Catnip(v.2) - 2

For the infinitieth time in the last couple of days, Sayuri catches herself staring at Asami. Chewing on her cheek, she averts her gaze; lets it fall on the floor; picks it back up and steers it towards the blackboard. But a few moments later, her eyes gravitate towards Asami once more, the same twisted curiosity stirring behind them.

She tells herself it’s all incidental. Class is often boring and the window is right behind Asami, it’s only natural she’d look that way. But really, the view from where she sits is nothing to write home about, just a boring blue sky, splintered here and there by Tokyo’s addiction to high-rises. And even if it were a spectacular sight to behold, it still wouldn’t explain why she never seems to pay it any attention.

The truth is far simple, yet much harder to admit: she’s studying Asami.

Even if Sayuri told her that the ‘finger-licking’ incident wasn’t a big deal, she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. It was short, it was awkward, it was embarrassing for the both of them. But most importantly, it grossed her out so much so that she still gets a flash of goosebumps whenever she remembers the raspy texture of Asami’s wet tongue on her skin. Worst of all, she was expecting that such a visceral reaction to no more than the memory of the event would make her feelings clear on the matter, but she’s no further making up her mind than she was back in the moment. Because despite the overwhelming revulsion, she still hasn’t forgotten the expression on Asami’s face, that blissfully tender gleam.

She hated the sensation, she’s perfectly certain of it – but shouldn’t she be able to look past that and accept the gesture as what it was: a raw display of affection? But the more she twirls that idea inside her head, the more she realises she’s going about it the wrong way. It’s cats that express their fondness like that and Asami is not a cat. But if she could make that claim with a full throat not even a week ago, she’s not all that sure about it now.

I’ve been told this is normal for people like me. How far Asami’s ‘normal’ stretches, Sayuri doesn’t know. And with how lunch with Mitsuki and her friends went, she doesn’t have the foggiest clue how to go about finding out. But alas, she can only learn so much by watching.

The chimes ring for noon, and students swiftly bleed out the classroom. Sayuri doesn’t blame them; with how beautiful Hakuin’s campus is, there are a million better spots to eat in than the tightness of their own desks. Even so, she doesn’t even as much as get out of her seat. She doesn’t need to. When she pulls out her bento, Asami sets her own right beside, and pulls over her chair.

“Fried rice again?” she says, a playful scorn in her voice. “I thought you were supposed to be a foodie.”

“I am! But I like sleeping in more than I like cooking first thing in the morning.”

“Psht. Lazy-bones.”

“Like you’re one to talk! I’ve literally only ever seen you eat that fancy unagi that probably takes ten minutes to thaw out in the microwave.”

“Well yeah, but that’s different.”

“How could it possibly be different?”

“Because I wake up an hour early and prepare it in the oven.”

Sayuri doesn’t even bother to challenge that. Whatever she’ll say will likely end up bouncing off Asami’s smug smirk, and she has a finite amount of comebacks to deploy before she’ll run out and get flustered as a result. Besides, it’s too early in the day to expend all her wit; she’s still got a train ride to survive after all.

She rolls her eyes, making a full arc from the teacher’s desk all the way to the door, where they inadvertently stop on someone’s back. Takuya. Normally, he’s the first one out and last one back in, but today he seems to have ditched his itinerant ways, opting instead to have his Michelin noodles on his own. But the moment he feels Sayuri’s glance pass over him, he turns around and meets it dead on. A grin slits his lips.

He gets up and starts towards her. Her stomach tightens. The two of them haven’t even been within ten feet of each other, let alone spoken a single word since she slapped some respect into him. Suffice it to say she has no clue whether he’s still holding onto a grudge for that, or if she should be apologising. Dredging up bygones is a last resort in an anxious ant’s response repertoire.

When he opens his mouth, Sayuri feels the breath halt in her chest. She only releases it when his tone proves to be anything but reproachful. “Well, fancy seeing you two still going strong.”

“What do you want?” Asami growls.

“No need to bring out your claws, kitty cat. I’m not here to hit on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wouldn’t call it worried. Try annoyed. Verging on angry.”

