Chapter Text
Wood against wood, gatas clacked against the ground as the child ran.
“Help...”
The long, empty hallways of Hyakkaou Academy doubled well as sound tunnels. Words and, in this specific case, pleas, reverberated down structural beams and resonated off walls. Such acoustics preserved anonymity as voices wrapped around corners. One could hear others before they saw them.
“Help me,” came the plea again, and Kirari winced. Except in this case, Kirari didn’t need to see the child to know who it was calling for help. The voice was all too familiar, even if the tone and desperation were foreign and uncharacteristic.
Child-like footfalls retreated further from Kirari. Without a thought, she gave into the pursuit, her brow furrowed subtly. Normally, she wouldn't have bothered. If she did, it was to satiate her own amusement.
Knowing the maze of Hyakkaou's halls meant that it didn't take her long to catch up. Dressed in a midnight blue kimono, the wreathed loops of platinum hair made it clear who sat slumped against the walls. Wide sleeves drew attention to the small hands peeking out from them, hands that cradled a cracked, bloodstained mask.
Kirari almost felt herself stop breathing as she looked at the child– at herself. The hallway seemed to tilt sideways. She placed a clammy palm against the wall as she braced herself.
“Help me.”
Help me, help myself– or so the saying went, wasn’t it? If Kirari didn't help herself, who would? The clan?
Kirari reached out while maintaining a polite distance, relieving the child of the burden of carrying their twins' bloody mask. Even in her adult hands, the white carbon fiber felt heavy. Although the reprieve was temporary, she knew that it would be appreciated. It was reminiscent of trying to console Ririka when they were growing up. Yet no matter how hard she tried, nothing seemed to erase the shell-shocked expression Ririka wore after the older twin returned from her lessons with the Honebamis and Mushibamis.
"Help me…" The child's voice broke, cracking from the pressure of the life that had been thrusted upon her since birth. Tears ran freely now, even as small hands swiped at watery eyes. Hiccups punctuated sobs." Help Ririka ."
Kirari crouched down, the dress pants at her knee pulling taut, her loose hair brushing against her thighs and hips as she did so. For a moment, Kirari stared at this uncharacteristic spectacle. She rarely ever cried as a young child but this… the waterworks staining the blue sleeves black, the desperate cries that followed shuddering gulps for air, the tears she couldn't down her sorrows in…
Kirari understood.
Offering words of comfort had never been her strong suit. A tongue adept at causing distress through cutting remarks failed to form appropriate words. The best she could offer was silent companionship. How could she possibly explain that she helped Ririka, but ended up–
Kirari stopped herself. She didn't want to say 'regretting it', but it was shaping up to be that way.
So she debated what to say. Yet she struggled to formulate anything. Wasn't the role of an adult supposed to be that of a mentor, a protector?
Maybe this was why the elders in the clan never did anything, even as they claimed to shoulder and shield the future generations until their bodies grew old and withered away. It was nearly impossible for one to become more than what they were born with.
Nonetheless, Kirari tried as she had always done for those closest to her. Something to stop the sniffles, at least.
"Kirari," her own name tasted bitter, like a leaden curse, but she forced the admission out anyway, "I don't know what else to do." Contrition permeated her words. Guilt that she couldn't have done more for herself and Sayaka, guilt that she should've done less for Ririka and for thinking so; another twenty-six years of her life could come to pass, and she would still be torn in two over this.
She turned and twisted the mask in her hand. It was smaller, made for a child, and smelled vaguely of copper and sweat. Idly, she picked at the dried streaks of burgundy, letting them flake to the ground. Whose blood splattered the mask had long since become a trivial concern. As long as it wasn't her twin’s or Sayaka’s, Kirari didn't bat an eye.
Kirari inched slightly closer, extending an arm with barely concealed trepidation. Maybe it was human instinct, she couldn’t quite say– but she had always enjoyed it when Ririka embraced her. Something about being held by someone who genuinely cared– even if nothing came out of it, no decisive actions, no schemes– placed her at ease.
