Yuri Worlds
[66] Eyes
“What on Earth happened in there? I thought you were just getting a checkup and cleansing. The spiritual equivalent of a light massage. Rather, it looked like the two of you just survived a bomb going off,” Yuka asked when they were away from the curious crowd.
Misaki didn’t refute that assessment, though she felt it applied more to Ayame than herself. Granted, she had no idea how much of a wreck she looked like. Despite all that, she somehow felt better than before she went to see Ayame.
Not that she would recommend the method to anyone else. Before they left, Fuyuki arrived and sat with Ayame to make sure she would be all right. The poor young woman seemed simultaneously rattled, practically every sudden noise or sight triggering her flight or fight, wired, and drained with wobbles and long blinks. Misaki focused good thoughts for her.
She had plenty of good thoughts to spare. The fallout of all that left her approaching floaty euphoria. It was a bewildering sensation to understand. Why did the soul-consuming prospect of death have the side effect of bliss? Not that she was actually under any threat of death this time. At least she told herself. But getting hit by a massive internal, wriggling monster attempting to rip her up, tear her out, and do untold things to her existence sure felt like a mortal threat. What was Ayame seeing, and what had she attempted to do? Misaki put some form of the question to her, but not even the poor nurse really understood.
Making sense of all of it seemed impossible. At least, it seemed she somehow emerged victorious on the spiritual battlefield. That radiant gold and icy blue light felt stronger than a photography setup on school picture day. It was unmistakable and unearthly.
Despite the consuming brightness, the radiant presence didn’t feel hot or painful, even though it had the rejuvenating presence of the noonday sun spread over her face. The full force of what she experienced was slowly slipping into memory. She didn’t want to forget. It felt as profound and vital as her dance with the precipice of non-existence yesterday.
Was this light something natural from within her? Could this be the closest thing to a vague but blazing look like what Ayame saw when she searched her spirit? No wonder the woman expressed such beautiful allusions to what she found. Or had that been what she had seen before? What if this was new?
That might go a long way toward explaining how rattled and scared she seemed when they left. Kosame found her intimidating, and Yuka was often so nervously shy. Like they had a run-in with a… Goddess. Now that was crazy.
The best conclusion she could offer up to Yuka retraced Yuka’s dark spirit landmine guess and mulled over the prospect of crossed spiritual wires and some side effect of being liberated from the wristband. She assured her that she went in with no intention of causing trouble or putting herself at risk.
She was sincere and open with Yuka as much as possible. Unfortunately, she had no idea what to do with the little statements that Ayame never realized she made while seemingly possessed. Nude tree free three jump over the blue moon or something like that, followed by some clear allusions to communications, a masquerade, watching, and a channel. She didn’t have a wristband though. It would’ve been obvious if she were wearing one of them or not. She had problems with this resolution, as it spontaneously triggered a sensation in her skull like a tiny imaginary electric drill plowing right into flesh and skull. Quite peculiar.
Yuka sighed and stressed over the fact there weren’t any clear answers to be gleaned, but soon shrugged that off and wrapped her arms around the whole of Misaki, as though a lost part of herself finally returned after so long, even though it was just a separation of a few minutes. Misaki enjoyed her touch as an instant remedy for all confusion.
She felt an effusive infusion of bubbly energy. It wasn’t a Carrie takeover, even though the possibility lingered in her thoughts. If things like what happened to Ayame could seemingly occur without the presence of a wristband, then what else was possible with these dark things sneaking all over the place?
It was exhausting to make sense of. They had more information, possibilities, and support than ever thanks to asking persistent questions and standing together in the pursuit of answers, but it still felt like just taking the initial basecamp steps up a massive, endless peak. She had so much gleeful energy burgeoning throughout her body and soul, but even that felt like faint, warm rain clashing against cold stone. Taking a nap sounded like a great idea, even though she wasn’t quite tired yet. What next? What was the next step against these cruel forces?
She hadn’t checked in with Bianka since they asked her to set up their show. The wary girl made reference to several wild possibilities with an apparent grain of truth to them. The company seeking all sorts of power. Dark forces and sinister spirits. She deserved to know that at least a few of her speculations rang true with physical evidence to back them up. Maybe they could pick her brain for further nuggets that might help make sense of all this chaos.
