Ball of Yarn - 6

Sayuri’s lounging in the suite, lazily kicking her feet so that she doesn’t fall asleep. With a stomach full of sashimi, sore legs and lying on a sofa softer than fresh-driven snow, needless to say that she’s fighting a losing battle. A yawn bubbles in her throat; she sighs it into her bath robe’s sleeve, yet another trap of comfort. Had she known how the velour would feel against her skin, she would’ve waited until the last possible second to wear it. Now, she’ll probably end up going to bed in it, much earlier than she’d anticipated.

“Oh, that is so unfair!” Mitsuki whines, snapping Sayuri out of her daze. “How on earth did that happen!”

Asami shrugs. “How can you not know what my character does? You’re the one who picked it for me.”

“… Shut it. I forgot about your down special. Gah, it’s so dumb! Why does it hit from halfway across the stage?”

“Why don’t you just parry it with your shield thingy?”

“It’s literally a frame-perfect input.”

Asami turns away and clears her throat. “Sounds like a skill issue to me,” she says under her breath, low enough that Mitsuki can’t hear it over the sound of her boiling blood. Sayuri, on the other hand, doesn’t miss it, nor does she even think twice about it.

One round of Mario Kart was more than enough to prove that video games aren’t and will never be her thing – a natural conclusion after spending more time flying off the track than driving on it. That same round, however, saw Asami eke out a victory with Mitsuki falling to second within pixels off the finish line. Her first loss in a while, maybe ever, which she took with her habitual poise. The second one right after made her want to switch to a fighting game instead.

If she was interested in seeing them duel at first, it didn’t take long for Sayuri to be put off it. Not only did she not understand a single thing, but the constant blur of colours only served to swell her already throbbing headache. Now, a pint of cold water and a short visual break later, she finds her curiosity ignited once more. Not by the game itself, but rather the players slouching on the floor, right on the edge of getting sucked into the screen.

Sayuri rests her chin on her knees. The two of them couldn’t be more different, she realises. Where Mitsuki knows every combo by heart, Asami is just now learning them, and where Mitsuki brutalises her controller, Asami taps every button in a calm and rhythmic sequence. But that’s when Sayuri notices it: the widened pupils, the pricked-forward ears, the tail gently swishing behind her. It’s no wonder Mitsuki has had a hard time beating Asami so far. Not many people can measure up against catlike focus and reflexes.

But that’s just what makes it all the more fun. Because even if Mitsuki winces whenever Asami lands a critical hit, that only makes her smile wider when she gets in a final strike of her own. Nothing tastes sweeter than a hard-earned triumph, after all.

“Take this!” Mitsuki cries, her character no longer human, but a tornado of punches and kicks. The screen fades to black, two letters loud on it: K.O. Whatever childish whimsy had possessed her earlier, now flows out with one panting breath. Standing back up, she’s back to her normal self – but for the smugness glistening at the corners of her lips. “Well played.”

“Thanks, I guess. I still have no clue what I was doing right.”

“Whatever it was, it made for a good game. Have you got the time, Sayu-chan?”

Sayuri flinches out her contemplation, stumbling to unlock her phone. “I-it’s… almost nine. Should we get going?”

“Might as well. Just because we’re last to go in doesn’t mean we should be last to arrive.” Mitsuki hops over to the mudroom, sliding into her slippers – how posh is it to have a pair only for the onsen? – then calls the lift. “Have you guys been to a hot springs before?”

“Almost every week,” Sayuri says, a hint of pride in her tone. There’s only so few perks to being raised in the boonies, fewer still that overlap with the average Hakuin student’s upbringing. That she’s managed to find some commonality is one of those small wins she’s not too shy to cash in. “We had one just up the street from us back in Aomori. Mum and I used to go there every time one of us needed a break.”

“Lucky you! I’ve got my own spa back in Tokyo, but it doesn’t come close to what we have here. What about you, Asami-chan?”

