Yuri Worlds

[48] Comfort

The bullet train ride lived up to every pop cultural expectation Misaki held. It swept across the countryside like a nimble knife. They first eased through the city center at normal train velocities before gradually assuming its true bullet qualities. The hurried artist of the land spun the canvas with outlines of features feeding twirling colors. It was truly dizzying to witness from her perspective because neither the limited steadiness of rushing landscapes nor animated matte paintings quite applied.

This was much more alive, shifting, and starkly detailed. The view when they first traveled by train was similarly unsettling, but the unnatural velocity pushed the uncanny threshold past her tolerance. She had to grip her armrests and focus on the floor to keep her stomach from getting sour. It didn’t take Yuka long to notice her distress and come to the conclusion that she confirmed.

“Motion sick?” Yasha had no interest in looking out any of the windows, but Chika and Namiko found that the speed was also disconcerting for them. Interestingly, Ayame didn’t have a good time with the view either and instead focused on listening to music on her phone. Kosame audibly lamented the tragic ills of precious maidens and recited a series of folk remedies she knew. Bianka brought up a website, having patched into the admin Wi-Fi account for the train, on infrasound causing disorientation, which Misaki remembered was the same thing from last night.

Bianka desperately avoided lacing this proposal with conspiracy thoughts and simply speculated that the little rattles and whispers of the train might be causing issues for those most sensitive to them. A few different remedies seemed possible, but Misaki opted to focus on her and Yuka’s video screen in the seat with movies and games.

All of the media was new to her, even though some differences were quite subtle. Action movies existed, but with a tone closer to typical thrillers with social quagmires. Misaki had to admit that, while the heroines Yuka showed off were cut from a different style than her expectations, the style and plots still jived with what she gathered from foreign flicks Dwight and Guy watched for fun.

Yasha casually leaned over a few times during some of the bloodier flicks, as though taking notes for a film festival. Fuyuki played hostess and made sure that everyone was adequately hydrated, had snacks in their laps, and was having a good time. She paid special attention to her youngest daughter, even though she and Kei didn’t forget about their eldest.

Haruka read from a sizable, leather-bound book carefully propped up in her lap, but she was also curled up and drowsy against her chair. Considering her typically inscrutable qualities, Misaki found it especially mystifying that the girl actually snoozed with striking normalcy. Naoko was slumped in the chair she traded for, her body letting gravity have its way.

Kosame whispered several sweet nothings in vain about the splendor of the sleeping form. Naoko jerked up a few times to keep from completely depositing herself on the floor, but just flashed a quick, superfluous smile before fading back into dreamland. Misaki found herself getting sympathetically sleepy as well. What yanked her out of it was noticing that Yuka wasn’t paying attention to the screen anymore. She kept stealing glances at Maharu on the other side of the cabin. No more avoiding her sight as though she were an incidental, passing specter.

Misaki gently bumped her shoulder and said the rest of what she needed to say with body language. Yuka ruffled her pretty dress and shifted in place before carefully getting to her feet. She went to the back of the cabin, and Misaki followed her. Everyone else seemed to assume that they had to get up to use the bathroom. This wasn’t actually wrong, as they made their first stop at the nearest one.

Away from the main cabin, the refining details that brushed away the sharpest chaos of their speed receded, and they got a taste of the rattling, ripping power inches from flying apart, queasy swoops in the low light, and not enough necessary handholds. Yuka pressed her hands into the shallow metal basin and let the blast of misting water practically carve her flesh. The pressure bordered on the ability to strip fingernails. Urgently, she scrubbed and squeezed until Misaki genuinely fretted that she might start bleeding, but she eventually pulled her fingers out and softly dried them.

“I don’t think she’s bothered at all. Not upset or sad that I said anything. Definitely not the least bit tortured about spending time apart.” Yuka squeezed her eyes closed and attempted to prop herself up against whatever wall would have her.

Misaki quickly questioned what she meant by that. Yuka softly dodged around just answering that point, attempting to explain that even the gentlest conflict between close girls could lead to frantic preoccupation. The conscious, willful effort of avoiding talking to someone close to you was exhausting. At least, that was how she felt. If this conversation had included either Nami or Chika, then they would’ve immediately called out Yuka for dodging around her own feelings, but Misaki waited and listened. It was like Yuka wanted to bury herself in this point.

She had invested so much of her time away from Misaki into thinking about Maharu and what she was up to. It was like a needle in her brain. Was the girl happy? Was she crying because of this? Did anyone tease her? Was she able to eat her lunch? Any undue discomfort? Thinking about Yuka?

All this whirled, swirled, and overwhelmed poor Yuka. She half teased the sincere question of whether she had actually become a genuine mom with how much she preoccupied herself with concerns about the girl. It made her entire body throb with aching stress. She was tired; she was so exhausted in ways that rest and naps couldn’t possibly appease. Misaki knew some things she could say and far more she couldn’t possibly mention aloud. First of all, she attempted to assure her girlfriend that appearances weren’t always the whole story. Just because Maharu put on a bright and cheerful face for a moment like this didn’t mean she was free from all concerns. Yuka firmly countered that she had been watching the girl over the last few days and witnessed no sign that she had lost any sleep about this.

Slowly, nervously, Yuka’s eyes filled with exhausted tears. No handkerchief in her dress pockets could even attempt to quell the tide. She clung to Misaki for comfort even though her emotions spiraled in troubled directions. Misaki gently insisted that it would be fine. Not at all worth shedding tears about. This assertion had nothing to support it, so Yuka struggled to take it as anything but a small comfort. They didn’t immediately return to their cabin, instead wandering the length of the train and drawing plenty of confused attention from their fellow passengers.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

It was such a silly thing to do, wandering around like that, but Yuka’s tears relaxed and dried up. So, they wandered as far and wide through the swiftly snaking train as they were allowed. The deepest part of the tail contained a strange furniture mockup—a transported bedroom. They tested out the yielding cushions for a minute before pulling each other free with renewed laughter.

