Yuri Worlds

[41] Regrets

What was she supposed to do about it? Ominous warnings. Who was she supposed to tell? It was exhausting. Guy, Dwight, Chika, and Namiko were so vital to even approaching normal. And Yuka.

She saved her, even though she didn’t really understand what happened or why. It would be nice to spend the afternoon out with Yuka and get an immediate answer to the peculiar masculine art style and what it represents in this culture. Golden Week was coming. The better half of their vacation. Although it would be truncated because their universes didn’t quite match for speed. She had no idea where the adjusted tally landed now.

She needed Yuka. How could her life find any frail form of normalcy without her? Not to diminish the fact that she would still have her friends. But it was like discovering something more you needed beyond basic subsistence. You had to breathe, and you were breathing. You had to drink, and some drops of water found their way to you. You needed light, and sometimes it was bright enough. And now this new, vital essence she couldn’t do without.

Would she survive without Yuka? Of course. She survived without her friends for many years. She persisted through everything that life decided for her. That’s what you do. Or you give up. Franklin was too dumb to give up. He had to persist; he had to endure, and so did she.

But it was so difficult. The weight of it all. Monsters in the bedroom biting at his leg. The left leg? That’s how it went with Yuka. His right shoulder hurt, but she wasn’t certain of anything more than that. Details eluded her. Like looking at the world the wrong way and it collapsing into a confusing and headache-inducing autostereogram, one of those magic eye photos, with all the elements stretched into noise. Don’t focus, don’t seek, and don't search for things you don’t really want to know. Let it fade; let it all drift away. Like someone who knew better, giving her the best possible advice.

Rest, rest, rest. Keep to the right. Don’t stress the little left turns. They’re not real. They can’t possibly hurt you. They sat out on something like a small patio with a wrought iron table and matching chairs. Just somewhere to relax for a little while. Sift through elements of the Warring Goddesses Era. Take a break from walking the city and its history. Slowly go mad.

Family trips used to be like this. Finding someplace to sit while the world gave the faintest imitation of Mediterranean splendor. A bookstore used to accompany their favorite place. Then it was a discount used place. Followed by something less. And finally, nothing at all. It was fine. Take away whatever, so long as she can still breathe.

A pleasant little game store beside it. That would be enough. Plenty of quirky and fun PC titles, books, and fascinating extras persisted, the remnants of what used to be a software shop. But then they were gone. The places to sit vanished. Comfort evaporated. Get in, get something, leave money, and get the hell out. Their community had a massive Amazon place. An enrichment center. Or was that the name from the video game where the AI tried to kill you? They provided services to a wide region. Franklin would probably be fine working there.

Her first version of that thought returned to the metaphor of “survival“, but it tasted bitter in her thoughts. Maharu. Survival wasn’t just a metaphor for her. No need for the wristband; she censored the thought herself. Not that that painfully energetic little girl would ever know or be troubled by her thoughts. But Misaki would. Miss Okura would probably also know somehow. She was scary like that.

But she didn’t scare Maharu. Not that that necessarily meant an immense amount. Yuka was liable to be unbothered by a massive omega hound built of raw muscle and spikes.

“Overthinking again?” Chika approached with one arm behind her back, vigorously rubbing as many places as possible. It took Misaki several moments to realize she was being spoken to, followed by stuffing all the complicated things back into a single, internal box and then sifting for the appropriate reaction. That extensive journey from where she was to where she needed to be resolved the question without the need for a reply.

She still admitted, “As always. But at least it’s better than losing myself.” Chika responded by reaching across the table to grab her hand. And she searched through all her phone messages with visible disgust and no updates to share in response to any of her furious messages. Misaki leaned back in the chair. That position wasn’t especially comfortable, but she remained there while her back started to ache and complain.

Chika spun together a myriad of minor events that occurred to her while she was window shopping on her own. She admitted to a vague, irrepressible desire to buy a dress, even though she knew the results would be underwhelming after vacation. Misaki raised her eyebrows and responded calmly and casually, “I hope you’re not suffering any new effects like turning into a mega girl like me.”