Later. Probably over or around dinner. Lunch by the Sasaki moms loomed, and she didn’t want to miss out on a single opportunity to enjoy their love-infused cooking. The inn only supplied formal breakfasts and dinners. A variety of snacks were always available, and anything on their main menu could be ordered a la carte for extra. Misaki reminded herself that she did far too much of that sort of thing in college, and it never seemed worth it.
Franklin had one of the higher meal plans, which included options where you could just pick whatever you wanted. At first, he relied on it because he wound up eating at odd hours outside of the normal cafeteria buffet. Then he came to enjoy the privacy of slipping into the college café near midnight with the oceanside fog lingering past the windows. He was always alone, and he suspected that was fine. Just a natural state of his being. Wrong.
No one should be alone. And that wasn’t a romantic sense talking. Chika and Namiko rescued him years ago from slowly smoldering in the dark, and Yuka was the brightest light of all, more beautiful than anything that stunned Ayame. She just wanted to get back to their suite and, privately, adamantly lavish her girl with all the love she could bear and then some. Let her know that everything was all right, even though that was an idea and a promise she just didn’t have evidence for. But she would make it real, with everything she had.
On their way back, Misaki felt randomly itchy. It wasn’t painful like the pinprick sensation she just overcame. Rather, it was vaguely annoying. She’d gotten used to her Misaki body days ago, not that a week was enough to match a lifetime. Did these weird skin irritations actually mean anything? Did it mean her mask was starting to sweat and rub? Or did it represent the opposite? Perhaps she was becoming so familiar and comfortable in this body that the honeymoon period was at an end and all the irks and quirks were slipping into a natural, human state of being rather than a girly ideal? That or she needed to change what soap she was using due to her darn sensitive skin.
Surveying the first floor, Misaki noticed several familiar faces lingering, crossing, and glancing. A friendly field, except for one. At the end of the hall, barely in the space, she glimpsed Haruka lingering like a specter, not wanting to be noticed. She briefly considered fanning a hand in hello, but every inch of her spirit revolted against the prospect, as though she wanted to playfully cry "Kitty!" at a tiger. Why would she be so worried about Haruka? The girl came across as inscrutable but not dangerous. Such a weird reaction.
There was something. And it took her several moments to notice that every single time she looked away from Haruka and then looked back, it was like gazing at a machine tirelessly dedicated to and never interrupted from watching her. It seemed like such a silly notion. She was looking, but not relentlessly, right?
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Misaki watched and witnessed as the elder Sasaki sister seemed more like an automated statue with an unblinking, piercing blue gaze following her across the room more methodically than those old art projects with recessed eyes. Her snap feeling was to break away from Yuka, storm over there, and demand what the hell she was doing. Yuka would soon catch up and double her strength. She wanted to do that, but she didn’t or couldn’t make a move. Instead of feeling like she was facing down a tiger, the moment reminded her more of tamers holding a look that kept a wild animal at bay.
Yuka said nothing about it or didn’t notice. She opened the door to their suite and beckoned her ladylove in. It was a relief to be back here, even though the dressers and cabinets were a flimsy prison for a set of gray goo monsters. They both checked what they had stashed away and made absolutely sure that no one had moved them or that they had moved on their own. Fortunately, everything was as they had left it. That resolved, they slowly plopped down on the tatami and pulled each other close.
Within seconds, each asked the other how they were feeling. That brought a sudden rush of automatic giggles. Yuka was the first to admit that she actually felt a little itchy with the easy explanation of launching and tumbling to grab Misaki, along with the absence of a much-requested shower and soak. That sure seemed like the perfect distraction for this moment, so they decided to get their bath items.
The bath was busier than earlier with Kosame, but still more private than last night’s frenzy. Showering together made Misaki smile, with Yuka beaming just as much. This time didn’t have the same striking, startling newness as the last. No bold, playful surprise to share. They were getting used to one another’s shape and presence. Misaki hoped that didn’t mean her feelings were waning for her partner. She wanted to cover and overwhelm Yuka with the full force of her loving sentiment. But she knew how she felt. At what point did a reminder become excessive? After what felt like a lifetime of basic level social understanding, all the complexity and nuance before her felt like an exam she never even imagined studying for and for which success felt like a total shot in the dark.
Sure, she provided advice to others to just be sincere and express how they felt, but it seemed like every moment required a precise tuning of that approach. Not in the clinical, scripted fashion of calls Franklin answered or turning up or turning down jokes, curiosity, and concern to the appropriate level for her friends. To go with confidence wasn’t just controlling the pulse and progress of a conversation.
