Sunbeam - 4

Sayuri is toiling over the stove, diligently skimming the scum off the surface of her broth. It’s nothing special, just bits and pieces she’s salvaged from Asami’s pantry, fridge and freezer: half a chicken carcass, a knob of ginger, a couple kelp leaves and heaping helping of bonito flakes. Had she trusted that Asami wouldn’t wake up whilst she was away, she would’ve snuck off to the grocery store and grabbed some shiitake, but that would’ve been a pointless risk. She’s not even sure catgirls can eat those, and the soup is already umami enough as it is. Any more would be overkill.

With the colour and transparency finally to her liking, and the flavour not too far behind, she turns off the hob, wrapping a towel around the handles. Careful not to spill anything nor scald herself, she moves over to the sink, where a gigantic mesh sieve awaits on top of an equally gargantuan pot. All brand new, of course, not a stain or scratch in sight. God, if only she had this equipment at home. For years she’s had to make do with nothing more than a saucepan and a wok; now that she’s glimpsed paradise, she’s not sure she could ever go back to that.

Before long, the dishwasher is loaded, the worktop wiped, the rubbish collected, the bin bag tied and ready to be taken out, and the meal assembled at last. Now all she needs to do is survive the trek to the living room, set the bowl on the coffee table and then – wait. Seeing how peacefully Asami’s sleeping on the sofa, rousing her would be nothing short of cruel.

Instead, she lets the heady scent of her cooking do that for her. All it takes is one whiff for Asami to stir, each subsequent sniff pulling her further out her slumber until, at last, she stands up. With a big stretch, and an even bigger yawn – have her teeth always been that sharp? – she opens her eyes as wide as they can go: a half-lidded squint.

“Mmm,” she coos, “morning.”

“It’s coming up on six o’clock. How are you feeling?”

“Better…” A deep breath leads her nose straight above the bowl. “God, this smells incredible. What is it?”

“Shirataki noodles cooked in a ramen-style chicken broth and topped with nori, soft-boiled eggs and a fine grating of pork scratchings.”

If Asami’s mouth wasn’t watering before, Sayuri can hear it in her voice now. “That sounds… delicious. How much did it cost?”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh? This is takeout, isn’t it?”

“N-no. I just, erm, needed something to keep me busy whilst you were out cold and… since you said you haven’t had anything home-cooked in a while, I figured – are you okay?”

Asami nods, her purring so loud that Sayuri could swear she can see the dust mites dancing on top of the backrest.

“Why would I not be?”

“You’re, erm – well, you did say it sometimes happens when you’re hungry.”

“I’m happy, Sayuri,” Asami says matter-of-factly, picking up her spoon. “Thanks for the meal.” But with how quickly she scarfs it all down, it might as well have been a snack.

With the main course of their conversation now elapsed, they sit in silence, the mellowing sunbeams filtering in through her drapes. Silk, judging by the smooth, glossy look. Lining a fifty metres of floor-to-ceiling windows with that must’ve cost a fortune, but then again, it’s not like Asami’s family can’t afford that.

She’s never really given it much thought before, but deep down Sayuri’s always been aware that she and Asami didn’t really belong to the same step on the class ladder. Sure, they both live in the same neighbourhood, but they also go to the same private school. And if her midterms results are anything to go by, it’s more than likely that Asami didn’t make it in on a scholarship. If that were the case, she wouldn’t be living in a penthouse with an entrance hallway bigger than her house’s footprint.

But interestingly enough, whilst people like Takuya and Mitsuki made her feel poor and inferior simply by being themselves, Asami’s never given her any hint of a posh vibe. She’s always been, well – like her. Simple, down to earth, approachable, easy to talk to and get along with. In that sense, their friendship has always been agnostic of what they were – a catgirl, and a country bumpkin turned city dweller – with the only important thing being who they were.

And they are people, the both of them. People with qualities and flaws, with dreams and desires, with layers that peeled off with patience, revealing the secrets hiding underneath. If you were to ask her a week ago, Sayuri would’ve had no problem say that she knew Asami; that she has spent enough time with her, around her, beside her to be able to claim as much.

Then, you really don’t know anything about me, she remembers Asami saying, so now she can’t help wondering: what more is there to now? What’s kept her from discovering it yet? …Will she ever even find it out?

The cushions crinkle next to her. Asami’s thigh brushes against hers, mouth agape, eyes unfocused. When she speaks, it’s like she’s talking through a wad of cotton, her voice light and hushed. “What are you thinking about?”

Her reply is quick enough to count as a false start. “Nothing.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“I see… Wanna watch something, then?”

