Work Text:
It was a normal day in classroom 1-B. Normal unfortunately entailed the neighboring 1-A’s prince, Anon Chihaya, coming all the way over to Sakiko’s classroom and hovering behind her desk. Ever since Anon had realized that Sakiko had nothing to back up her menacing glares, she’d become entirely too comfortable crowding into her personal space.
Case in point. The back of her plastic seat bent under the weight of Anon’s hand. “Your hair is always so nice and silky, Sakiko. You gotta share your secrets. How do you keep it this healthy?” Anon bushed the back of her hand down a single lock of Sakiko’s hair. When Nyamu complimented her, it felt like a challenge. With Anon, it felt genuine.
“I don’t do anything special,” protested Sakiko.
“No? No special products? No silk pillowcase? I heard you’re supposed to sleep on silk to keep your hair from tangling in your sleep, but my parents won’t get me one. It’s like they want me to have bed head!” said Anon.
Sakiko winced as she thought about Umiri’s Sandalwood Spice 2-in-1 that she had been borrowing after her own bottle ran out a few days back. If her hair was nice, it was in spite of the product she was using rather than thanks to it. “I just make sure to get lots of rest.”
“Fine, fine, keep your secrets! But I’m declaring a homework help embargo until you spill,” teased Anon.
“Your confidence is admirable given the essay grade we just got back. If you’re not careful, I might be forced to respond by paring back our literature discussions,” said Sakiko. She wouldn’t, of course. No one else wanted to talk about old novels with her, and really, there was no one else she wanted to talk about old novels with.
“Simple bargaining rhetoric from the Togawa nation. They don’t intend to follow through. Chancellors, we hold our course,” prime minister Anon nodded to her make believe cabinet.
Sakiko giggled. She couldn’t help it. Anon was a massive dork, but she was a cute dork.
“Even if I am ahead of you in GPA right now, I think yours is way more impressive. I mean, you manage to keep up while running a world famous band and everything!” said Anon, referencing their friendly rivalry for first in the class rankings.
”Everyone has their struggles. I don’t think mine more or less than anyone else’s, just different,” Sakiko deflected.
“C’monn do yourself some credit! You’re worse about compliments than Taki!” Anon pat Sakiko on the back, who startled slightly at the contact.
“I suppose my workload is not insignificant,” Sakiko conceded.
“Yeah that’s right! You are super cool and hardworking and pretty! And you should appreciate it more!” said Anon. For better or worse, Anon was unafraid to challenge her.
Wait, who ever said anything about pretty? It was good that Anon was oblivious to her own playboy charm. She couldn’t be trusted to use her power for noble purposes. The morning bell saved her from further harassment, but it couldn’t spare her the little tingles in the shape of Anon’s handprint that lingered on her back through the entire lesson.
What a confusing day. She ran into Anon twice more between classes, and each time Anon hit her with that easy, knowing grin. What she knew was beyond Sakiko. Certainly there was no shared secret she herself was aware of, but each time it stirred the stew of butterflies in her tummy. She was going to need to get that checked out. She could be dying of consumption.
No, she was overthinking things. It was probably because of all those silly (but admittedly fun) romance novels Anon had recommended her filling her head with nonsense thoughts. Starting tomorrow, she was going back to a strict literature diet of books by self-flagellating repressed gay men and miserable Russians.
When the bell signaling the end of the school day rang, it came not a moment too soon. Sakiko was glad to banish the disorienting swarm of thoughts buzzing at her like little Anon-shaped flies and be done with it. The walk from her classroom to the school foyer passed in a daze. She didn’t notice there was something amiss with her locker until she had already retrieved her outside shoes.
There was a pebble on the floor of her locker, right in the center so she couldn’t miss it. Sakiko took it delicately between her thumb and index. It was still warm.
Tomori’s message was clear as if it were written on a post-it note: Even if you can’t see me, I want you to feel my warmth.
Tears pricked at her eyes. For the hundredth time that day and the thousandth time that week, Sakiko was tempted to throw it all away. To throw her vows to the wind and run back to Tomori’s waiting arms and her unwavering soul and her honest-as-blood lyrics. But she thought of her family — her new family — and crushed the selfish urge back into the dark. Tomori didn’t need her. They did.
She kept the pebble. She would hide it somewhere deep in her room where Ave Mujica would not find it.
With tears blinked away and shoulders set, Sakiko walked out the school building. Waiting for her at the Haneoka gate was a surly futch with folded arms doing her best to hide her awkwardness at being the only one in a Hanasakigawa uniform. None of the other chattering students streaming out of the building paid her a second glance. Their schools weren’t far, and plenty of student groups collaborated or competed cross town. But Taki was Taki, ever imagining new judgements to be self conscious about.
“Hey,” said Taki as she approached.
“Taki, it’s a pleasure. My sincere thanks for your offer to help with our next song,” said Sakiko.