Yuka wiggled as the world they left behind warped away from them. The rear view was no less disorienting than looking out the side, but at least it didn’t move quite as unnaturally. Misaki managed to keep her senses on an even keel. They’d long abandoned the urban center for striking patches of trees falling behind them and rolling hills and rare peaks pressing in all directions. Mountains would soon follow.

Yuka sniffled faintly and looked like she wanted to claim a spot on the model furniture and not wake till they arrived at their destination. But she shook that notion loose and instead followed Misaki back. No one even noticed they were gone. Life just went on. Returning to their seats, Yuka again wrestled with her emotions. Her grip on Misaki’s arm practically seemed strong enough to snap her limb off without a fuss.

Their arrival brought a brisk chill and icy reminders of winter clinging to small shadows. The mountain before them was capped with a bright white pinnacle. A shuttle bus took them the rest of the way up. The resort itself sprawled across a level stretch of frosty landscape with wooden gateways. Misaki thought the layout looked like someone had taken the simple old hotel, preserved it from the elements, and copied and pasted extra floors. Despite stretching with lofty ambitions, the building still appeared timeless and cozy. Hints of wandering volcanic steam, like the faint traces of lost ghosts, drifted away.

A display near the entrance compared this resort to the oldest inns in the world. It was close—over a thousand years in continuous operation, weathering different rulers, bloody purges, and stretches of undocumented chaos. The ultimate survivor of the Warring Goddesses Era. The Sasaki moms and Ayame took care of the reservations for everyone with a minimal amount of fuss.

Despite the relatively ostentatious dimensions of the inn, the interior was minimal, simple, and geared toward quiet comforts. The girls who had already settled into the accommodations were clad in colorful but quiet versions of kimonos that Misaki and her friends knew as yukatas. Essentially, bathrobes.

Some dizzy, silly section of her soul held on to Yuka and could imagine that it was just the two of them together amidst a crowd. On a honeymoon. Sharing this special place together. A pretty notion, but the weight and pressures of reality were still inescapable.

The suites were so tiny—smaller than the Sasaki traditional tearoom—though similarly made up with tatami floors and a vibrant, classical look. A dark, wooden table with warm tea and fresh biscuits prepared for them was perfectly suited to their size but would’ve been awkwardly uncomfortable for Franklin.

It didn’t take long for everyone to get settled in and rush for the complimentary robes to wear to the hot spring. The shoji doors rattled back and forth as girls screamed and shared their glee. The porch area on the side, with artful arrangements of mosses, bamboo, and other natural plants mixed with smooth rocks, brought Misaki the hope of mindful, Zen relaxation. She tried a warm cup of tea and a few nibbles to assist.

The flavor was reminiscent of what Kei and Fuyuki prepared for them. Sharply bitter at first taste but soon riding down a warm and soothing reservoir of comfort. A journey evocative of the one they’d taken. Yuka found a wide-open spot on the floor and stretched her arms and legs in a starfish pattern.

Several points gave little cracks that sounded older than her years. She playfully put on a self-deprecating, exaggerated grandma voice before breaking down in giggles. Misaki soon joined her in laughter and stretched out too with a handful of pops, releasing the tension of their journey. They leaned toward one another with their heads lightly touching. Chika was the first to find them in that state and provided copious amounts of suggestive eyebrow wiggles and encouragement to hop in the hot spring as soon as possible. Haruka was all ready to go, with a darkly colorful bathrobe and the same book perched right in front of her face. She still seemed acutely, almost extrasensorily, aware of her surroundings despite being intimately attached to the leathery tome.

Namiko had performed some arcane magic and stuffed her entire business into a smaller dimensional plane than the fabric surrounding her body suggested. Truly, a TARDIS-like achievement of ta-ta taming. That sentiment actually emerged from Ayame, who assisted in that voodoo, had only the vaguest awareness of science fictional media.

Naoko squeaked with subdued but still sunny delight at the reference. Her currently distressed, spun-straw blonde hair looked like it was the primary containment vessel for all the worries and feelings she had cultivated over the past week since indulging in cartoon chat with the group and absorbing Misaki‘s half-conscious lab coat assault. Bianka had her bright locks back in a loose ponytail. She and Naoko could practically pass for siblings if that prospect didn’t seem to give Naoko shivers at the other girl’s flagrant misuse and abuse of scientific methods. Kosame stood with her back arched proudly and surveyed the group, as though checking in on her personal harem. The others were well on their way to partaking in the amenities.

On the periphery, sneaky hostesses looked poised to perform secret activities in their rooms for the purpose of ninja cleaning and comfort. The pain from yesterday had mellowed to a gentle ache, with the remainder mostly concentrated as an uncertain gurgle in Misaki‘s stomach. Social bathing. The whole traditional bathhouse with everyone together.

Her emotions were in a state of chaos. Being naked with her closest friends was an easy, initial step. Being alone and unclothed with the girl she had an ever-increasing crush on, who carefully filled out the notions and possibility of a girlfriend, was enough to leave her in blissful madness. But seeing the entire community in there all together and having nothing hidden from sight was a prospect beyond her reckoning.

Girls. They were all simply girls. And so was she. As much a girl right now as any of them. And this should be totally normal. But how could it be?