Yuri Worlds
[27] Together
By themselves. Her heart picked up the pace, and the confused little snail started blasting through her being again. She had to say yes.
Kosame and Bianka started hurling half-hearted barbs at one another, at first from Bianka about how her sister had a dictionary taped to her face from all the different words she “spewed”. The elder sister countered by saying it was better to have your face in a book than a “meager pamphlet” taped to it. Bianka wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but she still felt annoyed. She pointed out that her sister should be considered a grandmother with how dated her clothing was. Kosame flipped that around as a compliment on being mature. And so it continued.
Misaki and Yuka made their quiet escape. The annex building, especially on the end, looked like it hadn’t seen a good scrubbing in quite a while. Plenty of things were lightly cleaned, but the floor preserved layers that no regular mop could touch, as though it were developing fossils of grime and dust from ages past. They circled around back to the main building through one of the concourses and made their way up several flights of stairs with dim recessed lighting.
Past a certain point, the walls and the ceiling began to get cramped. Not so tight that they had to duck down, but Misaki still watched her head with each new step. Before she could get claustrophobic, they arrived at a small landing with a door and nothing else. Looking back at the girl she clearly had a crush on, Yuka pushed it open and summoned a flash of brilliant afternoon light turning golden.
Past the door was the roof of the school. Misaki had to take a moment once she crossed through to squeeze a breath through her lungs. It felt like they had gotten so tiny. She also had to swing around and grip the door reflexively, fearful that they would be trapped out here once it clanged shut. Yuka reassured her that it was never locked, and some girls came up for lunch. Just like in so many anime shows.
Gingerly, she let the weight of the door settle back. It wanted to get away from her. She trusted Yuka but randomly feared that this was the one instance where someone on staff actually locked it, and they were going to be stuck out here. Or maybe Yuka knew that and arranged this. A second chance for something like the shack. Releasing a slow breath, Misaki let the door go. It softly clicked shut without any clear sign of being locked or unlocked. She turned away. Whatever happens.
The roof appeared surprisingly clean, especially compared to some stretches in the annex. Old satellite dishes aimed at the horizon; an abandoned garden was infested with tangled wire and drying mud from the earlier storm; and an eight-foot, tightly woven fence rose from the lip, protecting them from the woozy vertical drop. The deep, artistic quality of the drop did little to set Misaki‘s mind at ease. No matter if the world was made of painterly pastels or anything else, falling would still hurt just as bad.
The wind, which tormented them earlier, now curled and played with them.
The view from the roof was much clearer than the one from the top of the hill at the shrine. That sight was tangled amidst the knotted spires of hundreds of trees. Here, the trees provided a luscious, wiggly carpet. The fence blunted some of the beauty, but it was a small price to pay. Stepping back several feet reduced the metallic interference to the faintest haze.
“It’s beautiful up here,” Yuka said. “It’s so private, even though you’re so connected with the world. Sometimes, it’s almost like flying while staying in place. I don’t know a whole lot of famous locales to bring back a breathtaking experience from. I love our shrine as a measure of our community. And I love this place as something that means a lot to me. I am honored to share them with you. You’ll probably have a better time at some hot spring resort or business center. But this is what I can offer.”
Misaki looked out at the world around her. It was impossible. She could see a delicate haze and the careful natural hand of a vast array of clouds shifting and shrinking and growing. Living clouds and a breathing world. It was art beyond all comprehension, adjusting slightly with every step she took. The distant hills were not a matte painting or a projected illusion on a skybox. At the same time, they had an uncanny quality, suggesting flatness. Her brain was flipping back and forth, as though struggling with a new variety of optical illusion it didn’t know how to parse.
They sat together, not too far from the edge of the roof. Yuka put down a large handkerchief for Misaki to sit on, even though she assured her it wasn’t necessary. She didn’t care if her ghost-girl outfit got some smudges. It would probably improve it. Yuka was so close that she practically transmitted a sympathetic heartbeat. A double beat that, while operating on its own, still felt like hers. Both were positively racing.
Softly, Misaki thanked her for sharing this and reassured her that it was a beauty unlike anything at home. Yuka playfully scoffed. “There’s got to be things more beautiful than this in your world. Easily. What’s it like where you live?” The girl pressed closer.
