Ball of Yarn - END

Why did I let Sayuri talk me into this? I don’t – I can’t let her see me naked, see just how different the two of us are. And if the glimpse I got when she pranced on ahead is anything to go by, I don’t think I’ll survive seeing her naked either. Anxiety’s already got my heart hammering against my ribs. Adding excitement on top of that would make for a lethal cocktail.

I try to steady my breath, but my lungs refuse to hold air down properly. No matter how many times I try wrapping this stupid little towel around me, it’s just way too small to stay on. It won’t be long now before Sayuri comes to check up on me, see how I’m doing ‘mentally preparing’ myself. I can already hear her offering to hold my hand through this whole experience, like she’s not done enough of that as is, and just the thought of that sets my face on fire. She’s too nice, and she’s got so much patience; I can’t help feeling like a total mess when I’m with her.

Slowly, I round the corner and cross the threshold. The first step I take on the slippery floor is enough to steal my balance, panicked instincts kicking in to right me on my feet. Of course, I make too much noise struggling for purchase, and with how quiet everything is, Sayuri doesn’t miss it. I just about manage to avoid kissing the tiles when I catch the subtle slosh of her approach.

“Asami-chan? Is everything okay?”

No, it’s not, but I still nod anyway. I can feel every drop of blood rushing away from my legs and flooding into my cheeks. It’s like it wasn’t enough that she has the prettiest face I’ve ever seen, she just had to have the perfect body too. Pale and slender but far from flat, it’s like I’m looking at one of those Greek marble statues brought to life.

Sayuri crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s a little awkward if you stare,” she chuckles.

“Sorry.” I can’t help it. You’re too beautiful. So disgusting. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise, silly.” She scratches her elbows, bites her lips, lightly shakes her head. “Well then, let’s get a move on. We gotta wash ourselves before we get into the bath.”

Crap. I traipse behind Sayuri as she leads us to a room where faucets, shower heads and mirrors line a curved wall. Lightly and without a hint of shyness, she lowers herself on one of the stools, silently prompting me to sit down right beside her. But that’s as far as I can go. My hand trembles on the towel. I can’t peel it off. Skittish, I steal a couple glances at Sayuri, but instead of finally looking the other way, she turns right towards me.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it because I’m here?”

“… Yeah.”

“Awww, c’mon! An athletic girl like you’s got nothing to worry about. I’m sure you look great.”

“Easy for you to say.”

I blink. Sayuri blinks too. A blush steals her words, leaving her grasping for new ones: a task in and of itself. “A-anyway, I guess I just wanted to say that, I’m not gonna judge you or make fun of you or anything like that. Bodies come in all shapes and sizes.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

Sometimes I feel like she forgets about my condition; when she looks at me, it’s like she’s discovering my ears and tail for the first time. In a way, it’s funny. It’s – nice, even. But at the same time, it often leads to moments like this, where it pains me to remind her that I’m not moaning just for the sake of it. No matter how similar we might be, there are a lot of ways in which we simply are not the same.

A long second of thinking later, realisation finally strikes. But instead of discouraging her, it seems to give her just the confidence she needed to carry on. “It doesn’t matter that you’re a catgirl. I can appreciate it’s difficult, and that you’d rather hide some of the more unique things about your condition, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to. You’re my friend, Asami-chan. I like you just the way you are – fluff and all,” she adds with a meek smile.

I struggle to think of a reply, or even a reaction: should I laugh with joy, or cry wondering what I did to deserve someone like her in my life? But soon enough it dawns on me that I’m grateful, and that there’s such a straightforward way to show that. Though that doesn’t mean it’s simple.

Shutting my eyes, I peel the towel off like a band-aid. It droops to the ground with a damp flump.

“Is that… fur?”

I shift in my seat. “Yeah. Mum told me I was born with a small patch of it on my belly. But over the years it grew to, well – this.” A trail of cream hair running from my breasts to my navel, where it fans out along my sides to meet the spot where my tail splits from my spine. One of the many reasons I could never wear a crop top, or a low neckline. Why I’m always the last in and out of the locker room. Why it took me ages to get used to wearing a uniform.

“… Cute,” Sayuri whispers. “Is it soft or… ”

My stomach twists and turns, aswarm with butterflies. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, “Y-you can feel for yourself… if you want,” but I know why I do it despite myself.

“Oh? O-okay. Just, erm, tell me if it gets too much, okay? I fall for my cat’s tummy trap more than I’m willing to admit.”

I hesitantly nod, though I know full well that the only way she’ll stop is if she gets bored or flustered, neither of which I’ll help. Cautious, she kneels next to me, reaching out her hand. The moment her fingers sink into the fur, the obvious occurs. Try as I might, there’s no way to conceal it: being petted like that is pure bliss, and that’s more than just the animalistic impulse brimming through. Though strangely enough, that’s the part that’s easier to explain.

“Woah,” she mutters under her breath, and the bashful quality of her voice sends a frisson up my back. I barely manage not to arch it into the sensation.

I’ve known girls made me feel a certain way ever since I was little, stuck indoors with nothing but cheesy rom-com shows to entertain me. Whenever the guy got to kiss his crush, I always wanted to be in his shoes, not hers. She was the pretty one, I thought, who wouldn’t want to be with her, to hold her, to tell her everything’s going to turn out all right?

It was middle school when this fascination moved out of the silver screen and out into the real world. I remember how every one of my classmates would be gushing over boys, where I only had eyes for them. How nice it was to link arms with my best friend on our way home. How I almost exploded when she hugged me. How much it hurt when I confessed.

“This must be so difficult to take care of… Do you have to brush it?”

“Every time I shower, yeah.”

“Thought so. Would you like some help doing the bit on your back?”

“S-sure.”

She turns on the water, and it hits me in the face like a warm dagger of reality. I rush through cleaning my front half, barely bothering with scrubbing because I’m already as squeaky clean as I can be – my condition is not all drawbacks, thankfully. As soon as she’s finished showering herself, Sayuri takes a small sponge from her side and drags her stool behind me.

“Ready?” she asks. I give her a silent thumbs-up, certain that words will fail me as soon as she touches me again. They’re already having a hard time describing how I feel about her as is, though that’s likely because I haven’t fully figured it out myself. A big part of it I’m sure of: it’s a pleasant warmth I’ve experienced plenty of times before, the comfort of a home-cooked meal, a cosy blanket, the company of someone you trust.

It’s only when that warmth turns hot that I start struggling. Because I’ve had plenty of crushes before, so many that I’ve lost both track and count. But they were never this intense, never this complete. Never this normal.

“Stop that!” Sayuri complains with a laugh.

“What?”

“Your tail! It’s getting in the way.”

“Oh, s-sorry. I’m not doing it on purpose, I swear.”

“I know, I know. It’s just a little funny, that’s all. Just make sure you won’t slap me with it, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll try,” I lie. That thing’s got a mind of its own half the time, whenever there’s too many emotions coursing through my mind that they take the path of least resistance to get out. I peek over my shoulder through half-lidded eyes, trying to assess just how out of control that darn thing is, but in the process I make a huge mistake.

I catch a glimpse of Sayuri, the easy line of her brow, the pink flush of her face, the way her tongue pokes out just a little through her curled lips. And on cue, my tail falls down to her waist, wrapping around in a light hug.

“Stop,” she whines again. “That tickles!”

But I could try forever and a day, and I still wouldn’t be able to. God, do I really like her that much?