Ball of Yarn - 3

Sayuri’s only been walking for an hour and she’s already missing the climate-controlled suite. What started out as a mild, if not chilly for a late spring day, has slowly degenerated into a torrid afternoon. The sun is relentlessly beating down her overheating head, and it doesn’t help that they have yet to swap to the summer uniforms – if they even have one. Now, with every tiny movement, she feels her sweat-soaked sleeves clinging tighter and tighter to her body, her blazer now one with her dress-shirt, both soon to melt back into her skin.

For how posh and prestigious Hakuin presents itself, their itinerary for today is quite bog standard. Following up a visit to some Sengoku barracks, they’re walking to the local shrine, after which it’ll be free time all the way to sundown. Everyone’s favourite part, and Sayuri’s too for that matter. Because while she is curious to find out more about the little town of Minoda, this isn’t her first school trip. Once you see enough of them, every sacred place and military building kind of blurs together.

Past the torii gate, there’s nothing special to catch Sayuri’s eye. Their grade splits up once inside, some people taking pictures of the statues and shrine maidens, some trying their luck at the fortune slips, some buying charms to cure what ails them. Love seems to be quite a common ache, as it seems. Not that it’s any of Sayuri’s business, nor would she know anything about it if it were.

No boy has ever caught her eye, and the few who got close always felt undesirable in some fundamental way: too pushy, too loud, too stubborn, too rough around the edges, too stinky. Really, the closest she’s ever gotten to a crush was back in sixth grade, when her best friend had taken to hugging her. A lot. At every occasion, be it hellos or goodbye, she would wrap her arms tight around Sayuri, making her stomach get all topsy-turvy.

Sayuri has yet to figure out why. She’s yet to understand why said friend stopped hugging her after a while. Once they went up a year, they ended up in separate grades. They’d still run into each other in the hallways every now and again, and catch each other up to speed, but nothing more than that. And whenever they parted ways, Sayuri could swear there was something bitter swimming in her friend’s gaze, some regrets left unspoken.

She shakes the memory out of her head, but now it lingers in her chest, a dull tightness behind her ribcage. A common consequence of letting her mind wander. Not wanting to be seen a little out of sorts, she steps away from the main courtyard, padding over to the palisade that marks the border of the consecrated ground. Beyond it lies a cliff, the songbirds’ trill echoing as they fly across it.

While the view is beautiful, once again, it’s nothing special. Her home prefecture is rife with the same kinds of settlements, rows of tiny homes nestled in the narrow crook of a valley, surrounded by forests on all sides. At least in Aomori, there was always a hint of colour in every season - the snowy fir in the winter, late-blooming myrtles in the summer. Here, there’s nothing but green, the same shade from the horizon all the way to the bottom of her feet.

Sighing, Sayuri turns around, leaning against the fence. Mitsuki’s nowhere to be found, but that’s not unexpected. Though she is part of their group, Anna has been summoning her for all kinds of nothings, to the point where she might as well have abandoned them just to make her life easier. As for Asami – a quick scan over the crowd and Sayuri finds her praying just outside the haiden’s overhang.

She seems at peace in the moment, her expression solemn and calm, her brow unburdened by worldly concerns. But then, she opens her eyes and her tail tucks between her legs. One of the miko has stopped sweeping the alley to throw a disapproving glare her way, that soon turns into an uncomfortable stare. Shrinking into her shoulders, Asami hurries away through the torii and out of the shrine.

Sayuri bites her lip. Save for one beckoning calico, folklore has never taken kindly to cats. Just thinking about all the stories of curses, possession, necromancy and shapeshifting sends a shiver down her spine; someone who dedicates their life to these myths would react so much worse. But faith and tradition do not afford anyone the right to cast superficial judgments, justify their disgust or ill-will. In the end, legends always tell cautionary tales against hubris: people choosing to go against the spirits, against their own nature.

Asami didn’t choose to be born this way.

Sayuri starts downhill after her, the staircase far less daunting now than it was on the way up. A few steps from the bottom, she lifts her gaze off the ground, swings it up the old, crooked road. Asami’s huddled under a tree, bobbing her head to the rhythm of the music blasting through her earphones.

Should she bother her? Ever since they left the hotel, Asami’s taciturn mood hasn’t improved, if anything it’s only worsened. Whatever upset her in the first place couldn’t have been helped by the constant scrutiny; if big city dwellers knew little about catgirls, small town citizens likely never heard of them. Anywhere Asami went, gawkers would follow, few of them amazed, most of them appalled. Worst of all, whenever Sayuri asked her how she’s feeling, she would only get the same stilted reply.