Her dear friend assured her that wasn’t the case. She even threw out some deep belches and classic comments that Guy liked to wield to keep Gal in her place. "I’m just a boy who loves to cop a feel in the privacy of my own underwear. The manliest of men, again and again. Ready to flex, but also more girl than anyone can deal with. But also… Also, I kind of just want to be a girl. Stupid. So stupid. Yeah, never mind. Dumb."

Misaki freed her back from the iron maiden swath of the chair and implored Chika to not brush things off like her. Something was bothering Chika, and Misaki would gladly accept the details.

Chika squirmed in the seat, which was surprisingly difficult considering it had the surface of a flesh grater. “I don’t know what to say. So stupid. You don’t even remember the first day we met. And you shouldn’t.”

Immediately, Misaki jumped in with a sharp, clear expression of her memory. Clearer than a dozen other memories she should’ve known vividly. But she knew. Little Guy, looking so cute. Her very first friend. Chika reached a hand up to cover her mouth. Sparkling, bright tears flooded her eyes. Misaki nearly leapt over the table to reach her, but that would’ve turned her into spaghetti noodles.

Chika helped her around to sitting closer but also inched away nervously while fidgeting with her drape of grape-toned hair. She squeezed her arms and legs down and between her thighs so tightly that it seemed more like she was preparing to turn her body into a pretzel. Misaki laid a hand on her shoulder and lightly rested her eyes against hers. Chika wobbled.

“It isn’t like me to be so subdued. I’m the wild, boisterous one sparkling across the Internet. I totally gave up being quiet and scared a long time ago. So, why am I…?”

The rest of her words tumbled and flooded in front of her as she quietly cried. Misaki eagerly wrapped her up and rocked her gently. It all spilled. Chika remembered. She was weird and different even then. Her parents never felt like her real parents. But at least they didn’t lash out at her for being different. They never talked since she turned eighteen, despite offers of money. Clearly, they felt they weren’t her real parents either. Franklin‘s mom cared more about whether “Little Guy” had food and was smiling.

That day, that lingering memory, was the brightest spot in her young life. The day she met Franklin. The little boy she never should’ve found so cute. She wanted to stay by his side all the time. Every game was too short, and every day passed so quickly. Every time he twisted out of his grasp, it turned a knife in her heart. Why couldn’t her friend simply hold her hand? Did he hate him? He was too weak, not good enough. Not a true friend. Guy had to be better.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Knowing Dwight helped. He was a skilled role model and never bothered by anything. He could bear the load. Guy could be like him and also use his cute sides as a character and a source of entertainment.

Together, they could look out for their friend, and he would be proud to be around them. Misaki started crying too, and Chika immediately freaked out with her hands flapping wildly. Instinctively, Misaki gave Chika a careful kiss on the forehead. She settled down even though she was still crying and compressed like she wanted to crack nuts with her thighs. Taking inspiration from a Dwight level of initiative, Franklin gave voice to this exact thought.

A blend of crying and giggling that Chika did in response shifted to simple hiccup giggles. And they didn’t stop. She eventually had to scamper over to the nearest restroom beside a restaurant, lamenting how she had more of this trouble than Namiko. Meanwhile, Namiko returned with some puffy pastries for everyone, a strikingly spicy concoction for their friend, a meat bun for herself, and a sharp vanilla blend for Misaki.

Namiko suspected where Chika had gone without needing to ask. She leaned forward with the full force of her presence, insulating her from the iron furniture. “I’ve actually needed more of my own little escapes than either of you have noticed. Part of my plan. You two always head off to the bathroom to stress out or feel sad. If I've gotta go, then I’m gonna be around and I’ll make sure I cheer you both up. Cliché, but girls all hang out in bathrooms.” Namiko wore a playful smirk as she pushed up her glasses.

Misaki‘s eyes widened. Namiko tried to downplay the significance of her little admission. Dwight had all sorts of plans for cheering up his friends on any given day; this was just woven into the tapestry of their vacation. Of course, Misaki had to ask where the enormous boobs part of her plan played into all this. Namiko gave her girls a little adjustment and rubbed her back towards the left side.

She meandered with her response, focusing first on the fact that the wait wasn’t quite as brutal as she was expecting, but it was more a matter of the little things. The wind played havoc with her muscles lately, and that little press of discomfort provided an aching crack that she just couldn’t shake. Getting a DEFCON one boob war protection network was going to be her next endeavor. Along with finding a comfortable pillow combo for her back overnight.

