Yuri Worlds

[69] Goodbyes

Morning didn’t so much arrive as blast them right in the face with a thousand realizations and urgent needs screaming with mounting importance.

First of all, Misaki woke up to the realization that not only had the hotel air conditioner been fixed for much of the time she was asleep, but it had transformed the suite sleeping area into a polar fridge. She cuddled up with the nearest blanket, but that barely felt like enough to cut through the icy shivers. Chaos cascaded over the room as Misaki realized that Yuka was already up, doing several things on her phone, and calling out from the doorway to coordinate several moving pieces.

Misaki struggled to sit up and contribute to Yuka’s tireless, early efforts, but everything she attempted eventually sent her face-first back into her futon and snoozing. Yuka caught her, kissed her, and reassured her that it was still early, and she could get in a little bit more sleep. She wanted to bounce up with the same inexhaustible energy that fueled her and Yuka through their previous early morning and most of the day, but that reservoir just wasn’t there.

In addition to that, Misaki started coughing with a hand up to block her spittle as she sniffled and shivered even harder. She’d slept well and felt fine last night. Maybe she could be a little dehydrated with what seemed like the last wave of mouth healing clinging to her airway and crusting against her lips. None of this felt unexpected for waking up on any given day back home, but it was embarrassing in the presence of Yuka flying around and effortlessly tying together travel prep to act more like a demure, sickly girl ripped from some bygone era of literature where an ache and a cough foretold a haunting, wasting death. The best recovery she could manage was the ability to pop her ears.

Not exactly a second wind, Misaki perked up slightly when her gaze wandered downward to her chest, and she noticed her "girls" were responding boldly to the sharp chill. They weren’t Carrie-sized, but their shape and presence felt immense with their lewd punctuations. She knew that Yuka didn’t mind and was likely sneaking surreptitious peeks at her peaks. What sort of figure could she cut in a bikini meant for her body?

It was one of those questions she sometimes offered up as a joke for Guy as a quiet impossibility. If the universe ever came into alignment in a certain way, then Franklin might challenge Gal for girlish presence. A fanciful notion but one that stuck with her. Chika’s girlish truth confessions rang in her head like a melody she could almost sing to.

She had to face the facts; she liked being a girl. It meant something deeper to her than a mere mask and protection against hazardous realities. That wasn’t an easy thought with simple answers to the difficult questions it presented. At the same time, it was a personal relief to acknowledge. She was inherently a pariah; what did it matter if she transitioned to a new variety of that?

It might actually work out for the better, especially if Melting was bullshit and she and Yuka could share their spirits in love. Everyone back home, no matter what side they subscribed to, was ravenously preoccupied with the business of how and how plentifully or not everyone had babies. One less thing if she settled on the procreation path. Her aunt might actually chill out for a few moments. She had to wonder if there were any dominating concerns in this culture if who connected up with whom didn’t matter. At least all that was enough to shake off the last of the Sandlady’s lingering dust.

Yuka didn’t mollycoddle her as she gradually ambled toward helping others. Misaki still held the impression that she was a dainty girly girl who needed to be handled with care. Several glasses of water and nothing weird happening to her in the bathroom helped immensely with pushing her back toward what felt like normalcy.

She struggled with breakfast. Her still-sour, anxious stomach felt like it could only hold a meager grapefruit mass of nourishment before freaking out. Slipping on a loose windbreaker saved her from nerves about lingering or returning punctuations. Could she deal with this sort of stuff for the rest of her life? What about the messy biological details still around but no longer connected to all that baby stuff around here? She could take it, probably. At least she would know, across the biological divide, what the worst really felt like. Not that even the cruelest pains her body could throw at her would make her chicken out at this point. Perhaps some of the random jabs and jolts were just gearing up for more. Still survivable.

Everyone worked together to clean and organize the suites, even though the ninja maids were deployed nearby. The most questionable step of that process was extracting their black strip prisoners without a plan for where they would be transferred. They got permission to bag and wrap the artifacts in hand towels and split them up respectively between Yuka, Chika, Naoko, and a begrudging Bianka, who placed the sleeping monster as far from her recovering laptop as possible.

The bus arrived earlier than expected, and everything was ready to go in record time. Kosame sat next to Naoko, and Yasha sat as far away from Kosame as possible. Misaki adored being able to cozy up to her partner, even though now it was Yuka’s time to crash and look like she just woke up. Bianka’s unkempt blonde hair fluttered around her head while she propped herself up against her window seat. Chika shared a series of silly thoughts that kept recent events from bringing either of their moods down.

Misaki lamented that she didn’t leap for a front-row seat beside her best friend’s goofiness. She’d appreciated it for decades, though, and she could tolerate sharing the best of the ones she loved for a little while. Namiko also entertained her little nook of the bus with tense Ayame and stoic Miss Okura as the closest audience. Both of them looked more toward Maharu as she playfully practiced and mimed the motions she would be performing later within the comfortable confines of her seat. Haruka lingered nearby with the same book from… no. No book. Misaki had no idea why looking over at Haruka gave her the impression of a book she clearly hadn’t been reading.