Despite still lacking what her name should’ve been, Misaki had a lot of memories of home to pull from. An area far from the coast but close to a massive metropolitan area. Wretched fumes belched in the air from countless, zooming cars. She vaguely alluded to the graffiti that besmirched so many places. Yuka took it a different way.
She’d heard of public art by girls in other places around her world and connected that with this. Misaki opted not to disabuse her of this notion. So many things that she hinted at and touched upon inspired rapturous notions in Yuka. Speedy thoroughfares. Anonymous others. Stifling heat. Blasting sand. Rushing stress. Widely sprawled buildings. Everything hit more like a dream than a warning.
Misaki cautioned that the appearance and color palette, while lovely and sharp sometimes, had a muted softness that made most things plain. Yuka retorted that the world around her was plain. Those soft painterly tones, the refined pencil, and the human brushstrokes. How very mundane to her eyes. Just the way things were. She wanted to see something different, even if it led to a muted palette of disappointment. Misaki could understand, but at the same time, she found it impossible to explain. So, they just enjoyed what there was.
Yuka let her legs dip down with a sigh before she said, “I do like home. I like here. But it’s easy to feel trapped. It’s fun to go to the city, like today. But it’s different than that. Sometimes, the world just feels wrong. You know what I mean?"
Misaki gave a small nod. “When I was little, something always bothered me. I knew my house, but there were these turns where I was certain that the hallway should’ve gone left, but it went the other way. I’d often bump into things, and my mom would get mad at me, saying I did it on purpose.”
Yuka listened with rapt attention. “Did it go away?”
With a sigh and a shrug, Misaki answered, “Not really. I just got used to feeling off-balance and figured I was the problem.“
“…Me too…” Yuka said, barely above a whisper. Misaki urged her to say more.
“It’s stupid. What silly Bianka said took me back. About pale girls in black. I’d dream about them. But I wasn’t scared of them. It was more like they were my friends. I could talk to them about anything, and they’d just listen. But I wasn’t supposed to talk to them. Because they were bad, because they were dark things. And that would rub off on me, and I’d become something awful too. That’s silly. And it was a long time ago. But sometimes, I get really worried. Like every thought inside me is vibrating with terror and panic. Sometimes, I feel like some gross thing, some bug that others want to step on. I have to apologize. I have to apologize over and over and over until all the sickly tears inside of me dry up. And, no matter what I do, I still get these dreams where everyone’s upset at me, everyone hates me, and everyone wants to hurt me. All I can do is hide in this blurry, blank place and shield myself until the pain stops.” At the end of that, she released a long breath, like a balloon slowly deflating.
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Misaki‘s heart raced for a new reason. It was impossible, but some of that sounded like the nap nightmare she woke from. Would it be worth it to ask whether Yuka had a reaction to lab coats or ever experienced weird dreams with her sister on the floor? She resisted. The poor girl would surely be freaked out if she said that. But now seemed like the best time to say something.
“That’s awful. I’ve had some nightmares like that before. Doctors trying to cut off a leg. So scary.” Compared to the detailed, emotional version that Yuka unfurled, hers felt thoroughly pathetic and weak tea by comparison. She put a hand on Misaki‘s shoulder and gently squeezed. She didn’t say anything in reference to the hint—no agreement, no mentions of having comparable dreams. Drat.
Heaving a sigh, Yuka asked, “Am I a bad girl?”
Misaki snapped her head to look right at Yuki with a tightened frown and immediately answered, “No.”
Yuka warned that they’d just met this day. She didn’t know her for more than a handful of hours. She hadn’t seen all her aspects. “I get upset sometimes. I get angry. I’m irrational and mean. I do the stupidest things. I think even worse. Sometimes, I don’t get sad when animals are hurt. I just… I feel nothing. It’s so messed up. What’s wrong with me?…”
She dipped her head and panted. Long, crystalline tears streaked her cheeks. She whimpered softly. “I don’t deserve to cry. Pathetic. I’m pathetic. I’m sick. I make so many mistakes. I could be better; I could do better, but I’m broken; I just don’t give a shit, or I’m a monster. I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t want to be so terrible. I just wanna be happy. I just want to hug my moms. I just want Maharu to be happy. I don’t want to feel mad or annoyed at her for being someone who… who needs a much better mom than I could ever be. Goddesses…please…”
Her voice shrank and crinkled down so small, like paper painfully squeezed. Tears spilled out of her until Misaki worried that she might get dehydrated. If only she grabbed one of the icy drinks that Kosame brought with her to the club room. But all she could do was squeeze Yuka tight as she softly sobbed. Back in high school, they were on a trip to some play with awful chairs lacking headrests, and the girl sitting next to him was completely exhausted from the night before and taking care of a lot of things associated with the excursion. She quietly asked if she could put her head on his shoulder for at least a few minutes.
