Misaki found herself starting to undress by the showers in the bath area. She struggled to fill the gap of the last few minutes with anything that made sense.
They were at the mountainside resort. There were nearly two dozen of them, including the shrine administrators, taking it easy before the mini fundraising festival tomorrow. And they’d broken free of the wristbands. Getting cozy with Yuka activated something that knocked her loose from her body. It had happened before when the wristband last tried to mess with her by making her squishy in body and brain. That prior activity sure put it at the top of her suspect list again.
After some scary moments, she and Yuka freed Chika from the ominous hold of that horrible thing. Maharu used her rough methods to achieve the best ends with Namiko but just needed words when it came to Yasha. And then stretched forth the void. The confusion of the last few minutes.
Haruka. She had been chatting with Haruka. But the only thing that made sense of her missing time was nodding off. It made sense, in a way. Barely escape the specter of death. Stuck with uncertainty inside Yuka burning through every happy thought she could contribute. Struggle to free her friends. Fight to cheer up Maharu from the depths of depression. It made perfect sense that even with her morning energy, bolstered by Yuka at her side, there would be a flagging wind that required a proper debt of energy and recovery. She gently rinsed the oozing scab on her hand with warm but not hot water.
This would probably heal swiftly. Much like her other little wounds. The skin in her mouth where she got burned from that hot food still retained a sensitive divot, but most of the sloughed-off skin was gone. In its place was a baby-soft stretch, building its way back to normalcy. When had her finger cut healed? Misaki tended to her cut on the train. The first real time they spent together in private, getting close without intending to.
She had the bandage on for most of that first day but forgot about it later on. It never bled or even oozed again. Yuka put on a sleepy puppy bandage. That was when she first learned that she loved dogs. The cut was in the same spot where she was cut on Friday during their pre-trip check. That cut never bled. Or was it the same cut? Why would it carry from Franklin to Misaki to entirely different bodies?
Time? Could it have been delayed? She received the cut on Friday, and, because of the different measures of time between her world and Yuka’s, perhaps… some weird cause-and-effect relationship showed up later? But the difference was eight percent. The lady on Friday said that the times would sync up at their departure. At that point, they were a relatively short time apart. The simplest explanation, she acknowledged, was that she received the cut, but it wasn’t deep enough to break the skin. But the circumstances of the next few days—showers, typing, the whole travel between worlds, the physical transformation, the different pressures, and going into the train cabin—likely exacerbated that fissure into a proper opening.
Why was she so preoccupied with this? So many other things should’ve monopolized her brain power. The creepy vision following Yuka’s first aid. Her ominous intuition of something terrible at the shrine. The strange dreams that she was having. What the heck the company was doing to them with the wristbands. Why she had seen the world glitch out more than once. The black furry monster. All the scary little things happening to Yuka. The fluctuations of her and others’ memories. The strange things she was confident that Ayame said. Who gave her that weird note. What was going on with Maharu‘s grandmother. And who killed Maharu‘s mothers.
It was a deluge of uncertainty. And the only deluge she wanted right then was from the shower head over her body. The water was absolutely blissful, slipping into all the invisible spaces cracked and crammed with stresses. Unfortunately, every time she felt like a wave of relaxation was about to overwhelm all her worries, a nagging sense returned to her, like there was something she forgot, and she couldn’t quite tease it out of the recesses of her mind to coherence. No amount of mental poking and prodding helped.
She dipped forward to wash under her neck. That little stressful bump was getting better. It was strange that things seemed to heal so well, but the rough area on Yuka’s neck persisted. Misaki did her best not to rub too hard. Towards the end of her scrubbing, she heard a voice over her shoulder.
"Pardon me, may I join you, madam?"
Kosame. She rinsed the soap out of her eyes to confirm what she could already tell by the voice and phrasing. “Go ahead. Don’t be so formal.”
The gray-haired girl cleared her throat and said something brief but unintelligible as she carefully started to undress. Misaki positioned herself under the stream and glanced over at Kosame. She glanced up but consciously avoided her gaze. Noting this but not asking about it, Misaki first inquired, “Was my little sister able to talk to you?”