Haruka was also hawkishly watching Maharu, as though she expected or feared something to happen very soon. No book. Right? She seemed the sort to be a regular reader, but no book this time. Namiko was the one who had been reading lately. Looking over at the Sasaki moms last, a notion clung to Misaki, shaped with fear of seeing something black amassing on their wrists, as though their quiet captives escaped and found new, unsuspecting hosts. She told herself that even though some frightening things popped up here and there, it didn’t mean she had to be suspicious and fearful of every possibility.

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She had her friends; they had friends and support, like the rope Yasha had been knitting together all weekend—a strong support that held the past and the future in comfortable continuity. That should’ve been comforting, but she still had the vague shadows of the warning she felt the first time visiting the shrine that she would soon see again, all made up for upcoming, summer fundraising.

The trek from their high-speed train back to familiar spaces went too fast to be fully appreciated, and the train itself went even faster. Despite last time and the motion sickness the flashing sight triggered for Misaki with the uncomfortable addition of her dainty, already uncertain tummy, she rested her chin on a palm and spent several languid moments peering through the glass with her eyes traveling curiously and her constitution rock solid.

Recalling the incident at the onset of the weekend, Yuka made sure she didn’t need the flap lowered. Misaki softly cracked her neck to one side and then the other before deciding she was fine to keep looking. She wasn’t the only one watching through a window.

Yasha also had her viewing port exposed, with a similar pose and expression tightly translated over her rigid features. Maharu expressed a similar sentiment, with her gaze tracing across the landscape like a practice for fine embroidery, like her whirling mind was conjuring up magical translations of all these common features. Misaki wanted to share in more of her secret realms.

Maharu frequently orbited around Yasha and noticed how every time she smiled at the strange blonde. Yasha swung through a plethora of emotions, beginning with an automatic smirk from Maharu’s spark and dipping into a restrained sigh and look of resignation. Clearly, the admission was coming, and quite soon.

A handful of stops before theirs, Yasha finally unfurled her secret for the group. She was cutting her trip short because of a variety of different factors, ranging from the discoveries they made to various concerns and considerations. She expressed unfettered appreciation for everything great and small the group provided and quietly apologized for her prickly nature. Yasha admitted that she wasn’t used to dealing socially with large groups. She kept to herself and adopted the name she chose purely because it seemed cool, aloof, and separate from others.

It was also a warning to keep away, but she expressed that her mindset changed, even over this short time. She expressed the specific wish that she had chosen an alternative nom de guerre more representative of her full nature. Misaki raised her eyebrows when she heard a faint muttering from Maharu about the name “Koharu”, One of her mothers’ names. Yasha took a long, thoughtful breath before contemplating, “That’s the name I haven’t heard anywhere for a long time. It seems and sounds important. I couldn’t possibly accept a name of that caliber, but I appreciate the offer.”

Maharu blasted her way into an affectionate hug around Yasha’s stiff shoulders. Casually, she hinted that her actual name was Joshua, even though that really only meant anything to her fellow travelers and Yuka, from what masculine names she’d gleaned. They all had plenty to chew on but didn’t ask questions. Maharu and Yasha looked at each other after finishing the hug, and Yasha declared with more boldness and enthusiasm than anything she said in recent memory, “Go kick the ass of every dance.”

A small scrap of rope, barely enough to make a knot in, was passed to Maharu from Yasha‘s pocket. She swiftly treasured it like a rough representation of a snake plush. Then, at the next stop, Yasha gathered up all her bags, sent off one last wave, and was gone from their lives. Not at all the conclusion Misaki expected.

As a consequence of that interaction, Yuka and Maharu’s eyes lingered on one another with quiet curiosity rather than fretful avoidance. Soon, they were at their stop, with just a ride back on the cars that took them here remaining. Maharu mentioned that she would ride along with the administrators so she would have more time to prepare before the festival proper. Time was swiftly slipping away, with all the hopes and potential opportunities fading into the gray icons of the past. Misaki focused on Yuka and communicated through her eyebrows and frowns. Yuka took a deep breath and dipped her head. She knew.

And she waited. They both waited conspicuously, each in a strange sort of dance, neither wanting to slip into the appropriate steps. The waiting continued as bags were drawn together, the station receded, and the parking lot loomed. At what seemed like the very last moment, Yuka slipped away from Misaki and reached out a hand to hold Maharu’s. She swung her around gently but effortlessly and wrapped her up in the most affectionate hug imaginable.

Instantly, Maharu broke down in raw tears that had built up over the certainties and uncertainties of the last few days. Yuka gently rubbed her soft shoulder, with tears of her own lingering and clouding her vision.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m sorry, I’m so dumb. I promise, we’ll talk after the festival about all the things we should’ve, and I promise to listen with all my heart. I can’t wait to see the beauty of your dance tonight.”

Maharu agreed with small, insistent nods, except where she restrained a nod at the ‘dumb’ part, and they quietly laughed together. Exuberantly, Maharu looked forward to it and promised that she would put on the greatest show she had within her. Yuka knew it would be fantastic.

After that, they went in separate cars, but an aching, uncertain tension that vaguely hung over the weekend like a distant, darkened pall of a threatening storm seemed to clear, releasing a rare brightness that Misaki could scarcely imagine. Like seeing true daylight in the renewed glimmer of an anime sun.