Ball of Yarn - 5

Sayuri is leaning on a bollard in front of a park, wishing she weren’t such a pathological homebody. After five hours of almost non-stop walking her legs have finally decided to stop screaming, shutting down altogether instead. That she’s only packed an old pair of tennis shoes certainly didn’t help, but it was Minoda’s bumpy geography that hammered the final nail in her body’s coffin. Wherever she and Asami went, they had to climb up a hill, down another, and then up one more. Pure torture, at least for one of them.

The dirt crunches behind her. Sayuri snaps around, the cold can aimed at her neck touching her cheek instead. Despite herself, she lets a low moan slip under her breath. With how hot she’s been running all day, she’s been dying for something to cool her down, soothe her burgeoning sunburns.

Asami clicks her teeth. “It’s not funny if you don’t flinch, you know?”

“Sorry, I’ll make sure I jump out of my seat next time.”

“Thanks. Very considerate.” Asami plops the drink into her waiting hands. “They didn’t have any coke, so I went with the closest thing I could find.”

“… Litchi seltzer?”

“Hey, don’t blame me. They’re both red and I thought the fox on the label meant it’s spicy.”

“Is that what you think coke tastes like?”

“No idea. I hear fizzing, I think of sizzling.”

Sayuri rolls her eyes with a chuckle, then pops the tab. She’s never been all that big on fruity drinks – most of them tasted like a chemical slurry than any ‘natural flavours’ – but the scent of this one is oddly nice. Sweet, fresh with just the tiniest floral undertone. Cautiously, she takes a sip, only to down half the can in one go right after.

“Damn,” Asami says. “If I’d known you were this thirsty, I’d have bought you a whole pack.”

“It’s just so –” Sayuri hiccoughs, the fizz bubbling up her throat “– refreshing. I wish you could try it too.”

“Unless you fancy accompanying me to the nearest ER, I think I’m good. Besides, it’s not like I didn’t get anything for myself.” Asami twists the cap off something that looks more like a bottle of soy sauce than anything remotely drinkable.

“What on earth is that?”

“Wanna try?”

She does, but only a whiff of the salty, almost fishy miasma wafting off the lip makes her nose scrunch up in protest. “Ugh, what is this?”

“Trout water! Apparently some guy decided to just put fish stock in a bottle and market it as a beverage.”

“Who would even drink such a thing?”

“Yours truly, for one. But I don’t know, really. The lady at the store recommended it to me. Said no one’s buying it, but her cats are in love with it.” Asami takes a big swig, then another and another, only stopping to take a breath and release it with a pleasured sigh. “And I can see why. Man, that hits the spot.”

“Her cats love it, huh?” Sayuri muses. “Was that… an okay thing to say?”

Asami tilts her head, taking a seat on the adjoining bollard. “I mean, yeah, sure. I didn’t think twice about it, really. It’s not like she was mocking me or anything; she was actually super nice, trying to help and all. I guess it’s just about how you say these things, you know? If you told me that you liked my ears, or tail, or nails, and I can that you genuinely mean it as a compliment, then I’m not gonna be offended.” Her voice drops to a murmur. “Depending on the person, I might even enjoy it.”

“I see.” Sayuri chews the inside of her cheek. Should she try something, she asks herself – “In that case, I really like your hair.” – only to end up doing it anyway.

“Huh?”

“I mean it, too. I loved it since the day I met you .It’s adorable. I don’t know if you’re doing something special to it, or it’s just how it is naturally, but it looks so soft, I just wanna fluff it all up like a feather pillow.”

Asami doesn’t reply. Instead, she doubles over, clutching herself in a tight embrace. For a moment, Sayuri wonders if she’s overdone it – she’s been holding that in for quite a while now, and when it came out, it all but shot off the tip of her tongue. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to wonder for too long.

“What are you talking about, d-dummy,” Asami mutters to herself, the words only making her crumble even further. What little of her face Sayuri can see – her chin, her cheeks, the streaks of her forehead peeking through her fringe – is all flushed a deep red.

She springs up without warning, clipping along the park alley without as much of a glance back.

“Wait, slow down!” Sayuri shouts, starting after her. “I can’t keep up with you if you zoom off like that!”

“Sounds like you should’ve thought about that before running your mouth!”

It’s nothing short of a wonder that she manages to catch up to Asami, partly because she put in the sprint of her lifetime, but largely because Asami decided to pull the brakes. Whether she settled down or merely took pity on her, that’s not something she wants to interrogate. Some miracles are better left unexplained.

The park is much bigger than they were expecting, fir-lined footpaths stretching on and on, only to be cut short by the blooming edge of the darkness. Though it’s getting late, the sun slowly setting behind Mount Kurokawa, they’re far from the only ones still wandering about. All around them people slowly pour in from the town centre, the crisp air so much more refreshing than an evening spent inside their small, stuffy homes.