A red sleeve flashed in Kirari’s peripheral and barred her advance. The jarring motion made Kirari drop the mask to the ground with a clatter and look up at the newcomer: silvery looped hair, blue lipstick and matching blue manicure, icy eyes– Kirari would recognize herself anywhere.
“She has to figure it out… Kirari.”
"She’s a child," Kirari tersely rebutted against her teenage self. "And that's me– us you're talking about."
“Exactly. That’s why she needs to start figuring things out by herself.”
Self-preservation was futile. Helping meant that she wouldn’t never learn what it took to rise above others. Not helping meant watching her become the very people she despised while growing up. Either way, Kirari wasn’t sure if she wanted to relive it all again.
The hand at Kirari’s shoulder dug in. “We should have a little discussion. I’ll be in my usual spot. Don’t take too long.”
Kirari finally sighed once the footsteps disappeared into the distance. The sobs from the child before her also subsided. Red-rimmed eyes regarded Kirari with a hint of apprehension. The idea that she couldn’t trust herself was laughable, but it wasn’t exactly surprising. Kids were always shockingly intuitive and astutely observant, even if they didn’t completely understand everything.
Mutely, Kirari picked up the dirtied mask and placed all of its burdens back into the child’s hands. If she had looked up, she would’ve seen a tear-streaked face stare back at her expressionlessly, searching her with guarded eyes.
“So I’ll live… I'll grow up…?” The child whispered, looking at the image of herself from the future.
“You’ll live. And so will Ririka.” Kirari pursed her lips, debating how much she should say. There were things that would always be important, no matter her age. Maybe if she planted the seeds now, she could change her fate and not leave it up to Terano and Sayaka. With the slightest hint of urgency, Kirari continued, standing up, “You’ll live. Someone will come looking for you in this school; someone as important as Ririka, if not more. Swear that you'll take care of her.”
“More important than Ririka? That’s… not possible.”
Kirari's heart clenched in tandem with her jaw, but she pivoted on her heel, saying nothing more.
Wood against wood, the heavy door to the student council room scraped open.
"Come in, sit. It's just the two of us– or really, just me and myself." Dressed in her signature asymmetrical blazer, the 105th president of the student council crossed her leg as she sat on the count, posture perfect. A polite smile graced her blue-tinted lips. Seeing her older self take a seat across from her, curiosity compelled the youth to lean in. Curiosity set her blue eyes alight with excitement. “So how old are you now?”
The student council room, specifically, the president’s office, had remained still in time. An aquarium embedded in the wall emanated serenity; in contrast, the lone purple pleco residing within darted to and fro frantically. In the dark, the waters painted the room a fluorescent blue. A grandfather clock stood as an observer to this retrospection, each swing of the pendulum counting down seconds that didn’t exist and making a mockery out of time. Both Kiraris, past and present, could draw the room from memory.
“Twenty-seven soon.” Kirari’s lips curled as she casually scanned the room for Ririka. From her position on the couch, there were no signs of her twin; no one else was present. “Funny of you to ask me that. Shouldn't you be aware of these things?”
A light chuckle escaped the president, her eyes closing with mirth as she stood up. Ultimately, the question went ignored. “You look very serious with your outfit, especially with your hair down and muted make-up. Formal business? Extorting some company's shareholders' meeting? A funeral? You’re well acquainted with funerals, are you not?”
Kirari was suddenly aware of the collar of her silk blouse kissing her neck. She observed quietly as the younger girl meandered toward an aquarium. “A few. Nothing’s changed over the years. Terano is all there is from preventing us from killing each other in the war game and tearing the clan apart from the inside.”
“Yet on the flip side, whoever kills you off claims the Momobami name.” The teen chuckled. “So if the trial does go through and you’re ultimately executed, will Sayaka run the clan?”
“As amusing as that thought is, I’d rather Sayaka not get involved with the clan. Terano would own the title.”
