Catnip(v.2) - 6

“Sorry,” Asami says.

“If it was fine a minute ago, it’s still fine now.”

“I’m not too heavy, am I?”

“Not at all.”

“… How are you this strong?”

“I grew up on a farm. Trust me, I’ve had to carry calves that were both bigger and squirmed far more than you did.”

“I see.” A short pause. “Sorry. You can probably set me down now. I think we’re close enough–”

“Don’t you even think about it.”

Though they’ve been having the same conversation for almost half a mile, it’s the first Sayuri actually feels like she might’ve shut the lid on it for good. Sadly, she can’t savour her victory for more than a couple seconds. Without thinking, Asami rests her head on Sayuri’s back, plush strands of hair brushing against the exposed nape of her neck. It takes all of her strength to keep herself from melting, her legs from buckling down. She wouldn’t be hearing the end of it from Asami otherwise.

If she was nothing but cool when they left the station, it only took running into an old couple just outside for her composure to melt. They didn’t even say anything – they didn’t need to. The way they grinned at her with those fond, wistful gazes was enough to clue her in on how it all looked: a girl very content to carry another girl on her back. Needless to say she stuck to barren backstreets for the rest of the journey – a shortcut, as she assured Asami.

Now, even with no one around to fling wordless teases at her, she’s more self-conscious than ever. While most other girls their age enjoyed a very physical friendship with hugs and cuddles galore, she and Asami hadn’t as much as linked arms, let alone do anything outwardly affectionate. Jumping from nothing to, well, this is like going from riding a bike to driving a rocket ship. Her hummingbird heart would be beating through her shirt all the same.

“You didn’t tell me how you managed to get hurt,” she says, if for no other reason than to distract herself.

“It’s a little embarrassing.”

“More embarrassing than what we’re doing right now?”

“Touche.” Asami empties her lungs, the hot air sending tingles down Sayuri’s skin. “You know those little things we lean into when we line up to start a race?”

“Mhm.”

“I finished my last lap by taking a false-step on one of those.”

“Did you forget they were there?”

“More like I was too exhausted to even notice them.”

Sayuri furrows her brow into a light curve. Even if Asami’s taking it lightly, even though her efforts are justified by an upcoming competition, she still struggles to believe that’s all there is to it. Not when Asami’s already hit a peak most people can’t even hope to glimpse. Not when she’s never expressed the slightest hint of cutthroat ambition.

“Maybe that’s a sign you should be taking things a little easier,” Sayuri muses. “It’s not like you need to catch up or anything. You’re already the anchor, after all.”

“It’s not about speed. I told you, I need to work on my stamina.

Three vacant strides against the pavement. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth, tho–”

“Give me a break. You’re not spraining your ankle because of some stupid championship you didn’t even know existed two weeks ago.” Doubt swells inside Sayuri’s head, a numb pain behind her eyes. She shouldn’t be so dismissive, but she can’t help it either. “W-why aren't you telling me what’s wrong?”

She slows almost to a halt, her peppy walk now nothing more than a slow, hesitant shuffle. Not too far ahead, a residential tower rises like a column of infinity towards the pitch black skies, the lit windows like glittering stars. They’re in the homestretch now. If Asami wanted to avoid the topic, she could just wriggle off Sayuri’s back and hobble towards her flat.

Instead, she nuzzles into Sayuri’s blazer, her words resonating through her friend’s chest. “There’s nothing wrong,” she says under her breath. “You know how sports clubs get around an event. Everyone’s hyped up, everyone’s doing their best. Everyone’s pushing themselves.”

“You’re the only one going above and beyond.”

“Yeah, because I have to.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do,” she presses, not a hint of anger in her voice. But Sayuri doesn’t miss the dejected note lurking beneath. “Think about it this way. If we don’t qualify for the nationals, people are gonna be looking for someone to blame. And what better scapegoat could you have than the freak who’s joined in at the last minute, and done nothing more than the bare minimum?”

“No one’s gonna do that.”

“You never know, I guess. Fujiwara-san seemed pretty sure of it, and I’m inclined to agree with her.”