“Chill.” Takuya raises his hand. “I’m just here for some company, that’s all. My usual posse ditched me to try their luck wooing some senpais.”

“Poetic, isn’t it?”

He snickers, “You sure know how to make a guy feel welcome,” then takes a seat opposite Sayuri.

Asami’s voice climbs an octave. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“Asking for trouble.”

“As if.” He scoffs. “Listen, we both know I’m not gonna give up, and really, there’s nothing you can do about it.” His shadow looms closer to Sayuri; while she tries to avoid it, his malicious glare drills into her all the same. “You already hit me once – I’ll see it coming now.”

“Kitora-san,” Sayuri mewls. There’s no need to say more than that. Much as she doesn’t agree with it, Asami gets the message.

“Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “But you better not try your luck with me. You’ll only be rolling snake eyes.”

“Wouldn’t dream about it. So, what are we talking about? Because if it’s nothing, then please tell me I’m not the only one who thinks that the Maths homework is absolutely bonkers. Let me tell you, I think I’ll sooner be ice-skating in the Sahara than finishing that monstrosity on time. Sure, it’s ‘important’; midterms are coming up and what-not. But there’s no way that Yukimura-sensei fossil expects me to hole myself up in my room for a day just to solve a hundred quadratics. I’m busy, you know? Like –”

That’s as far as Sayuri can, or rather is willing to pay attention to. While Takuya keeps on droning on like a clock ticking in an empty room, both she and Asami tune him out, opting to pick at their food in silence. Maybe nod every now and then, out of a common courtesy they’re not sure they should afford him.

Though before long, Takuya achieves the impossible: a remark about a cute girl from a different class managed to pull a comment out of Asami. It’s nothing too special, just a mumbled, “She’s pretty coquette, yeah,” but it’s enough for him to spin up a back-and-forth. Whatever he asks, Asami answers, at first with a couple words, with full sentences soon to follow. And whatever she says, he finds a way to link it back to the conversation at hand and advance it. Such must be the power of a serial socialiser.

Not wanting to be left out of the burgeoning chat, Sayuri pipes in as well, “She’s the one with the plaited twin-tails? I wonder how long it takes her to get ready before school…”

“Pfft, you think she does that by herself?” Asami snorts.

“Pretty sure two maids braid her up while she’s having breakfast,” Takuya adds. “Say, do you like that kind of cutesy style, slappy?”

Slappy? “… Uhm… I guess? They’re fun, but I don’t think it’d suit me all that well.”

“Nah, what are you on about? You’ve got big eyes and a soft, round face. You’d 100% rock that look.”

She should’ve waited until after he replied to take a bite; the sudden compliment almost made her choke, and definitely made her blush. Slightly queasy and fully dumbfounded, she defers to Asami for a reality check, only to find her in full agreement. “Right? It’d be so adorable. You should let me do your hair one day,” she cheerfully chimes. Only that last part was definitely not meant to be said out loud.

Asami shrinks into her shoulders. Her face is so hot that Sayuri can swear there’s a thin column of steam billowing out the top off her head; but that might very well be her own fluster gushing out. They stay like that for a decent stretch of silence, eyes downcast on their twiddling thumbs. Takuya, on the other hand, could not enjoy this more.

Though much to Sayuri’s surprise, he doesn’t add any more fuel to the fire. Instead, he slides his lunch back and forth inside the box, patiently waiting for the moment to run its course. And when it finally does, or rather he’s gotten too bored for his and everyone else’s good, he cuts out a hefty slice of his omelette – “Hey, kitty.” – and plops it in front of Asami. “Try this.”

“I have a name, you know. And why?”

“I know. And just try it. I’m curious to see if you like it or not.”

“… Okay?”

Asami trims off a small piece, brings it to her lips, then takes a cautious nibble. But no sooner does the egg touch her tongue, that she shovels another piece in. Then another, and another, stuffing her mouth faster than she can swallow, relishing every last morsel. Sayuri shifts in her seat. Loud squelching has always been one of her biggest icks – but she’s never been the type to tell people how to enjoy themselves.