“Terano, hm? So they can’t eliminate you without you explicitly begging to host your own funeral?” A mocking sigh escaped the president. “How pathetic. How useless. Is there anyone in the clan who is remotely competent?”
“Having a righteous little murderer as your twin tends to expand one’s lifespan.”
“Fair enough.” Her younger self smirked, her eyes flickering between their reflections in the glass; she raised a hand and subtly traced her own jawline still rounded by baby fat. “Good to know I aged well. I am curious, though...."
"Hm?"
"What is life after Hyakkaou like?" Youthful blue eyes trailed across the rigid glass harboring silent waters, taking in the somber aura seated on the couch behind her. “I assume it's not glamorous, especially since you're here, visiting the past.”
That’s right. This was Hyakkaou. But it was just Kirari: past and present. No one else, even though Sayaka had said she wanted the past as well.
Sayaka should be here.
Her eyes locked onto the sole occupant in the aquarium while her voice dipped into a warning, “Where is Sayaka?”
The desperation didn’t go amiss. It brought forth a small giggle on glossy blue lips. “Aren’t you getting greedy?”
“If this is Hyakkaou, where is Sayaka? Where’s Ririka?” Despite the calmness of the room, there was an uncomfortable chill. Something about it felt like a façade, a trick of the eye, an overlaying veneer subduing the truth.
“You know why. This is the perfect world I’ve created. I decide everything– including who is here and who isn’t. Hyakkaou Academy…”
"... is your personal aquarium," Kirari finished for her. "And from the looks of things, it's looking quite empty."
“It's always been empty, even when it's not. Most people just fail to see beneath the colors swimming in it.” Blue lacquered nails rapped at the glass– a harsh, sharp sound that demanded attention.
The pleco darted away, perturbed.
The younger of the two Kiraris frowned, her eyes tracing the purple fish as it swam in circles, almost like it was overworking and thinking itself into a frenzy over absolutely nothing. “There's no point in maintaining an aquarium if it's empty. It will always return to this state, even if I do add more fish. The interesting part is seeing how things play out, and whether the events would culminate in the last fish shattering the aquarium itself.” The president stopped for a beat. “But enough with what you’ve already lived through. I want to hear it from you: about life beyond this aquarium of mine.”
How to put it? How much should Kirari say? Where did Kirari even begin? Should she even mention that the election ultimately did little to free her? And what of Ririka? Sayaka?
“You’re hesitating.” The teenager pointed out, keying in on Kirari’s weakness. She dragged the pads of her fingertips down the glass, smudging it. With sureness, she declared, “That confirms everything: you failed, didn't you?”
“I’m still stuck.” Kirari divulged tightly.
“So it has gotten that bad…” A hand rose to her glossy blue lips in contemplation. A smirk graced her lips. “Is that why you’re dressed that way? Are you that keen to attend your own funeral?”
“...”
At the lack of response, the teenager laughed with a condescending edge. “I'm ashamed. I would never willingly allow Terano to exploit me in any manner.”
“Terano and I discussed this–”
“Oh! So you’ve talked it over with her? Is that what you’re telling yourself now? You failed, Kirari. You wanted to orchestrate everyone’s funeral in the clan, but all you ended up doing was staging your own. You didn’t even go all in yet you somehow lost it all.”
Kirari’s eyes narrowed. The gall of this kid before her… even if it was herself at the core. “You’re one to speak about loss. You never lost. That's why you didn't know fear."
“What’s the point of fear if we are all creatures of irrationality deep down? Fear would only stop me from going all in– and I need to go all in. I don't have a choice.” The student council president scoffed, shrugging with her palms upturned in the air. “Don't tell me that I've gone soft in the future.”
Kirari raised a black-sleeved arm and pointed loosely at her younger self. There was something Kirari never truly gambled with. “Tell me what Sayaka Igarashi means to you.”
The president’s eyes hardened. Her next words were careful, measured. In contrast, she laid a palm softly against the glass. “Sayaka is interesting.”
