Sunbeam - 2

Sayuri is sipping on a lukewarm cup of tea, relishing the refreshing sharpness of tulsi and peppermint. It’s far from her go-to, the taste too extravagant for her palate, but seeing how eclectic the journalism club’s cupboard was, she thought why not go the distance? The president did say they could help themselves to refreshments, though in retrospect, telling them that before their meeting should’ve been a huge yellow flag. Fifteen minutes past the start time, and there’s still no sign of him.

Thankfully, the club room is nothing if not cosy. Between the velvet armchairs, the cool climate controlled atmosphere, the kitchenette in the corner and the Victorian manor vibe, she wouldn’t mind waiting here until sundown. With how stuffed the bookshelves are, she could spend a lifetime here and never run out of things to do. Asami, on the other hand, couldn’t look less bored if she tried.

Absently, she kneads one of the decorative pillows crowding the already tiny sofa. “What time is it?”

“A minute later than the last time you asked,” Sayuri replies, earning herself a groaned sigh.

“Where is Nakano-san, anyway? I thought journalists were supposed to be punctual.”

“Dunno. Maybe he’s chasing a new lead, or a fresh scoop.”

“Or some tail,” Anna says. “Summer’s the season of sports and sweaty shirts, after all.”

Asami faintly flinches, tail whipping behind her. “Gross. Why would you even say that?”

“It’s just how boys are.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to paint a whole picture with it. That’s just disgusting.”

“It was just a joke. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Ugh, never mind. Why are you here, again?”

“Isn’t it obv –”

“Will you just stop with that condescending shtick already?” Asami’s voice rises to an irritated tone. “No, it’s not! I wouldn’t have asked, otherwise.”

“To supervise you, of course.” Anna’s chilling tone cuts a corridor of silence through the room. “Last week, you and Hayakawa were inches away from getting into another spat with Kageyama-san. And whilst I couldn’t care less what he thinks, Nakano, for all his flaws, is a good friend of mine. So instead of flaring up over nothing, be grateful. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me.”

“Oh, la-dee-dah, let me just –”

“Asami-chan,” Sayuri says, loud, clear, but calm nonetheless. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, it’s just – you’re usually quite reserved, but you seem a little on edge today. Is something wrong?”

“No!” Asami snaps, shakes her head, recoiling at the volume of her own shout. “N-no, I’m fine. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. Didn’t sleep well too well this past couple of days.”

“Isn’t that convenient?” Anna snipes. But before Asami can bite back, Sayuri sits herself beside her, tea cup set on the coffee table before them. Shyly – Anna’s regard too difficult to ignore, but not impossible to overcome – she taps her friend on the shoulder, following it up with a gentle rub.

“There, there,” she coos, her hand slowly travelling up Asami’s neck, losing itself in the soft fluff of her hair. On their own, her fingers curl around the plush strands, scratching out the little tangles, smoothing down the plush locks. But before she can ask for more details, superfluous as they may be, the door swings open and Asami all but hits the ceiling leaping out of her seat.

“Sorry for the delay folks,” Nakano says, pushing his round glasses up his nose as he storms inside. Seeing him in person for the first time, she can’t help fighting back a smile. It’s hard to imagine someone as innocent as him, with his unassuming stature and his brown tousled hair, even talking to girls, let alone trying to woo them. But really, she need only turn to her right for proof that appearances can often mislead. “Got caught up talking to the president about our budget.”

“Ah, yes,” Anna says. “Was she coming back from tennis practice by any chance?”

“She was still on the court, if you must know.” Gosh, if smirk could speak, his would squeal in delight.

“Huh, quite the diligent athlete, isn’t she? Got those long, toned legs and that impossibly cinched waist –”

“Gee, Anya.” Nakano clears his throat, face heating up. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a little too keen about her.”

“The only thing I’m keen on is getting this over with.”

“Right, right.” He sits opposite Sayuri and Asami, fixing his collar before leaning over the table. “Don’t think we’ve been acquainted yet. Nakano Ken, editor-in-chief of the Hakuin Highlights, and contributor to plenty of other journalistic ventures.” Casually, he offers them his hand to shake, retreating it when they both bow instead.

“Tsk, how traditional. The western winds blow and blow past everyone, it seems. Anyway, enough quipping.” He claps. “Let’s get down to business. The reason why I called you here is because the prefecture is launching a new initiative – and it’s all about you!”

“Me?” Asami says.

“Well, not you, but people like you. Given the recent, ahem, shift in public attitude, the local government wants to make sure that even the more socially sidelined groups get a bit of love. Don’t worry, it’s nothing too big and scary – just a little pamphlet. Something to showcase one of our beloved minorities. Does that sound good, odd, oh my god that’s the worst idea someone’s ever had?” he probes.

Asami casts a quizzical glance Sayuri’s way, only to get an awkward shrug in return. Though Ken seems well-intentioned, there’s something off about his enthusiasm, a commercial flair only redoubled by his anchorman flamboyance. But still, no matter either of their misgivings, this is not an opportunity Asami can back away from. With how talking to people directly has gone so far, a simple, low-pressure way of reaching them may be just the thing she needs.

“Doesn’t sound too bad, right, Asami-chan?”

“R-right. So, erm, where do we begin?”

“Well, it’s worth noting that we don’t want to make this too stuffy,” Ken says, producing a pen and notepad from his bag. “It’s meant to be edutainment, after all. Having said that, we should probably figure out our vibe. I find that it often helps if we can come up with a catchphrase, something like, ‘The catgirl next door’, or ‘So I’m a catgirl, so what?’ or –”

“Catgirls are girls too!” Sayuri pipes up.