“Don’t worry about it.”

As if that wouldn’t have the opposite effect, as well as another one on top of that. Because she is worried, but she’s also worried that her worry might put Asami off even more. And she might be overthinking it, but if worrying about her friend is going to worry her friend in return, then worrying’s never helping. So why worry? Should she stop worrying, or would it be better to worry in secret, to act on worry without revealing the worry?

Sayuri balls her fists. Maybe she should just go talk to her.

Though the moment she sets off, a flurry of footsteps sounds behind her. Cheeks rosy from running, Mitsuki leaps to a stop. Thankfully, she sticks the landing.

“Sayuri-chan!” she chirps. “Sorry for vanishing all of a sudden. I had to help double-check the headcount.”

“All good, hehe. I figured Fujiwara-san might’ve stolen you again.”

“Yeah… you’d think the discipline chair would be the last person in the world needing a babysitter.” Mitsuki wipes her forehead, flicks her fingers dry. “Anyway, we’re almost done with the shrine visit, and Anya-chan should be done with me for the time being, so… should we get going? There’s a tooon of places I’ve been dying to try and –”

“Actually, Morikawa-san,” Sayuri says, gritting her teeth. It’s never been easy for her to rain on someone’s parade; doing it to Mitsuki feels like casting a hurricane on a summer festival. Still, whatever she has in mind, Sayuri’s sure that Asami wouldn’t survive it, not without hating every second. And she doesn’t want that. She wants Asami to rest, to have fun, to not have to endure another second of unwelcome attention. But above all, she just wants to be there for her. To hang out with her. To do what friends do. “I was hoping we could take it a bit easier, if you don’t mind.”

“Huh? W-why? Are you tired already?”

“No, it’s just that – Asami-chan’s been a bit off today, and I’m pretty sure it’s because of –” Sayuri points to the top of her head “– y’know. I was thinking she might like to keep a low profile for a while, just to wind down a little, and I was going to keep her company. Didn’t want her to feel left out or anything.”

“I see.” Mitsuki presses her lips into a thin line, then an even thinner grin. “Yeah, no, erm, that makes sense.”

“Oh, you can join us too,” Sayuri hastily adds. “But if you’d rather just do your own thing with your other friends, I don’t think either of us would mind. School trips are meant to be fun.” She chuckles, hoping to lighten the air, but all that does is make everything feel all the more awkward.

Mitsuki spins on her heels. “Right, okay. No worries. See ya later, I guess,” she mutters, before trudging back up, phone in hand. Though she might’ve appreciated where Sayuri was coming from, that’s hardly any consolation. Sayuri’s chin dips. It can’t be helped, at least not for now. But with how generous Mitsuki has been, inviting Asami and her into her private penthouse, she also can’t help feeling like a bit of a jerk. Thankfully, there’s still a lot of hours left in the day. She’ll make it up to her, somehow.

But that’s something for future Sayuri to think about.

The moment she sets foot inside the shaded circle of grass, Asami’s ears twitch. She pauses the track, but keeps her buds in. Their eyes lock; Sayuri blinks first, before they both look away.

“Hey,” Sayuri says.

“Hey.”

“You doing all right? I saw you running off earlier.”

“Yeah, I’m – I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Sayuri flashes a subdued grimace. That same line again. “Okay.” She rubs her forearm. “It’s free time now, by the way. We’ve got about three hours to spare before we gotta be back to the hotel.”

“Right.” Asami peels away from the trunk. “Guess we should find Morikawa.”

“Oh, I already talked to her. It’ll be just the two of us for the afternoon.”

The tip of Asami’s tail curls up. “Wait, are you serious?” she asks, but she doesn’t wait, nor need to hear the answer for a smile to blossom on her face. And no matter how hard she tries to hide it, Sayuri can still see it tugging at her cheeks, hitching up her breath into short, puffed laughter. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing much, really. She wanted to bounce around town, and I figured you’d rather we just chill somewhere. So yeah, erm, I hope I didn’t misread the situation, haha.”

Asami doesn’t answer. She looks away, hand pressed against her mouth, hair draped over her face. For a moment, Sayuri can’t help wondering if she had indeed overreached, if she had misjudged things. But then, she hears Asami mewl. “N-no, you didn’t,” she says, “I’d love that. Especially if it’s just the two of us.”

And now, it’s Sayuri’s turn to blush.