Yuri Worlds

[38] Slime

Not that it went absolutely perfectly. Being so close to one another led to little bumps. Shoulder knocks. Stepping where the other wanted to step. Slapping hips. Lightly tangled arms. And some accidental face smacks. Yuka shared the most apologies. A side window above them rattled with windy complaints, but they both ignored it.

They washed each other‘s backs with increasing confidence. Soap and limbs softly crossed. With lingering dizziness and wobbles from the warmth, Misaki plopped right onto Yuka’s seated lap. Snail-tracing shockwaves rippled through Misaki as she stammered through her apology and attempted to rise. There was no rush. They lingered together as Yuka quietly and curiously considered how this might differ if she were inside out. This simple thought erupted red across Misaki‘s face as she struggled to disguise her cheeks. Her imagination didn’t flee from the basic prospect of remaining a girl while Yuka took on the shape of a boy. But that was merely physical.

They sat squeezed, flesh to flesh, on a single tiny shower chair as the sudsing and rinsing finished. The spectacle of wrapping around one another to be clean receded to the calm, overpowering heat of the bath surrounding their senses. Just enough space in the tub allowed them to press in together with the water level precipitously high.

Nothing needed to be said during the calm soak. They just floated together, keeping themselves separate yet strongly connected. Yuka easily arrived at the utility and comfort calculus of men’s underwear without prompting. An inevitability loomed beyond the comfort of this moment, and they both knew it. Misaki would have to wear the wristband again at some point, and the heavy hand of the censor was sure to come down upon their shared connection.

Yuka grappled for alternatives. Perhaps she had something stashed away in her closet that could replicate the appearance of a snug black bracelet. That made sense, but as she mentally flipped through the inventory, it was clear nothing would come close to matching. The best possibility was a tiny plastic scrunchie. It was futile.

What about other ways of getting around this? Yuka tucked her legs underneath and sank into the water as deep as she could go while gazing up at the ceiling. "I could write all this down. I intend to. But I just know that strip of blackness will blot it out, make me ignore it, or make me think it’s not worth saving. It’ll do something."

A sudden question surfaced in Misaki‘s mind. Chika and Namiko were still both wearing their wristbands, so why didn’t they affect them? Yuka rocked forward with a thoughtful breath as she pondered the implication.

“It could have something to do with how close they are. Today, when you weren’t around, things seemed a little different. But it still felt like something was holding me back. I don’t know. Maybe we’re ascribing too much creepy, yokai power to that thing? All I know for certain is right now, talking to you, and sharing everything we have, has meant so very much. I don’t want to lose that clarity."

Misaki agreed. Even with the wristband off, she felt as though the world inside her head was as blurry as that bright white dream space. Being around Yuka and being sincere was like bringing a distant broadcast station into focus. The static fell away, distractions abated, and everything made sense. Despite the cramped conditions, it was easy for her to settle and feel like floating in something closer to a precious, amniotic embrace.

She soon felt desperately drowsy, unable to keep any part of her body up. She started sinking deeper and deeper into the depths.

A strange vision hit her in that place, like tuning into a dreamscape that had already been introduced, flicking on a movie in the middle of a climactic scene. She was still in the tub; somehow, that element carried over from one realm to the other. But instead of the wall beside them, there existed a transplant from a zoo. The bars of a cage stood bolt upright between them and whatever creatures were inside. If anyone was watching them from the other side, then Misaki didn’t notice.

The cage behind the bars was dark but also bright, with indistinct shapes. Several looming somethings slinked through the interior and crawled towards the edge. She expected something scary, muscular, primal, and vicious. Instead, several shy girls crouched and leaned against the bars with wide, curious eyes. They had figures ranging from Yuka’s soft but subdued shape to those that put Namiko’s to shame. They were naked, shifting and flowing like a continuous mass. One of them pressed against the bars. The gap was wide enough for her to squeeze through, twisting only slightly as though her bones were no hindrance.

Whoever Misaki was in the dream, he or she felt entranced and seduced by the form escaping and slipping through the waters over to their side. The snail, Misaki‘s nervous analogy, burst with familiar strength. It rose from its shell and threatened to explode all through the surface. The girl was so close, she was touching her… Him in the most intimate way. Something parted, something wanted to be unleashed. It burst through the surface of her skin and struck her with loving venom. These kinds of surreal, vivid dreams sometimes came to Franklin after an especially seductive stream from Gal Hotner.

What did this mean? What was going to happen in the waking world? Neither Franklin nor Misaki wanted to embarrass themselves in front of Yuka. At the very least, they were sure to make the tub water unclean. Flailing, trying to swim in an invisible sea, Misaki burst out of the dream to find, once again, she hadn’t moved an inch.

"You alright? Looked like you nodded off for a second. But I was watching you. It’s okay." Yuka’s voice soothed her thundering heart rate. Misaki shifted in place and accidentally splashed her face, bringing a hand out of the water. She smiled as the water dripped down and glanced at the rippling surface. Something moved beneath the water. A wriggling, snake-like shadow. Misaki panicked and fumbled to kick it away. It evaded her touch.

