavy use of the towel didn’t help all that much. The air was so full of moisture that she was collecting dew like an insect in a nature documentary. Yuka’s take on suits didn’t require her to express her own thoughts, but the hint of a suggestion was there. She breathed in a breath full of so many ancient things, overwhelming moisture, and a sweet, warm scent like some mysterious flower.
She reflected on all the times she’d worn a suit. Weddings in the hazy past. Family portraits. First days of school. Yearbook photos. Several job interviews, and one job in particular that required it as part of the dress code. Every suit Franklin found himself in was so itchy and swampy, as though the polyester set fire to his flesh and it continued to smolder for hours on end. He relayed a carefully crafted version of this, which glossed over the unexplainable half of humanity. Yuka rested a sympathetic hand on her shoulder and noted she had the same irritation from different materials.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Scrutinizing Franklin memories, Misaki got hit with a strange, whipping vertigo as though being caught when she tried to move. The memory was one of those wedding situations where she had the contours and the feeling of walking around in a little suit with a bowtie and being gawked over. But those details didn’t assert themselves.
Instead, she had a white dress on, vaguely similar to the kimono underclothes she was wearing. Her hair was long—longer than any time she could ever remember really letting it go. She was so young yet so excited to have a basket of flowers. She rehearsed this and doled them out at the appropriate spots, and she kept checking how many she had so there wouldn’t be a pile at the end because she’d been hoarding them. These specifics bewildered her because it made absolutely no sense why Franklin‘s mother would send him out in a flower girl dress and a wig. Franklin would’ve been the very first to protest such treatment. But this happening wasn’t strange. It felt remarkably normal. Still, it felt like one of those left-turn corridors in his house that didn’t turn left.
Side effect. More side effects. Everything was just one more side effect. The easy answer. It could also be that, despite the technical assurances from the company, the perfectly waterproof wristbands actually failed much more easily, and getting drenched had caused something to flake out, and at this very moment, the presence of a sweet-smelling, toasty anime girl and an art-overflowing world was making her Melt. Were altered memories a sign of Melting?
“What’s wrong?”
Shoot. More wearing her mood all across her features. Misaki attempted to slip on a controlled smile, but it wasn’t fooling her host. How could she even begin to talk about the scary disconnect between what she was supposed to be remembering and what memories were flowering inside her brain?
The dream. It might be time to bring up the dream. Or at least bring up the possibility that Haruka said something ominous. Maybe it was something that she did a lot. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe… she was losing her mind and hearing and seeing things that weren’t actually there. But there was bedrock. She had seen that crazy, spiny black creature at home in her own bedroom. In Franklin‘s bedroom. It wasn’t just something she imagined. And the developing blackness on Yuka’s leg wasn’t imagined either.
She cobbled together all the essential elements inside her head and searched for a word or phrase to begin reciting such a crazy notion. It had to start with Haruka. “Miss Sasaki… I was wondering…”
“Just call me Yuka. No matter how much I sometimes cringe over my name. I need a cooler one when I make the adult decision about it. But you’re my friend, and even though we’ve just met…umm. You’re my friend, and that means you don’t have to be so formal. But please, sorry, go ahead. What was it…Takano…?”
Misaki pressed her on the same level of comfort. No need to go by her surname. They were friends, although she found herself questioningly nervous about some subtle extra implication from her use and tone of ‘friend’. Darn awkward translation. But call her Misaki. And the matter… The issue was…
Yuka gulped and raised her hand as though beginning a judo chop. Hushly, she whispered to Misaki, “Do you hear that? Footsteps. Has to be. Someone’s coming.”
In all honesty, what sounds Misaki could pick up from beyond the slim walls were traces of frogs bellowing, cicadas shouting annoyance, trees lightly cracking against one another, distant equipment densely rumbling with the same complaints as the cicadas, and the incessant static of tumbling drops trying to blot out everything else. Then, as though noticing out of the corner of her ear, before she could summon words, there came…
Squish, step squish, step squish… with a methodical but swift cadence. The melody was at a distance but closing that space with a looming presence. New traits emerged with a whistling shift to the wind and an adjusting splatter. At first, it was just one set of footsteps, then it became several together and beside one another. Misaki struggled to make sense of it. Yuka slowly got up from the bench and approached the door on the side they entered from. Notes of concern squeaked past Misaki’s lips, but Yuka looked back, raised her hand, and quietly assured her it was fine.
The sounds went right up to the door outside. It was a person—maybe more than one—but how could they know anyone was here? Misaki braced herself and leaned in Yuka’s direction despite her calm assurance.
Though there was no doubt that someone was standing right in front of the door, only hints of sound betrayed their presence. Misaki did her best to not even breathe, to sift over more possible noises. Then, there were words.
“… Sasaki Yuka? That you? My granddaughter said she saw you.”
With a soft sigh, Yuka responded, “Yeah, Miss Okura, it’s me. We sheltered in here because the rain hit suddenly and we needed a place to dry out, and this one always has electricity and a heater.”
Intense, rainy static followed before being gently interrupted by the question, “…We?”
Yuka carefully opened the door and peered out before the visitor could look in. The woman crouching under the awning with a massive, sky-blue and gold umbrella above her head didn’t look like anyone Misaki had met so far in this place. She had a presence that summoned attention but didn’t require piercing eyes, a thundering voice, or ornate clothes.
Muddy sandals covered her feet, and she wiped them on the side. A long, red leather coat, miraculously untouched by the weather, danced and swayed on her with the wind. A black blouse with subtle floral ornamentation puffed and relaxed as silvery work pants blockaded the worst of the storm whipping around the shack. An orderly dome of verdant, sharp green locks framed her head and pledged obedience to her will, barely ruffling in the breeze. The granddaughter mentioned barely surprised Misaki at this point, as the woman before them appeared, at most, to be in her late twenties.