Franklin… That’s right… Her name was Franklin. But Franklin had never been in a situation close to this. Girls just didn’t talk to him. Girls didn’t share private moments. Guy shared plenty and was close enough to a girl but didn’t actually count. This girl trusted him. This girl needed him. He offered up his shoulder for as long as she wanted. He held steady, and she closed her eyes and softly snored. He could do this. A shoulder to rest on. A shoulder to cry on.
Yuka stammered fragments of so many apologies for laying this on Misaki. She wanted to stuff it all back inside and be a happy, pleasant host to the travelers. She didn’t deserve to have to deal with all her bullshit. She wailed that it was pointless. What on earth was she crying for? Why was she spilling out her heart to someone she just met? Misaki stayed there and supported her.
Slowly, with halting effort, the sobs and cries faded to ragged whimpers. And the whimpers faded away. She dipped down to look at Yuka. Tears still lingered in her eyes, but they were shallow pools instead of endless rivers. Her lips parted, and she squeezed Misaki tight with everything she had.
They kissed like a wave crashing over itself. Yuka‘s hands caressed her and pulled her tight. Obviously, Franklin had never been kissed like this. She couldn’t even imagine a kiss like this. It was a joining beyond simply pressing flesh together. It was a union—a calm but breathtaking sharing. Every feeling in her body passed into Yuka, and every feeling from Yuka passed into her. The snail wove an intangible figure eight through the air.
Grabbing for one another wasn’t a wild flailing tangle but the management of eight limbs working in concert. They pressed and pushed and cupped and cradled. Not a rocket surging towards the sky, but an embrace sinking ever deeper and softer. The approaching evening laid a protective blanket over their souls, drawing them towards the shelter of darkness. But a light also fluttered.
Cooling down, they checked around them for the source of the strange twinkling. Fireflies. Countless fireflies, like dancing sparkles, suffused the cooling air. They hovered in all directions, drawing close and then drifting away.
“Beautiful. So beautiful…” Yuka spoke softly, and Misaki quietly agreed. The fireflies orbited like microcosmic star systems. They were goddesses watching in the heavens. Now far from tears, Yuka giggled and let the soft light wander over her face and play between her fingers. They were bugs, and, every so often, that truth made them each squirm and burst out in even more laughter. But the dusk and the light felt made of the best kind of dreams. Yuka soon wore a flowing glowing dress pattern of fireflies hovering, sinking, and tracing around her without touching. She was a ballerina with magic at her fingertips. Misaki joined in and found that the lights liked to linger around her head.
The fireflies just stayed for what felt like mere moments before their dance was done, and they left the stage for the constant, slow, and distant twinkles up above, gradually appearing as the sun dipped. Yuka gave one last twirl on her feet before tumbling into Misaki‘s arms. They giggled together, embracing and kissing once again, but with relaxed enthusiasm. The snail didn’t need to break out of its shell.
Settling back on their heels, they still tittered with delight as they adjusted their clothes and smiled for an unseen audience. Yuka bent over to adjust her socks and peeked underneath.
“Oh my gosh…”
For a heart-stopping moment, Misaki noticed the way Yuka was bent, looking down at her leg, the one with the dark mark, and expected the absolute worst. Necrotic skin, a bigger blemish, and screaming pain. But she lowered the sock and revealed… nothing. The mark and any trace it had ever been there were completely gone. Her flesh was a perfect stretch of fair, healthy pink, shaded only by the golden tones of the hour.
“I knew it was healing! Look at that. Maybe I should just take that cream back to Ayame. But it would be good to keep it in the medicine cabinet. I can probably tell her that the Reiki healing helped. But I know what the best medicine was…” She wrapped her arms around Misaki and gave her an even, warm kiss on the lips.