"What is it? Bad dream? What happened?" Yuka pushed as close as she could to comfort her companion. She wrapped her arms around her, laid her head against hers, and didn’t mind how many soft places came into uncomfortable contact. Struggling to make meaning, Misaki coughed as though she swallowed a mouthful of water and awkwardly explained a strange dream or… Something crawled into the tub and tried to grab her, and then when she woke up, something was moving in the water.

Easing back, Yuka carried currents with her and peeked through the settling whirls and eddies of artistic waves. Crouching, she reached through the water and retrieved a plastic green container that looked like the mold for a bar of soap. It didn’t quite match what Misaki had seen in color or shape, but she eagerly fingered it as the culprit. Yuka concluded that she must’ve accidentally dropped it in with a drowsy hand and mulled over whether to tell her moms and have them refresh the tub.

The water looked fine though, perfectly clear, perfectly easy to distinguish a black, moving snake from something green and inanimate. Misaki did her best not to dwell on this disparity as she made her way out of the water and back over to the shower section to take a rinse.

The clinging thoughts from her dream interlude had led to the sneaky snail blasting everywhere and leaving what could best be described as a slimy trail. Unfamiliar remnants remained, with traces of pinging excitement but also lingering embarrassment. Washing and sudsing helped. The next round of soaking was quiet and perfunctory, with the anchors of drowsiness pulled in and a nervous but swirling calm riding between them.

Instead of the crazy discoveries of the bedroom, the two girls shared shallow snippets of the itinerary ahead. Yuka knew so many beautiful castles in the area. The festivals on her wish list kept growing every year. And the resorts. She playfully envisioned what it might be like for one of these “men“ with their tall, looming forms and bodies, to squeeze into the tiny accommodations of a historical resort. It was a shame they weren’t closer to the beach. She adored picking up strange and alluring rocks, especially something volcanic and black as midnight.

Some trails required long bus rides, and they had legends just as crazy as any mythology or truth Misaki shared with her. But what she wanted to try most was a quiet, private test of courage, holding close to someone special like Misaki as they huddled around a single, flickering flashlight, doing very little to drive away the darkness. They would have to be careful to make sure they didn’t get lost.

She wasn’t yet at the age where she cared about the brewery that her moms included on the list of locations to visit. But all the art possibilities sounded delightful. Yuka made the mental leap from the existence of men to reflecting on how that affected all species of animals. Misaki seeded the truth that a park like the one with gentle deer also meant stags, as they were called, with mighty, looming bony decorations called antlers upon their heads.

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Truly, for Yuka, it was like learning about an alien world. One patch of disappointment was the ambiguous destiny of goddesses. Goddess figures feature prominently in a myriad of legends, folklore, and beliefs. But there was more. Male gods, stretching from kindly and wise, to unrecognizable, to bloody and violent beyond all imagination. Yuka advised that goddesses weren’t exactly innocent and benign. Plenty of them bathed in blood. But she understood that every positive prospect also had a negative reality.

A second round of suds and scrubs slowly returned to the previous surge of affectionate energy. Misaki subtly preoccupied herself with sneaking peeks at Yuka’s body to verify that she didn’t have any new blemishes. Head and shoulders slightly pink but flush with quiet cheer and serenity. Her arms bent inward shyly, but she didn’t appear bruised or sensitive. A quick glance at her chest gave Misaki all the information she needed. And her left hip seemed unbothered, even though Yuka’s hand gave it a quick rub. But her leg…

The same leg with the bramble mark before had a darker, sharper black brand. It took Yuka just a moment to turn her attention away from Misaki and gasp at the cruel pen strike drawn around her limb.

“What? How? Why is it? Oh, it hurts. Oh Goddesses, it burns!” Just as Misaki feared, there was an indentation around where the blackness fell, like some insidious creature was hollowing out the flesh underneath. Yuka screamed as her body gave a sickly squelch like a slime-saturated towel slowly twisted. The leg shifted, as though it suddenly had a mind of its own and wanted to break free.

Next thing either of them knew, they were back in the bath with their heads resting against the close walls. Yuka scrambled, splashed, and shook the water as she panted and whimpered, just short of bursting out in screams. She laid the same leg over the side of the lip of the bath and stared with wide eyes and slowing breaths as the flesh she had seen so corrupted mere moments ago was perfectly fine with just a touch of redness from the warm water.

Yuka stammered out a few nonsense sayings before sitting astride the side of the tub and clinging to the closest grab bar. Her whole body appeared perfectly fine. Nothing wounded or discolored, no broken bones, and no trace of what she was sure had just happened actually happened. Misaki gradually slipped out of the water and sat next to Yuka as the girl attempted to steady her trembling hands.

“What’s happening…?” Yuka asked hoarsely as she struggled to find stability. She relayed the experience of getting out of the tub once they discovered that green thing. Her leg was a mess, and something inside her was eating it. Yuka knew that with absolute certainty. Misaki wasn’t so sure. She gave her account of the last few minutes.