Kosame was down to her underwear, her hands gingerly rubbing across her body as though warming herself up. She found all this subdued behavior to be odd considering the first bath they took together contained Kosame confidently strutting, stripping without a care, and acting like she was the queen of the harem before regaling her pretty maidens with poetry. When Kosame was finally naked, she uncomfortably dunked herself under the full force of the shower and started to scrub. Misaki couldn’t shake the inkling that Kosame was behaving more like she would expect Franklin to act in the presence of a girl, if he managed to remain conscious.
“You okay?” Misaki casually asked. Kosame took a moment to scrub before responding, “Peachy. Your little sister and my little sister are still chatting, last I checked. If you were concerned about them. She’s quite pleasant. Your little sister. She wanted to recruit us for something, but apparently the necessity passed.”
Misaki wasn’t prepared to elaborate on all the specifics, but she confirmed that everything resolved itself. At least as far as she could tell. Kosame flashed a kindly smile and said she was glad for that. Washing up continued as normal until Kosame accidentally dropped her soap. The poor girl fumbled around like a wild drinking bird, trying to find the right spot to cool off. Misaki came over to steady her with a hand and help her pick it up.
She thanked Misaki vigorously and puffed a long sigh for admitting, “Actually, peachy might be an overstatement. I have a lot on my mind, and it’s quite throwing me off my usual senses. Could you spare your pretty ear to let me distill a bit into words? I promise I will treat it kindly.”
Misaki wanted to soak but agreed and lingered so the debonair gal could unfurl her worries. Kosame gargled and rinsed rapidly with her slim fingers, stroking her chin in thought.
“I resolved myself to look and lavish affection over ladies ever since Miss Soma and I amicably went our separate ways. But not get emotionally connected. Not make it serious. Let it be a game of casual courtship. Fluffy words and fanciful notions. It seemed for the best. The heart has many chambers, and some of them are best for reserving one’s true feelings so they don’t fill the entire space. But even that small place can begin to ache, as though it were a boulder wedged in one’s being. And I really want to cry sometimes…” That spiel emerged with Kosame‘s steady voice until the last bit crunched up with plaintive whimpers more like a dog’s howl than human speech.
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Not knowing what to do but not wanting to leave Kosame crumpled in tears, Misaki wrapped her arms around her in a clinging but slightly distant hug. She rubbed her soft shoulder but wasn’t sure where else to put her hands as heavy tears streamed down Kosame’s cheeks. Misaki gave her something to dry her eyes, but it wasn’t much help. Somehow, they finished showering and slipped into the hot bath as Kosame’s face was still streaked and red.
The whimpers slowed and faded as Kosame sank with a little more than a sliver of her face still above the waters. A faint, childish squeak replaced the mournful sounds as she gently eased up and released more of herself from the bath.
"My apologies that you had to see that. I have no intention to leech off your sympathy in such a base manner. I just wish I could understand romance and love in their true state. You and my friend Yuka have somehow found the truth of all that through quiet revelation. If you have any insights from your experience you could share, they would be deeply appreciated. I just don’t want to be alone." Those last words set off a new round of fumbling, mumbling, and blubbering tears. Misaki comforted her, saying it was fine, but she had no clue what to say.
"Love. I’m no expert either; neither of us is. We were just friends, then more stuff happened. Yuka’s really nice, and we just started talking, kept talking, and enjoyed being together. I love her. I feel like if I were… Theoretically… A ghost or accidentally trapped inside her because of some magic, and she could only hear my words if I said my most emotional thoughts, then I would gladly scream my love for her for all eternity. I would never want her to feel sad. I’d share her truth and abundant feelings, be persistent and confident, but also be accommodating. Speak sincerely and listen earnestly to someone you truly love, and make sure they know what you feel inside." That first bit felt incredibly awkward and unnatural trying to emerge from her lips, but as she dug into the sentiment, the uncertainty ebbed away.