As for why, Namiko stuck to her original reasoning that it would be interesting and different to go all out with something like this. It provided a source of comedy and reasons to chat with strangers. And, as she carefully admitted, it was a punishment. Misaki practically did a double-take about that. Why would Dwight want to be punished?

"It doesn’t need to be said that my parents were complete white trash who attempted to beat me just as much as anyone at school. They took away everything but my ability to hang out with the two of you. They destroyed everything I had, attempted to kill themselves and me on several occasions, and always made nice for social services. But I survived. And I’m happy. Choosing a challenging shape is just going with hard mode. And shows I’m not complacent, that whatever burden is fine for me. Plus, I can tell Guy really wanted to get them, but they would’ve ruined the trip for her. So, this way, I get to show them off, and she can still enjoy them from whatever distance she’s comfortable with."

Misaki reeled. Part of her wanted to worry that all she was experiencing was actually the actions of the wristbands messing with her friends just as much as hers messed with her. But there were signs of this before. Things she shrugged off. How adamant Guy was about his manly nature. Dwight often felt obligated to take the load for everyone else, like a workhorse who claimed exhaustion would never come.

He knew about the Chapman family and plenty of little horror stories he couldn’t bear to know that Dwight suffered through. Yes, what Dwight said last week about getting a better understanding and appreciation of boobs also still applied. And, before Misaki could lament that a friend put themselves through suffering on their vacation, Namiko wagged a finger and assured her that she was actually feeling great aside from the wind-nipped corner of her shoulder, which would’ve happened no matter how deep she went into the bra alphabet.

It wasn’t a total reassurance, but Misaki groaned and accepted it as Namiko worked her magic to bring back smiles. When Chika returned, a combination of continued bad poker faces and obvious thought processes allowed the entire trio to get on the same page. The tussling of love and affection nearly approached Maharu-like levels of adamance. And Chika grudgingly admitted that she really wanted to be the one with the mega boobs. As far as desires, it was like they inverted what they wanted. Misaki could’ve gone a little bit bigger, but she had no intentions of matching the absurdity of what she woke up this morning with.

Something about that felt strangely natural, even though what she’d been given was not cause for complaint. And if challenges and other issues weren’t a factor, Namiko knew that she would’ve settled closer to Misaki‘s current contours. Chika buried her face underneath as many hands and layers as possible as she admitted to wanting to blow the scales apart as a girl. A preponderance of that came from wanting to prove herself and not be a marginal case. It was absurd. It was so stupid, as she said before. Along with everything else. They were absurd together.

Tears mixed with laughter, and all the dark and mottled shades of anxiety, concern, and fear drifted away, as though a sickly odor brushed aside by a kinder breeze. One note that came up was Chika’s realization that an entire swath of her fandom was gonna lose bets because they strongly held to the notion that she was ultimately an assured, manly boy behind all of the femboy paraphernalia and trappings. Peak masculinity. Oh well, she would just have to deal with the deluge of I-told-you-sos.

The pastries were delicious and perfect, and they let the food settle in their bellies before continuing on with their shopping jaunt. It didn’t take long before Namiko found what she referred to as the iron maiden bra. The amount of wire involved wasn’t excessive, nor did it creak according to her quips, but it offered gentle but reassuring assistance, which eased her discomfort.

Their day finished with the renewal of hope over the stress of survival. It would be fine, somehow. As with so many bad times before, the darkness was fleeting. Could it even really be called darkness? It had flashes of fear, small worries, minor challenges, uncertain feelings, and sharp warnings. Still, how could any of them find a happy ending with so many questions, such uncertainty, and all these tears? Because there was good in this world, good in the cracks and crevices and places you didn’t often look in their world, and good wins out.

Whatever the company was trying to do to them and things around, it wouldn’t work. Whatever monster was chewing on them and bringing harm, it would be overcome. Whoever might try to hurt others or bring sadness, would fail. Whatever parting or melancholy lay ahead, something beautiful would fill that empty space, and renewal would burst forth.

Hopeful notions. Silly notions, but Misaki chose to believe in them.