Asami shrinks in her shoulders, crosses her arms over her waist. “It’s my first time, actually.”

“Nervous?” Sayuri asks.

“A little bit, I suppose, yeah. I… heard some stories. Not really sure what to expect is all.”

“Psht, you’ll be fine. Trust me, most people are as anxious as you are, if not more. And if they’re not, then they’re probably doing their own thing to notice you. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be in there all on your own, you know? We’ll be right there with you. Right, Morikawa-san?”

The door sings open into total silence. Asami lets her head dip, a bittersweet grimace etched onto her face. Beside her, Mitsuki mirrors her anxiety with a crooked grin of her own. “R-right,” she says meekly, almost in disbelief. Strange, but Sayuri doesn’t think too much into it. Might’ve just caught her napping – they’re all exhausted at this point.

Down in the lobby, they take a left just past the reception desk, down a short corridor that eventually leads them to the backyard. There, at the end of a carpeted alley framed with a bamboo fence, lies a short and stout square, the hotel’s private bathhouse. A pale tendril of steam lolls over its roof, where the cold shingles dissipate it into a translucent mist. Right by the entrance, one of their teachers taps her foot against the wooden floor. Her eyes flash in recognition the moment she spots Asami.

“Ah, Kitora-san, was it? Do you mind if I steal you for a moment?”

Asami blinks. “S-sure. Is something wrong?”

“… Not exactly.” The teacher chuckles, her brow an uneasy line. “Erm, would you girls mind going on ahead? It’s a little bit… personal.”

Sayuri and Mitsuki exchange a look, concern meeting a glazed-over glare. “O-okay,” Sayuri says. “We’ll wait for you in the changing room, Asami-chan.”

Asami hesitantly nods, the teacher showing her to a quiet corner of the room before she can say anything else. Just as she’s about to go through the red curtains, Sayuri throws her another glance, but all she sees are her sensei’s nervous gestures as she struggles for the right words. Sayuri scratches her thumbnail against her palm. The awkwardness of that entire interaction hasn’t inspired too much confidence; she hopes everything’s alright.

There’s ruckus in the changing room when she arrives, the outgoing students aglow from the experience, the incoming ones chit-chatting away their body image issues, and the other guests grumbling if only to put up with it all. Sayuri undresses without much hassle, nor anxiety. Though she’s far from a supermodel, her hips too narrow, her shoulders too broad, her legs too short, she’s never thought of herself as ugly. Sure, she wouldn’t mind being prettier – who would, really? – but the way she is right now is neither too much, nor too little. If only on the physical side of things, she’s more than content with who she is, and that’s all that matters to her.

Belongings stashed in her basket and modesty towel draped around her like a bib, Sayuri settles on the small bench right by the hallway, ears attuned to the squeaky shuffle of slippers. The stragglers of her time slot pour in one-by-one, cheeks red from rushing over, or prudishly reddening at the sight of bare flesh. Behind them, wrinkly seniors, joints aching for a hot soak. Behind them, middle-aged working women, gaze sagging onto the floor. Behind them, no one.

“I wonder what’s holding up Asami-chan,” Sayuri muses.

Mitsuki doesn’t answer, drawing in three snivels, yet failing to squeeze out a sneeze. “Don’t know,” she says, popping a pill, then stashing the foil under her robe. “She might’ve gone to the bathroom or something.”

“I’ll go check up on her.”

“Wait–”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going out like this.”

“No, uh, actually – never mind.”

“Oh, right! You should probably go in without me, Morikawa-san. With how bad your allergies seem to be getting, I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold or anything. Besides, who knows? Maybe the steam would help a little, clear out your airways.

“Yeah,” Mitsuki mutters. “Maybe.”