“That’s it?” Kirari didn’t buy it, narrowing her eyes in an accusatory fashion. She unloaded, “That’s all? Just say it: don't you wish you were Kirari Igarashi instead? Anything to be anyone else. Ririka Saotome doesn't have the nicest ring, but it's better than bearing the burden of the Momobami name."
“‘Kirari… Igarashi’? Igarashi?” A stunned silence held the thread of tension in the air. For the briefest of moments, it hung there before being broken by the sound of wild laughter. Blue lacquered nails scraped against the red blazer as the teenager clutched her stomach and doubled over. “Me, bearing Sayaka’s surname? What’s this, a prophecy? Or is this your fantasy?”
Annoyance creased Kirari’s forehead as she re-took her seat on the couch, facing away from the Hyakkaou president. She crossed her legs. A sigh left her lips as the laughter continued behind her. Was it even worth furthering this conversation? Was it even a conversation?
Nonetheless, Kirari laced her fingers and rested them atop her knee. Her fingernails scraped at her pants. “At the Tower of Doors– you said that you wouldn't have jumped after Sayaka had she chosen the wrong door, correct?"
The president slowly attempted to recompose herself. “Naturally. I’m no fool.”
"Is that truly so? Then why were you willing to accept death, saying that if the jump didn't go as planned, 'it simply would have been my time'?"
That quelled the laughter entirely. A soft huff punctuated the air by the aquarium tank as the president gathered herself. “You’re the older one. You know why.” The voice was light, but both could hear the somberness dragging down those evasive words.
"Oh, I know why." Kirari licked her lips, they felt dry. Kirari was more valuable to others than it was to her. A life that she could never call her own. A life as Kirari Momobami, head of the Hundred Devouring Families. And if she couldn't live and be alive, how could anything in her life have meaning?
Everything she did as Kirari would be a lie.
"You, even in the future, and I… we accept our fates, we welcome death." Blue lips curled softly into a melancholy smile. The teenager turned toward the aquarium and pressed her index against the glass. A shimmer of genuine happiness flashed in her eyes when the violet pleco swam up to her finger once more. “If we can't love Sayaka in life, at least we can do so in death, free from the Momobami name.”
A pause pulsated between them, only broken by the sound of Kirari leaving the couch, leaving her younger self standing by the aquarium. Her steps took her to the bay windows framing the courtyard and the full moon hanging high above in the sky.
“Sayaka should have chosen the wrong door then.” Kirari enunciated lowly, her gaze fixated on the tower that broke above the horizon.
It hurt. It hurt to think about taking Sayaka with her. She slipped two fingers between her neck and the collar of her blouse, adjusting the starch white fabric. The rushed manner in which those words poured out didn't lessen their bite; the chaser was kinder on the cuts left behind on her tongue, “And we should've jumped with her.”
“...”
At the prolonged silence, Kirari threw a glance behind her. A lone platinum arowana drifted in the aquarium, contained within the glass walls, the pleco nowhere to be found.
Kirari shook her head as she rapidly drew the conclusions. Arowanas were always of the predatory sort. Sharing their world meant sealing one's fate, ultimately. She squinted. At the tank’s sandy floor, on the far side, laid the purple pleco, its unseeing dark eyes wide open, its mouth agape, almost as if it didn't expect its life to end in the brutal way that it did. Whether the death was intentional or not, it didn’t matter.
White, pristine scales reflected the fluorescent blue light as it circled to the bottom and kicked up the substrate, clouding the water.
Aggravated, Kirari strode toward the aquarium. Pieces of the school uniform lay in a crumpled heap by the wayside, a girl missing. Stopping only to scoop up her signature black ribbons, Kirari clicked her tongue against her teeth before turning her attention to the lone fish in the tank. She watched as the arowana hallowed out a depression in the sand. Then, with surprising gentleness, the arowana pushed its former tankmate into the shallow makeshift grave. A flurry of fins sent the sand swirling once more.