Sayuri’s jaw tightens. When she heard that Asami’s meeting with Anna was resolved without any real friction, she didn’t read too much into it. With how sharp the discipline chair’s tongue was, she thought it wise not to look her gift horse in the mouth. Now, she can’t stop worrying that it was all too good to be true. Sure, she was happy for some time away from Asami, an opportunity to search her soul; in turn, Asami seemed more than content with how things panned out. With everything falling in place so nicely, it was only natural to take it for granted.

But that doesn’t mean she’s any less ashamed to have done so. “She signed you up for it,” she mutters, “fully aware of how it’ll all play out.”

“Pretty much. She said it’ll motivate me.”

“To hurt yourself?”

“To work for it. Because I could never fit in without putting in a ton of effort first.”

A deep breath does nothing to help calm Sayuri; she takes another, then another after that, but all that does is further fan the flames of her frustration. She can’t help it. There’s something so plainly malicious about telling someone like Asami that the only way to be accepted was to sweat for it. Because if she did end up fitting in, it would never be a one and done-thing; she’d have to keep seeking and grinding out small wins until the bitter end. And if she didn’t, then there would be no doubt why she failed: she just didn’t try hard enough.

Whichever the case, nothing would need to change. No one would have to accommodate or even accept her for who she is. The only way for her to have a normal life would be to earn it.

And that would never sit right with Sayuri.

“Hey, Kitora-san?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I’ll always be your friend, right?”

The heat on Asami’s face burns a hole between Sayuri’s shoulder blades. “W-what are you saying – where’s this even coming from?”

“Dunno. I guess I just wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling like you had to do something special just to keep me around. You’re cool and funny, and even if you can be blindingly irritating at times – I still enjoy your company. So, as long as you keep that up and keep being nice to me, I’ll be sticking by your side come hell or high water.”

Two full seconds of silence. “… That was so sappy, Hayakawa.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” Asami continues, a giggle playing on her tongue. “It was very cute, actually. And excessively honest – but that’s just what I like about you. You’re so straightforward that I never have to second guess even the most saccharine remarks. They’re always gonna be genuine.” Her hands clasp over Sayuri’s waist, arm closing in a loose hug. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Everything. Dummy…”

A wide smile blooms on her face, settling like paint on a canvas. The restless cloth of time will be sure to wash it away, but even when it’ll be long gone, Sayuri will still remember this little stroke of joy for years and years to come.

The evening thins into a balmy quiet. It is long past the time of cars busying the roads, pedestrians clogging up the sidewalks. The city belongs to the furtive flapping of wings, to the nightly gale blowing through the trees, to the street lights’ gentle hum, the world bereft of colour and abounding with sound. In this endless expanse, Sayuri marches on, the droning rhythm of her footsteps interspersed with the mellow flow of Asami’s breath. Slow and impossibly soft – she must be drifting off.

“You’re warm,” she drawls.

“Like you’re one to talk. It’s like I’m wearing a heated backpack over here.”

“It’s cosy.”

“Glad to hear you’re enjoying the ride. Maybe I should start a business…”

Asami chuckles, her laugh stretching into a pleased growl, then finally into a rumbling snore. But feeling the pleasant vibration echoing through her body, Sayuri realises that Asami is not asleep, not yet at least.

She peeks behind. “Kitora-san, are you… purring?”

It takes a moment for Asami to register the question. Blinking focus back into her eyes, her ears perk up, then flatten. Her mouth hangs agape; the rumbling carries on, unabated.

“I-I sometimes do it before I go to bed, but it usually stops if I get up. W-why isn’t it stopping now?”

“… Are you serious, right now?”

“Yes!” she whimpers. “God, this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry… You must be thinking this is so freaking weird…”

“Kitora-san.”

“What?”

Sayuri bites the smirk off her lips. Because if there’s one thing she enjoys about Asami is how easy it is to get her flustered. “Why do cats usually purr?”

Of course, Asami doesn’t answer. And if only her cheeks were flushed before, the red slowly swallows her entire face.