Bath robe loosely tied around her waist, Sayuri steps back into the reception, now empty and quiet. There’s no one at the front desk. Their teacher is nowhere to be found. Venturing further into the waiting room, she finds the seat cushions fluffed and levelled, the tables wiped clean, the floors swept and mopped. By the lone support pillar holding up the roof, the vending machine whirrs to life, then thuds back dead. Asami pops out from behind, a bag of kelp chips in hand, then collapses onto the nearest sofa with a sputtering breath.

“There you are,” Sayuri says. “What are you doing here?”

No answer. Sayuri lowers herself to a seat beside her.

“Hello? Earth to Asami?”

No answer still.

“… Is everything okay?”

“I – Honestly, I don’t know.” She pops open the bag, retrieving a tiny green square. But instead of putting it in her mouth, she turns it on all sides, rubs it between her fingers. “The hotel asked – told me that it’d be better if I don’t go into the bath with anyone else around.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’d make everyone more comfortable.”

Silence. Rubber soles tap against the marble. A staff member returns to his post behind the counter.

“Eh, whatever. It’s not all that big a deal,” Asami continues. “Not like I was all that thrilled about it anyway. I was probably just gonna shower, maybe dip my toes a little. You might’ve guessed it already, but baths aren’t really my thing.”

Sayuri’s fists ball on her lap. Even if her voice weren’t quivering like that, even if she couldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes, the pain behind her mirthless grin, she would still know that Asami is lying through her teeth. Because who wouldn’t be angry, annoyed, depressed after finding out that their presence alone is enough to spoil the mood? But if she can hazard a guess at how Asami’s feeling about it, Sayuri can’t possibly fathom what she could even do to fix this. She’s not sure there’s anything that can be done. Sometimes things just suck that much.

But – that’s fine. It’s not good, it’s not fun, it’s not pleasant, but it’s not the end of the world. In her sixteen years suffering from NekoFlu, Asami’s likely been through much worse, and worse still may be yet to come. And when it does, whatever happens, Sayuri will be there for her. It’s the least she can do, the only thing she can do right now. And even if this will be neither the first no the last time she’ll be helpless like this, there’s not a doubt in Sayuri’s mind that just staying by Asami’s side will be enough in those moments. That she’ll always be enough.

“Asami-chan?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there anything I could do to make you feel better?”

Asami pauses. Her ears fold back, perk up, fall flat. “W-would it be okay if I asked for a hug?”

“Dummy…” Sayuri scoffs. “It’ll never not be.”

She opens her arms, Asami drawing in closer for one second, only to stiffen straight in the next. Whatever realisation dawned upon her, Sayuri doesn’t care about it. The selfish side in her has awakened, driving her to lean over Asami and snatch her into a tight embrace. A familiar rumble courses through them both.

“You’re purring again,” Sayuri says.

“… What did you think would happen?” Asami whines. “No one’s ever held me like this before.”

“Huh. You don’t say. Well, in that case, I guess it’s fine.”

“What –”

“I’m teasing! Gosh, I told you already: it’s adorable.”

Asami growls, but far from pulling away, she sinks deeper into Sayuri’s chest.

“You stink,” she murmurs.

“Then stop sniffing me.”

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“What–”

“Jokes aside, you should really take a bath.”

“… Are you sure? I don’t really want to leave you here all alone.”

“I’ll survive,” Asami snickers. “Besides, I think I’ll just go back to the suite and shower there.”

“Really? Showering when we’re at the hot springs feels like such a waste.”

“I mean, what do you suggest? They won’t let me in unless everyone else is out, and if the whole place is as big as I think it is – it’ll just be creepy being there all on my own.”

Sayuri purses her lips. While she’s never been in the situation, just imagining it, the stillness, the loneliness, the eerie calm of the night, is enough to send a sympathetic shiver down her spine. But then, an idea lights up her mind, her eyes shining with its brilliance.

“What if I went in with you? If I don’t object, then I don’t think the staff will either, seeing as it’ll be just the two of us.”

Asami stands up. She turns back to Sayuri, swallows down every knot twisting her tongue, but her deafening purr ends up doing all the talking for her.