“There you go, I love that! Sticks in the mind like a tack.”

She bites a grin off her lips, shrinking into herself. “Thanks, it’s just – it’s a good reminder. So many people focus on the cat part, they miss the cute girl beneath all the fluff.”

“Hear, hear.”

With long, meandering strokes, Ken jots down their provisional title at the top of the page. Profiting from the respite, Asami scoots closer to Sayuri, tugging on her sleeve. Their gazes both settle on the other’s peony-pink cheeks.

“What?” Sayuri says.

A subtle roll of the eyes. “You’re so cheesy sometimes, you know?”

“’course I do. You like that about me, remember?”

“Ugh.” A growl slips out from underneath the playful groan. “C-could you dial it back a little, please? It’s making me feel… weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Weird like – I don’t know, just weird, okay?”

“… Okay,” Sayuri mutters, slouches then stiffens back straight, pouts, “sorry.” So many times she teased Asami like this and so many times Asami thought nothing of it. Now – was it something she said, the way she said it, the timing, the context? It could be all, it could be none; whichever the case, Asami’s never been so painfully self-conscious before, at least not because of her. And she’s got neither the guts, nor the chance to ask why.

Finished with what looks more like a kanji sketch than a cliff note, Ken lifts his gaze from the paper. “Brilliant, now for the actual content, I’ll defer back to you, Asami-chan.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, last time I checked you were the only catgirl in the room, silly. Tell me, what would you like the world to know about you?”

“Let me think…” Asami taps against her knee, nails catching on the hem of her skirt. “I mean, it’s in the title, really. Even if I look the way I do, and sometimes even act the part, I’m not an animal. I’m not feral. I’m not dangerous.”

“I see,” Ken says, uncharacteristically mild. “No, that’s fair. I get that, I really do, and I can appreciate it’d mean a lot to you if people understood that too. To that end, could I suggest that we don’t really talk about that?”

“Eh? Then why did you –”

“Sorry, let me clarify. Saying you’re not this, not that – it just seems like you’re batting away accusations.”

“Because that’s what I’m doing,” Asami rasps. “That’s what I’ve been hearing all my life.”

“And I’m sorry to hear that. But that’s all the more reason why we shouldn’t draw attention to any of those things. Instead, we should let them know how great you are. So,” Ken clears his throat, “what are the best things about being a catgirl?”

Asami’s chin dips, mouth stuck on the same soundless syllable. Ten seconds pass, then thirty, then a minute, then another. Her lips fall tightly shut. Perhaps it’s because she’s been caught off guard, put on the spot, or because thinking about these things is hard enough without any added pressure, but no matter how hard she tries, Asami can’t form a single sentence. And it’s not an issue of phrasing and framing, Sayuri realises; there must be nothing Asami likes about that part of herself.

And that just sucks. There are plenty, tons, oodles of things she loves about Asami. Things she wishes Asami could see the same way she does; things that are so beautiful and sweet and darling; things that only Asami could be, say or do; things that she may always get picked on for; things that she may ultimately choose to keep hidden.

Sayuri balls her fist, scrunching the hem of her skirt. Again she goes back to their trip to Minoda, then wanders even further, the pleasant times they’ve shared pouring in one after the other, shattering against the cold floor of her mind. All precious moments she may never experience again, and why? In every shard of her broken memories, Asami looks the same: embarrassed at her body betraying her emotions, but embracing them despite that. Because she can only enjoy herself to the fullest when she accepts herself for who she really is.

And if she ever stops doing that, then Sayuri will just have to do it for her.

“Being a catgirl makes you a-adorable,” she tells Ken, the sudden tightness in her chest wrapping around her throat. Her breath hitches up and down, the air sinking into the growing pit inside her stomach. “The tail and the ears, the little twitches and flicks, and the cute noises you make without thinking – even a frigid heart of coal would find them all endearing.”

Vaguely, she’s aware of the alert scribble of Ken’s pen poking through the deafening thrum of her heartbeat. Asami squirms beside her, spearing her with a shocked glare.

“W-what are you saying?”

“The truth,” she replies, before directing her words to the room once more. “It also makes you such a good person to be around. Always putting others before you. Always grateful, even for the smallest of things. Always guarded to the point where opening up becomes a reward reserved only for the special ones in your life.”

“Stop it,” Asami mewls. “What’s gotten into you, why are you just – just –”

“Because you wouldn’t! Because I –” Sayuri chokes. What is this feeling, so raw, so intense, so overbearing that a whiff of it could be paralysing? Beside herself, she hiccoughs, then gulps, the control that slipped away in a blink slowly trickling back to her. “Because you’re great, Asami – and that’s because you’re a catgirl, and because you’re you. And if no one else wants to believe that, not even yourself, then I will. To me, you’ll always be the bravest, kindest, funniest person I’ve ever –”

“Shut up!”

Asami’s yowl drops like a guillotine between them, its echoes long and undying. Like a blur, she dashes to the door, fumbling with the knob before barging her way out. One step down the corridor, she stops and turns around, her face flushed with a red cocktail of anger, shame and disbelief. “If that’s what you think, Sayuri,” she mutters, “then you really don’t know anything about me.”

Speechless, Ken, Anna and Sayuri listen to her departing footfalls, none daring to break the silence.