They soaped up, rinsed, and got back in the tub. Misaki noticed that Yuka was starting to drift off, with curls of steam lulling her to rest. That seemed like a good idea for Misaki to join in as well. She had barely closed her eyes when Yuka burst up. And here they were.

That didn’t comfort Yuka to hear, even though she didn’t blame Misaki. The others still had their wristbands on. All of that wasn’t many feet away, and they may have come upstairs at a particular moment. The company wanted to discourage the sharing of knowledge, probably because they wanted to profit from what other worlds were like. It made sense to her that they might give them deterrent hallucinations. A warning to stop talking about certain things and return to the leash they required. Yuka harshly clamped her flesh in as many suspicious spots as possible, just to make sure no illusions persisted.

By now, the moment was far too late and fraught with concern to salvage any sliver of a relaxing bath, but they still cozied up together on one side, awkwardly cramped but with a merged bulkhead, so that any other nasty things would have to get past both of them. The moment reminded Franklin of the shoulder he once shared. The poor boy never could’ve imagined this was in his future. Misaki barely comprehended it.

They didn’t remain much longer in the tub before gingerly extricating themselves while staying together. Even with both blankets spread across their bodies, Yuka clung tightly to Misaki, as though fretful that the very walls might attack them next. She seemed very much like a scared, frail little girl in need of her big sister. The way back to Yuka’s room contained no interruptions or signs of the others. Not even stopping by the guest bedroom for Misaki to grab a change of clothes led anyone towards them. They were practically all alone.

Brushing each other's hair again when it was dry enough to bother was an urgent therapeutic remedy against everything that had been heaped upon them. In the looming quiet, with just the two of them fumbling for a foothold of calm, Yuka conceded a sigh and softly admitted, "I think… You should put that wristband back on. Like I said, I’m worried that what we’ve been experiencing are some weird, punitive measures… And it’ll just get worse. What do you think?"

Misaki watched Yuka. She slumped down on her bed with her fingers gently rubbing around her eyes. Their width and brightness fluttered, waned, and wobbled. So tired. Despite just getting out of the bath, Yuka looked like she needed so much more to recover. She tried on a faint, half-finished smile though, for Misaki’s sake.

The prospect of just slapping the wristband back on and undoing all the progress they made disheartened Misaki, not so much because she wanted to be some avenging truth-dealing angel to this world but because she knew it would crush Yuka. This entire evening had upended so many things, and it wasn’t just another pile of thoughts, quandaries, and concerns to heap together and struggle to somehow ignore while they vacationed. Crawling monsters. Horrifying visions. Girls saying and sharing so much. But a quiet truth settled in the metaphorical waters beside her shoulder.

Yuka wasn’t some anime figure to leer at and pose. She wasn’t something that existed for Franklin or anyone else. It sounded painfully obvious bouncing around Misaki‘s brain, but Yuka was a person. A human being. An awkwardly twisted, tangled, flailing, fighting, learning, scared, uncertain, bold, overzealous, reserved, cute, ambitious, and exhausted person. Duh.

Of course, girls are people. Neither Franklin nor Misaki needed to learn that. But this vacation was predicated on seeing living anime. A world of anime girls. The population was part of the appeal and spectacle. Misaki reached over and touched Yuka on the shoulder like a friend. She held her steady through the wobbles. They dressed and sat together on her bed with their legs folded and the pillows close.

It was easy to find the wristband flattened and buried underneath the layers. The structure froze rigid, like a dark, ineffective blade. Before Misaki slid it on again, Yuka instinctively grabbed for a hand towel and some tissue. She explained that, "My nose sometimes hurts, when I feel it." They braced themselves as Misaki considered slapping it back on her wrist, but ultimately just pressed and rolled it like alien dough. It calmly snapped in place.

Nothing happened in the moments and seconds afterward, but they still kept their guards up. Eventually, it was clear nothing was going to happen. Although Misaki wasn’t certain about exactly what she expected to happen and Yuka just had a vague inkling. They shared pleasant hugs, like none of the weird stuff between occurred.

Rubbing her eyes again, Yuka admitted through mumbles, "I need to apologize and make things right with Maharu. Sometime this week. She’s going to have a lot on her plate as the heart of the little shrine fundraising event. She doesn’t need more. She’s got so much."

An expression passed from Misaki which Yuka recognized. Quiet, understated understanding. Cautiously, Yuka admitted that Maharu‘s grandmother told her many things a long time ago. They didn’t need to say anything else to each other. Yuka steadied thoughts of tears and composed herself.

“There’s a lot to Maharu. She’s lost so much, and she clings desperately to whatever she can find. She needs something. More than I could ever provide. Something and someone better than I am. But I’ll do my best for her as a frail substitute. Have a good night.… I love you.” Yuka dipped down and snuck over to the other side of the bed, like the covers were a snail shell she could just sneak inside.

Misaki had no idea what to say to that simple but staggering statement. She managed to wish her a good night as well while still sitting on the edge, drew in a breath, tightened her makeshift courage, and answered, “I love you too.”

There was nothing more either of them could possibly say. Yuka looked like a distressed anime radish smeared in flowing crimson. And Misaki suspected her appearance wasn’t much better.