Kosame looked up through her tears with keen wonderment. She lamented the fact that she didn’t have a pen and paper to take down all these “lyrical” thoughts. Misaki didn’t know whether all this was worth saving, but she appreciated the sentiment. That lyrical truth seemed to light a fire of respective truth in Kosame.
”I find you incredibly friggin sexy. The supple, sensual curve of your buttocks. The way your goddess mound dips like hidden lips seeking magical words. The way your delicate skin carries gentle weight. The alluring dip of your faint belly. The way your skin blushes and how that blush drifts through your shape like sun and cloud distilled in reserved radiance. Entire books should idolize your chest and the brilliant punctuation of your delicate nipples. I know that’s a bit much, especially considering your heart belongs to another. But I want you to know you are celebrated, and you inspire me towards my hopeful true love.“ As a fleeting afterthought, Kosame admitted to being nervous in Misaki‘s presence.
As Kosame admitted and Misaki agreed, it was indeed a bit much. She wanted to say first that she supposed she was flattered by anyone else feeling intimidated around her physically. It was an alien notion for Misaki or Franklin. She warned herself not to let it get to her ego. Her body getting celebrated wasn’t as much of a shell shock since it wasn’t technically her body. But inhabiting it did instill some sense of connection. It was a weird fusion of feelings.
She insisted that Kosame was quite lovely and stumbled through the sentiment that struck her yesterday during the last bath. Her words had a visceral effect on the girl, as though she never noticed her wide hips and soft, understated figure. Dodging around the analogy of a pretty boy was difficult, but she was able to shape it into a careful compliment.
A peculiar notion struck Kosame as she realized, “So often, I look outwardly at others and desire to lavish love and appreciation on the presence of other maidens. But the fact remains that I myself am one of that number. I would be remiss to discount the heart and soul of the maiden closest to me. Not to fall into too much self-appreciation, of course. But it is important to remember that I deserve to accept love inwardly before I can truly be considered a giver of it. I must know its terrain and hidden territories. Thank you so much for this clarity.”
Misaki briefly worried that sapphic motions might follow. But Kosame respected her boundaries. They just talked for a while about the most random things, which often didn’t circle back to love.
Kosame figured it was obvious but explained that her name meant rainstorm. But not a big, bold, and boisterous one full of thunder and fury. She was a little rainstorm—a sprinkle, a drizzle. She found her sister‘s name prettier. Their moms wanted them to have special names, and, despite dubbing her a meager rainfall, they encouraged happiness in her name because rainbows lingered with little storms. She wasn’t sure if she would change it when it came time to choose her name for the rest of her life.
The girl clasped her small hands beside her mouth before saying, "I always cried in the rain because, like showers, you can wash away your tears and sadness with it. I just want to be happy. I want to be with Naoko and share in her rich, scientific mind, which balances my flights of fancy. I don’t want to be her past. I want to be her present and future. And I want her to share everything she ever needs to share without worrying. What do I do with all of this?"
Misaki took a deep breath and pointed out the glaringly obvious: "You need to tell her. Tell her your wants and wishes. Be sincere. Just do it. Before time passes you by and all you have are regrets."
Kosame listened sharply to those focused, sincere words and tightened her fists against the water, slapping them as she burst up, "Of course. So simple. I have to do it. If she refuses me, then at least my heart knows without being twisted by uncertainty. Put it out there with confidence, even if it hurts. I’m still so very scared but being scared by itself is a waste. I can be scared and still do what I know I need to do. Thank you, Madame Takano, for your quiet wisdom and beautiful company. Now, I must be off."
Single-mindedly, Kosame launched herself out of the water and began striding with determination toward the doorway. At a certain point, Misaki cleared her throat and then did so loudly. Kosame whirled around in concern and confusion until she glanced down and realized that she was completely naked.
“Oh, well, that would probably leave a distinct impression upon the rest of the guests and my romantic quarry, but probably not the one I intend. If only things were a tad more cosmopolitan, as they say, then no one would bat an eye.” Kosame quickly slipped on a basic robe before adding, “This should leave enough to the imagination.” And, after a wave, a blown kiss, and one last thank you, she was gone.