It’s not long before their leisurely stroll back to the hotel turns into a game of slalom. Townsfolk flow by in a constant stream, Sayuri and Asami struggling alone against the tumultuous current. For a moment, it’s like they’re back in Tokyo, getting off the train during rush hour not all that different of a war zone. Though in the end, nothing could hope to hold a candle to the capital’s public transport. Had she not been toughened by that battle ground, Sayuri wouldn’t be gliding past everyone with such calm and poise. With a lifetime of training behind her, Asami should be no different.

But when Sayuri peeks her way, she finds her flinching at every brush against her arm, tail thrashing behind her.

“You okay?” Sayuri asks.

“I’m fine… Not a big fan of crowds is all.”

“Really? We’ve had far worse than this on our way home from school.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I’m used to all of that. This – this is all new to me.” A screech echoes from afar, feedback from a microphone degenerating into a sliding riff. Asami flinches, hands flying to her ears. A growl rakes its way out of her chest, dwindling to a low whimper. “So loud…”

“I think it’s a concert.”

“You don’t say –”

A man charges between them, tall and broad. Bumps both their shoulders. Sayuri digs her heels in. She twists on her feet, stays steady on them. Another man barrels into Asami, the other side. Built like a keg. She teeters. Cheeks blanch. Pupils widen. Try as she might, her sneakers don’t find purchase. Arms don’t flail. Legs buckle. Knees about to graze the pavement. Another whimper, then a yowl.

Sayuri’s mind empties. No time to think, to worry. She grabs Asami’s hand, grip tight, pulls even tighter. A plough through the mob, cuts a path towards the grass. It’s damp; sprinklers went off? Each step digs into the mud, cakes the sole. Black trail on the asphalt when they’re back on the street. In the distance, the hotel. Bright lighthouse on the horizon. Another uphill road. Aches, sweats. No matter.

Finally, her heartbeat slows. The throbbing in her chest subsides, but doesn’t vanish. She’s still holding Asami’s hand, but she doesn’t want to, doesn’t feel like letting go. It’s so soft and she hasn’t stopped trembling, it would be cruel. Is this weird? Is it normal? Their paths diverge, then converge, a rubber band snapping back to shape. Nerve-racking as it may be, she doesn’t mind it.

It’s always been her nature to second-guess herself. There will probably never be a time when she won’t wonder if she could’ve done more, if she should’ve done better. But lately, whenever she’s near Asami, those kinds of thoughts don’t paralyse her anymore. Whatever comes to her in the moment is right, feels right. And if it turns out wrong, then so be it; she wouldn’t have done it any other way.

Behind them, the concert begins in earnest: indie-pop with a hint of rock. Against the bubbly background, Asami’s solemn quiet rings even deeper.

“How are you doing?” Sayuri asks.

No answer, but for a nod.

“Still a little overwhelmed?”

A slow shake of the head.

“Is that an honest answer?”

Another shake.

Sayuri sighs, the last of her breath coming out in a chuckle. “Here, let me help you: d-dummy…”

A light jab nicks her side.

“Fine, fine, I won’t tease you too much. It’s been a long day, after all.”

She can say that again. As they near Morikawa resorts, the full weight of the trip gathers in a heavy haze around them, their gazes now blurry, their pace an ambling shuffle. Slowly, Sayuri’s fingers loosen and unwind, sliding down Asami’s palm one by one, until it’s only their pinkies that are still connected. But before they break apart as well, Asami locks them all back in place.

Sayuri opens her mouth, but her question dies on her lips. Seeing Asami’s resolute blush is all the answer she needs.

The hotel door puffs open, then puffs closed behind them. The chill of the AC hits them both square in the face, a blizzard whipping their foreheads dry of sweat. Save for the concierge tapping away at his desk, the lobby is empty. Everyone else must’ve returned already; they only beat the curfew by a couple minutes.

The sofa closest to them crinkles. Languidly, a head rises over the backrest, dipping down on instinct, before shooting back up.

“There you are,” Mitsuki says. “Gosh, don’t you two ever check your phones?”

“Oh?” Sayuri asks. “You’ve been texting us, or?”

“Texting, calling… I just wanted to see if any of you had any allergies or dietary restrictions before ordering dinner, but it’s okay. I told the kitchen to just bring up some plateaus instead.”

“Ah, sorry about that. I guess time just slipped away from us.”

“I see. What did you two get up to anyway?” A twitch of annoyance crosses Mitsuki’s brow, only to become a startled raise as she lowers her gaze. She pauses for a moment, blinking as if her eyes were too dry to see right. But when she realises that they’re not deceiving her, a strained smile flickers on her face. “Never mind.”

With a leap, Mitsuki swings herself off the sofa, then heads to the stairs. “You two go on up,” she says. “I just remembered I had to talk to a teacher about something.”

“Are you sure?” Sayuri says. “We can wait for you, if you want.”

“No!” A sharp breath. “No, it’s uh – something private. Don’t worry, I shouldn’t be too long. Turn on the Switch once you’re in the room, by the way – I’m in the mood for some Mario Kart,” she adds, vanishing before Sayuri can even begin to ask what she’s even talking about.