Severe blue eyes pierced the glass and met the arowana's unblinking stare once the sand cloud settled. Kirari raised a brow. The president wasn’t even human anymore and Kirari found herself witnessing the oddest of funerals.
She placed a palm against the aquarium.
With a sharp crack, the tank ruptured into a mosaic of shards that sprayed glass in every direction– at Kirari, through Kirari, past Kirari. The amount of water seemed to exponentiate as it poured out like a tsunami, washing away the floor of the student council room, ripping down walls and tearing off the roof of the Hyakkaou Academy.
Much like how it was impossible for fish to drown, starvation never was an option for the head of the Hundred Devouring Families. In the end, the lone fish remaining had shattered the very aquarium itself.
Kirari spun to absorb the new setting revealed by the decimation of her aquarium. Drawn in the horizon: silhouettes of tangled brush and of seldom ventured hillsides. Painted underneath her feet: worn wooden planks stitching together a boardwalk adjacent to dark waters. The flood from the aquarium filling the lake gradually quelled. The arowana swam just underneath its surface, away from Kirari, into the vastness– until it was no more than another silver sliver of the moon's reflection upon silent waves.
“Happy twenty-first birthday, Sayaka.”
Kirari’s blood ran cold as the wind whispered those words to her. The same breeze caressed her cheek, pressing her to look toward the still image at the docks.
Like wax figures, Sayaka remained motionless as she straddled Kirari, her pants unzipped and pooled at her knees. Unlike that fateful night, the biting chill of winter was absent. What was present– what was damning– what cut Kirari was seeing her frozen self aiming her phone at Sayaka’s hands.
“Tell me… will we make it?” The wind whispered in tandem with the rippling silver in the water.
Kirari had to fight back the wince. She forced herself to nod.
The water splashed as the arowana circled listlessly closer to Kirari. "That's good, I suppose."
Kirari chose that moment to avert her gaze.
The cold took notice of this cheat and snapped; if winter’s frost could bite, it sank its teeth into her exposed flesh– hard. "Don't lie to me– don't lie to yourself."
Their entangled bodies crumbled into dust without a whisper; the night wind carried their ashes and scattered it across the land, sea, and sky.
"Do you regret what Sayaka started, when she asked you to record her?"
Kirari couldn’t say.
"Do you regret keeping Sayaka in the dark all these years?"
That was too complicated of a question for Kirari to answer.
"Did you enjoy fucking her last night?"
That was a question Kirari refused to entertain. She spun on her heel. "We're done here," Kirari declared simply.
"You're just using her to fill the emptiness you feel each time you climb into a cold bed. It's no wonder she compares herself to those girls you traffic."
“Shut up and don't make me repeat myself.” Kirari replied tersely, picking up her pace as she left the pier, as the wooden boardwalk turned into loose gravel and cement. She pulled the blazer closer to her chest, crossing her arms.
"And don't try to be so noble by justifying that you avoid flings. Taping every rendezvous with Sayaka to use them to get off later? That's a new low across the entire board."
The sound of her own breaths filled her ears as her legs gave way. Loose rocks bit into her knees as she sank. No one dared to call her out like this. Not even Ririka. She really was her own worst enemy, for she was merciless and more than willing to exploit all flaws and uncertainties to their fullest. Her hand fisted the gravel in frustration.
"A pity, she really loves you, even now." The voice– Kirari’s own voice– lilted next to her ear. Underneath the mock, beneath the bravado, laid a small twinge of longing. It honestly did sound like herself, yet at the same time, like the arowana, the wind, and the cold– the loneliness– the inhumanity of it all– all projected into the spectre of the girl Kirari once was. "She'll do anything for you, no matter how sick, how cruel, how twisted you treat her. All you have to do is say the word, any word, and she'll do it all for you. You know this."
“Shut up.” Kirari hissed, squeezing her eyes closed. “This is the last time–”
“Why can’t you just admit that you really are ‘Kirari’?” A small laugh. “You really did enjoy fucking her last night, didn’t you?”