“I take it that’s a yes,” Takuya says.

“Mhm. Issh so fwuffy… How?”

“We only use the whites.”

“But it tashtes like –”

“Bacon grease. My chef fries everything in it. Gives it an extra zing.” He leans his chin on his fist, then chuckles. Only far from the pleasant vibe he’s been giving up until now, it sounds like a blade scraping across frosted glass. “Lost yourself a little, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you notice? You were chewing with your mouth open there. Licking your chops and chopsticks clean. Kinda gross, if you ask me.”

Asami sits up straighter, draws away. “I didn’t ask.”

“Just figured I’d let you know anyway. Since you’re so keen on seeming normal and all.” He smiles like he’s expecting her to frown, to recoil, and when she does, he shakes his head, amused. “I saw the two of you walking home the other day. Had to ask my driver to slow down and do a double take to figure out it was you under that silly hat. Good one, by the way. I’m sure it fools your average passerby, but that’s about it.”

Asami’s tail lashes against the metal bars of her backrest, though it doesn’t take an expert in feline body language to figure out that she’s angry. It’s written clearly in every crease of her snarling scowl. The briefest impulse flickers through Sayuri’s chest. She feels like she should intervene – words, not hands this time – but there’s no flame burning up inside her, no impetus to act. Takuya is a jerk, for sure, but the things he’s pointing out, his questions? It pains her to admit it that she’s not considered them too.

“I’m not trying to fool anyone,” Asami mutters. But despite her gritty front, her voice is soft and brittle. Absentminded, she tugs at a stray lock, but her fingers linger close to her temple, knuckles rubbing against her hair.

“Not saying you are,” Takuya says. “Trying implies you’re actually putting in some effort.”

“You think it’s easy doing what I do? Imagine having to twist your –”

“Save it, I genuinely don’t care. Whatever you’re gonna say is just gonna be missing the point.” He pauses, half for the theatrics, half to ensure the blow will sink in properly. “Being normal isn’t just appearances. It’s a whole performance, and you’re an awful actor. Just look at you,” he spits. “Grooming yourself just like an anxious cat.”

Asami freezes. Her ears fall flat. When she takes her next breath, Sayuri can’t tell if she’s snivelling or choking on a bitter laugh. How did Takuya even notice that little quirk? She can’t tell that either, can’t tell whether he’s far more observant than your average flashy jock, or if he’s simply more cognisant than he lets on. The one thing she knows for sure is that his taking this whole thing way too far. Part of her thinks there’s nothing she can do about it, the same part that’s making her throat dry and heart beat through her shirt. But another part’s tempting her – telling her to simply wait it all out, and see if she can get the answers she’s been seeking. She doesn’t like either of them.

“Not to mention how you’re doing a pretty poor job of it, too,” Takuya continues. “It’s getting warmer out. You’re shedding, and those fine little hairs are very stubborn. You’ll need a slicker brush to get them all out, and even then you gotta put in some serious elbow grease.”

He reaches towards Asami. His target is the clump dangling behind her ear, but she doesn’t see it like that. It’s too sudden a movement, almost like a lunge a threat. She jerks away. Hisses and yowls. Swipes at his hand.

Takuya recoils, more out of shock than fear. He looks down. Blood’s dripping from his forearm, tiny rivulets clotting on his skin. He grins through the pain. “Tsk. Can’t say I didn’t tell you, tiger.” Calmly, he packs up his lunch and drops it on his desk. “Lovely chatting with you,” he says before stepping out the door. His whistled tune fills the hallway.

Sayuri grips the edge of her desk, but that doesn’t stop her from shaking. Beside her, Asami’s staring at her sharp nails, her apprehension tinged with self-loathing. Though it seems like she’ll get up and run away, she ends up heaving a long, trembling sigh and slumping forward instead.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Despite herself, Sayuri giggles. “It’s fine.” For a second, she thinks about comforting Asami, patting her just like she would anyone else in her situation. But all she can do is repeat herself, “It’s fine,” as if the first time wasn’t persuasive enough.