“Not really…”

“I see.” Slowly, she lets her head fall onto Sayuri’s shoulder, all but making her short-circuit. “Sorry.”

Inhale. Exhale. She’s so soft. Hold like a pillow. Pet? Wrong. Why not?

“I’m not too heavy, am I?” Asami asks.

“I-I’d be worried if you were any lighter.”

She grins. “That’s funny. You’re funny, Sayuri. That’s what I like about you.” A pause. “Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Dunno. Being like this, I guess. Acting weird. Hurting you.”

“Hurting me?”

“Yeah. The other day, remember? I said some nasty stuff. Told you to shut up, and all. I didn’t mean it, you know? I didn’t want you to stop, I just didn’t want you to keep going on like that.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I don’t get it either. I like it when you say nice things about me, but I can’t stand it at the same time. I can tell you’re not lying, but I just can’t bring myself to believe it. I just can’t see what someone as awful as me could’ve done to earn compliments from someone as great as you.”

Nice. Strange. Why leave? She’s sick. Feeling overwarm. Coming down with something? Can’t be contagious. “I’m not that great, haha…”

“You’re right,” Asami says, rubbing against her cheeks. “You’re even better than that. Standing up for me, always supporting me, putting up with me when no one else will. I don’t know how you do all of that, honestly. Just look at me: I’m moodier than the weather. If it were me, I would’ve given up on myself ages ago. But not you. You never give up, Sayuri. That’s what I like about you.”

Purring is loud. Can’t think. Whole body’s vibrating. Why is she doing this? Scent-marking. Can’t trust Takuya. Claiming her like property. Would feel nice. Bad. Wrong. Making Asami act like this. Why? They’re both girls. Doesn’t matter. They’re too different. Doesn’t seem to matter. She likes it. She likes it too. It can’t be. “Sorry, I need to –”

“No, where are you going –”

Springing to her feet. Asami clinging to her. Stronger than she looks. Hard to shake her off. Pulls even harder. Can’t escape. Carpet’s slippery. Losing her foot. Asami can’t hold her up, can’t let go either. Both end up on the floor.

Sayuri’s eyes fly open. Asami’s face is inches away. They’re panting each other’s air. Her whole body’s on fire, numb from the heat; Asami’s flushed stare drives the temperature further up. Her lips split, purse and draw near, and Sayuri imagines them meeting hers, wants them to, tilts up her chin ever-so-slightly so that she’s ready. But it doesn’t happen.

She can’t breathe. There’s something on her chest, something pressing her rib cage tight around her heart, forcing it to beat right. “…What am I doing?” Asami mutters, snivelling. “I was about to… sorry. Sorry, I’m just… sorry.”

“It’s o-okay,” Sayuri says, and though she doesn’t sound too sure about it, she still means it all the same. Absently, her fingers trace a line from Asami’s ears down to the nape of her neck. The tip of her tail twitches. “I don’t mind it.”

“You should. Why aren’t you… grossed out? It’s weird. You know that. I know it too, but I can’t help it. Whenever I’m with you, I just can’t control myself. It’s like my body acts on its own and you just… go with it. You’ve always accepted me just the way I am. That’s what I like about you…

“That’s why I like you, Sayuri.”

There’s nothing to distract her. The city is silent, the flat is empty, the day is still young, and her wits, somehow, are still about her. Gently, she pats and gently, Asami purrs. How long will she keep doing that? She’ll never stop even well after she’s gone. She’ll make sure of it. “I like you too, Asami.”

“No, sorry. I didn’t mean like a friend. I love you, Sayuri.”

“In that case, I love you too.”

“…Dummy. You’re just too nice to me.”

Sayuri chuckles. Arms tight around Asami’s waist, she sits them both up, getting a fresh look at her face. Tears have rimmed red circles around her eyes, and run sticky rivulets all the way down to her jaw. Sayuri cups her flushed cheek. “Who would say something like that just to be nice?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I would. You’ve seen me lose my temper before. I’ve got my limits too, you know?”

“But –”

“No buts. I-I’ve accepted your feelings, and trust me, that wasn’t an easy thing to do. Now it’s only fair that you stop being a dummy yourself, and accept mine too. Even if it’s hard.”

“How could I possibly do that?”

In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t fair to set Asami up like that. It’s a little funny for a catgirl to fall for such an obvious mousetrap, but it’s that tiny bit of irony that gives Sayuri the courage to lean in and kiss her. And it’s probably the suddenness of it all, maybe even the shock, but most likely the undeniable meaning of it all that keeps Asami from running away this time.