Gravel in her hands softened into futon and flesh as the scene shifted once more. Her arms gave way and she collapsed, chin hitting a shoulder blade. Platinum hair overlaid raven strands, tickling Kirari’s nose with the scent of fading lavender and scattering her senses.
It took a second for Kirari to realize that the sound of breathless pants were still her own, the thrum of a racing heart from the woman under her– a figure that Kirari could easily retrace and redraw with her hands from subconscious alone. Semi-relieved, Kirari closed her eyes as she attempted to get a grip on her bearings.
Such was the comfort and familiarity brought by Sayaka Igarashi.
It took another moment for Kirari to grasp that not a single stitch of clothing remained on her own body. The stale air of the dimly lit room kissed her skin, just as her skin kissed Sayaka’s in turn during the heat of sweat and sex.
Kirari slid her hands to Sayaka’s shoulders and lifted her head slightly. The lone incandescent bulb hung overhead. A film of amber– from age or nicotine, Kirari couldn't pinpoint, maybe both– coated every aspect of the seedy room. With three tatami mats forming the floor, their clothes strewn haphazardly about, little room remained for maneuverability. This space had one purpose and one purpose only, and they were already utilizing it as intended.
The implications made Kirari’s skin crawl more so than the physical filth. The fact that they were here in the first place– why were they in the red light district? Sayaka made a living as an esteemed judge with an indomitable family reputation to not only back up, but also fast track her career. To find her in a place like this– the underbelly of society– under Kirari, it made no sense whatsoever.
The harness cut into Kirari's upper thighs and hips as she shifted to prop herself up, eliciting a moan from the woman underneath her. Kirari didn't need to look down to understand that her assumptions had gone from bad to worse. Gingerly, she began pulling out, only to be interrupted by a whimper.
"Kirari, no…"
Kirari hesitated before resuming, though none of it showed as she held her voice steady. “You shouldn't be here.”
"You're here… so please…"
“Our places in society are different.” Kirari pointed out as she settled back on her knees, trying her best to ignore the budding arousal from Sayaka’s insistence. “I own places like these. You don't belong here.”
"That was a long time ago. We also don't have much time left."
Kirari had to choke back a sardonic bout of laughter. The sound of a distant grandfather clock ticked on in her mind, counting down the seconds, almost like an explosion waiting to happen.
Time.
It always came back to time. Go back in time. How something so infinite could be so finite in the way it was allocated to each person. And in a cruel twist of fate, it was Sayaka telling her that they were short on–
Kirari's train of thought screeched to a rapid halt. "What do you mean 'we don't have much time'?" She asked hollowly, bracing herself for the answer.
Sayaka propped herself on her forearms, turning her torso to look behind her. “Didn't you only pay for ninety minutes–"
“I didn't pay anything,” Kirari rejected with a flare of vehemence. She desperately wanted to pull her hair out. The rising wave of panic and the plunge of dread threatened to tear her chest in two as a riptide would. She really didn't want to think about the fact that Sayaka worked here. She didn’t want to know the reason why Sayaka was put in such a demeaning situation. Her next words rushed out like a torrent, "I never paid you anything for this very reason, Sayaka. I didn't want to cheapen our relationship this way, I–"
A rush of aggravation rolled over Kirari's body and she clenched her jaw. All her words seemed meaningless. Nothing about their current situation was okay. The thought of someone else having their way with Sayaka, paying her and fucking her brought bile to the back of her throat. She barely noticed as Sayaka shifted to lay on her back, the smaller hand tugging at her wrist, asking Kirari to lay down with her.
Sayaka's arms snaked behind her neck, a hand gently stroked the silvery locks. "It's fine, Kirari… As long as it's you, I'm okay with it. Let's just make the most of our time."
There was no more foreplay and no more words of comfort and reassurances. Kirari quashed the unease that stirred her thoughts into a whirlpool of doubt and apprehension. The legs wrapped around Kirari’s waist tightened. Almost reflexively, Kirari’s hand reached for the toy at her groin; like second nature, she lined the tip up, her fingers brushing against the nearby wetness.