In her limited experience, she could consider it more like a dance where support and coordination were critical. Maybe she was getting too preoccupied with the minutia of communicating with the girl she loved, but they had points of conflict and differences of opinion despite how much others compared them. She needed to know how to clearly communicate to Yuka just how much she loved her without mindless rote repetition. They started soaking after the showering was done.
She considered possibilities of getting close, holding her hand in the best way, soothing the spots that itched and hurt on her, and making her feel at ease after all the craziness pursuing them. One snippet of advice she recalled and often heard was to let your partner talk and also make it clear you were listening with thoughtful responses. It sounded so mechanical when put like that. But she gave it a shot.
Yuka brought up the comfort of the water and how good it felt, while also wondering if her hair might be better a little shorter. She liked Misaki‘s cut, although she was looking for something closer to a fluffy pixie cut that framed her head with thick but not heavy coverage. That had to help with the dry skin along her neck, although she was so nervous to expose the blemish before it healed. A lighter cut would be good for summer, no matter what conditions she found herself in. Yuka avoided the uncertainty and seriousness of the last few hours, and Misaki did likewise.
Shifting from discussions of comfortable hairstyles, Yuka broached the topic of her forever name and considerations of what it should be. Misaki started by reflecting on possibilities she liked, but Yuka soon responded, "It’s a name I need to live with for the rest of my life. Girls are technically permitted to change their names however they like, but the only time of life where it’s otherwise appropriate is with marriage or a death. Otherwise, the community considers you fickle, inconsistent, and untrustworthy. So, while throwing out possibilities is fun, I need to take it seriously. Not that I’m going to dismiss your ideas. I just want you to know my perspective on it."
Misaki countered that this wasn’t a matter she took lightly either. She promised to genuinely offer up well-considered thoughts and ideas. Yuka gave a sigh of resignation and pressed back with her thoughts. It wasn’t a fight, and their voices didn't get close to rising, but each felt sweatier than the water should’ve made them.
Yuka firmly admitted that the front-runner name that she liked at the moment was one she’d come across not too long ago. That didn’t mean she’d settled on it on a whim or that it was something she’d totally resolved. She wanted to hear Misaki‘s suggestions, but she also wanted her to understand that just because they were together didn’t mean she would give undue weight to them.
The first round that Misaki pitched was a wide variety of relatively common Japanese names with a masculine smattering that really didn’t leave an impression on Yuka. She folded her arms behind her head and floated one way, then the other. A batch of personal favorites that Misaki considered before settling on her travel name met with a similar fate. The only name, foreign or otherwise, that prompted any real reaction from Yuka was Beatrice, which she simply considered cute and didn’t provide any further commentary.
It took several more rounds of half-talking and floating around each other before the tension finally abated, and Yuka admitted that she was struggling with much the same things that Misaki was. She reflected on the idea of listening, absorbing, and bouncing back but found it exhausting. She just wanted to talk to her like normal, and she was at a loss for how she could possibly communicate her love as powerfully as Misaki did by literally committing to a locked-away eternity as a spirit lost in an unimaginable void.
They were both so silly. The release of tension and renewed, earnest communication let the soothing water finally carry away the biting aches and itches. It also left Misaki with the overwhelming need to use the bathroom, as her stomach gurgled louder than any of the running water. Yuka swiftly urged her towards the bathroom around the right-side corner of the bathhouse. Misaki grabbed a loose towel to keep from dripping too much and scampered inside to do her business.
Making her way over to the mirror afterward, Misaki stretched with the towel wrapped around her and splashed her face a few times before drying off and opening her eyes.
Something was wrong, terribly wrong. That wasn’t her face in the mirror. And by hers, she meant Misaki. Not the face she had been getting used to over the last week. Someone else's, but it still seemed vaguely familiar. The hair was slightly longer and black, like glossy pitch, as though the deepest charcoal or Vantablack ink had been applied to her. The same was true of her eyes, which looked more like cut-out holes with just the faintest ring of ivory sclera. Panic translated itself across her features and into the strange girl in the mirror.
Moments later, a sudden sleepy spell struck her like one of the many bumps on the shrine mountain they hit coming down in the van, and she was automatically bounced up again with her eyes wide and trembling. The strange vision vanished in that same moment, as though it had been a fragment of a dream and nothing more.