Kirari swallowed the knot in her throat, the lingering haze of cigarette ash nearly made her cough. The lips pressing against her own tasted like lavender welcoming her home; at any other place, at any other time, that should’ve been comforting enough for Kirari to push in without a second thought and let her base desires take over.
Now, though, the thought of home felt too similar to the idea of love– it made Kirari’s breath hitch and pressure mounted behind her eyes.
They should be home, not here, of all places.
She couldn’t do this.
Kirari broke the lip lock and pushed the legs around her waist away. Settling back on her knees, her fingers fumbled against the clasps of the harness in her haste to remove the toy, letting it fall on the futon with a muted thump.
“Kirari?”
Kirari pursed her lips, watching Sayaka sit up. Impulsively, she threw her arms around the only girl she had ever loved. Chin resting on Sayaka’s shoulder, Kirari tucked a few loose tendrils of dark hair behind the younger woman’s ear. Tremors nearly undermined the lightness in her voice, but she spoke anyway, “Sayaka?”
“Yes?” Arms wrapped around Kirari’s ribcage, reciprocating the embrace.
“Sayaka, I…” Kirari pursed her lips. How convenient for words to suddenly elude and forsake her when she needed them the most. She blinked rapidly to stave the hot tears at bay, though nothing could be done about the shuddering breaths racking her chest.
The dark-haired woman remained quiet, opting to rub comforting circles on Kirari’s back, her hand caressing the arowana inked there and nails gently scratching the platinum scales. Seconds, perhaps minutes, elapsed as the clan leader struggled to find her voice while surreptitiously erasing any tears that escaped with her forearm.
“Sayaka, I want to go home.” Kirari inhaled deeply, closing her tired eyes and reveling in the warmth of the body in her arms. Sayaka felt wonderfully familiar and reassuring. “Let’s go home.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Of course.” Kirari smiled. “I left it mostly empty for a reason. I wanted you to help me decide on the interior and finishings.”
“That does sound nice.” Sayaka hummed with contentment. Her fingers shifted to drawing nonsensical patterns on Kirari’s back. After a small hesitation, she continued, “I can’t, though.”
“Why not?” Kirari moved to give a soft squeeze and answered her own question. Her arms went through Sayaka as if the woman were made of air. Regaining her balance, Kirari sat back on her heels and reached out to clasp Sayaka’s shoulder, only for her hand to grasp at nothing but an unfulfilled wish.
Blue eyes frantically attempted to lock onto violet ones in search of an answer, but Sayaka’s eyes were unfocused, unseeing. The smaller woman had drawn her knees, hugging them close to her chest in Kirari’s absence.
“Sayaka?” Kirari prodded from a mute mouth. She attempted to brush aside some of Sayaka’s bangs, only to have her digits fall through dark hair. Kirari stared at her fingertips in disbelief, rubbing them together to try and feel something– anything. She tried brushing Sayaka’s hair aside again, to no avail.
If she couldn’t touch, how could she express?
Something beeped in the background.
“Time’s up,” Sayaka explained softly, feeling an odd ripple of air kiss her forehead.
Kirari whipped her head to see a camera sitting in the corner atop a tripod; the red light blinked in a severe manner, the dark shiny lens damning as it observed the two of them. The discovery chilled her blood and dropped her stomach.
'Taping every rendezvous with Sayaka to use them to get off later?'
Everything they shared would now only be a memory.
Nearly stumbling as she attempted to stand, Kirari barely felt the tatami under her feet as she rushed toward the camera. The world was silent save for the incessant beeping, the rush of blood thrumming her ears absent. Instinct made her reach for the device; shock coursed through her arm as her palm met cold plastic.
Her grip tightened on the witness of their relationship, promising to strangle and extinguish them, determined to take both of their secrets– her shame– to the grave.
Kirari clenched her hand and the lens shattered with a deafening crack, sending the world plunging into the blinding dark.