Taki turned her whole body to the side to glare at the hedges. Had they offered her some insult? “I still don’t know why you want my opinion.”
“I respect you as a composer. You have a more modern perspective on music than I with my primarily classical background. A wise leader knows where she is strong and seeks allies where she is not.”
“Just give it here,” Taki grumbled, holding out her hand for the sheet music. Sakiko obliged.
As Taki took the sheaf of sheet music, there was the slightest brush of Taki’s fingernail across her fingertip. Sakiko shivered at the ticklish sensation. Taki didn’t seem to notice.
“Anyways, I’ve got work. I’ll text you what I think,” said Taki.
“Right!” The word came out squeaky. “Ahem. I meant, right. Because you work at RiNG,” Sakiko corrected herself.
“Yeah. I work there. At RiNG.”
“Well. Thank you again for the help. I know you have a full set of commitments with your own band.”
Taki grunted and trotted off with an endearingly awkward gait. Sakiko watched her go. It was like no one had taught her that you were supposed to bend your knee before your shoe came down.
Sakiko had work, too. She and Umiri were walking a red carpet event put on by the Butchymode entertainment conglomerate. Work was perfect. Work was the perfect thing to keep her from thinking about the nothing that didn’t just happen that didn’t mean anything.
Work wasn’t until later that evening, though. She was made of flesh, and while her soul had the strength to work for weeks without pause, her body did not. It needed rest.
Sakiko decided on a destination. She went north. A shortcut through a station tunnel and a walk through a more residential area brought her to one of her few secret refuges: a little basement shop halfway between a bookstore and a library where everyone spoke in whispers and the low lighting effected peace. The place was constructed from mahogany and tight corners. It existed outside the passage of time. The gathering storm of the world could not follow her here.
Her usual spot was a vine framed alcove made of bookshelves in the back. The way the light streamed in through the gothic window and the hard bench reminded her of the music room at her old home. It evoked a complicated set of emotions within her, but they were not unwelcome — it was reassuring that they remained tumultuous. If she were to think of her mother one day and feel nothing, it would be far more disturbing than the present ache in her chest. The ache was real, and thus so was her mother.
On one of the shelves was a comic book that had been propped cover out. There was a handwritten endorsement from the store’s staff on a yellow index card next to it. Sakiko picked the card up.
A single volume yuri manga about a girl with a heart too big for this world. In the story her heart is depicted as a physical object, which she divides into smaller and smaller pieces to give away until one day she finds there is nothing left to give. Her love interest is her selfish classmate who teaches her to value herself.
This story spoke to me in a moment of need.
-Soyo Nagasaki (Honorary store manager)
Soyo Nagasaki… she frequented his place too? How had they never encountered each other? Or had they met here in the past and both not remembered it?
The door to the shop rumbled open.
Sakiko could make out a muffled high-pitched greeting, and then the owner’s raspy reply. Oblivious footsteps approached. Sakiko sat up straighter and affixed a neutral expression to her face to brace for this sanctuary to be violated.
The footsteps turned the corner. It was Soyo. She saw Sakiko, saw the book in her hands, grimaced, but didn’t turn away.
“Good afternoon,” said Sakiko.
“Hello,” replied Soyo. Her grip on her messenger bag tightened.
“You’re an honorary manager. I didn’t know you read,” said Sakiko.
“I don’t. Not much,” said Soyo.
How awkward. Where was she supposed to take the conversation from there? In the background, a clock ticked.
Soyo broke the standoff. “I appreciate the environment. It’s calm. It helps.”
Sakiko resisted the urge to ask what it helped with. Soyo was no longer hers to care for. Instead, she simply said, “I’m glad.”
“I’m going to stop breaking the rule against conversations now. Good day,” said Soyo, and she turned on her heel to leave. As she did so, her curtain of hair spun out in an arc. A wave of perfume and Soyo’s Soyoness followed it.
Memories were strongly associated with the five senses. This particular smell reminded her of shared destiny. It was the gentleness of the sun nurturing a plant. It was confidence of having someone to rely on. It was the vulnerability of loving something with one’s whole being.
It was the courage requisite to accept love. The new form which Sakiko had grown into was proof that someone had mattered to her, too.
Perhaps they would never be friends again, but they didn’t have to be enemies either. Existing in the same space felt less like the armed truce she would have anticipated and more akin to a quiet peace. Although she preferred prose, Sakiko spent the next hour reading Soyo’s recommended manga. Her endorsement was right: the story was moving. Sakiko tried not to think about why.
She exited the store to a dozen missed messages in the Ave Mujica band chat.
Mortis: is anyone near ring? i need hekp
If it had been Mutsumi, Sakiko would’ve started panicking right then. Mutsumi considered carefully the way her words would be interpreted. With Mortis, however, hyperbole was more possible.
Umiri: Are you okay?
Umiri: Mortis, are you in danger?
Umiri: I’m on my way. I’ve called the police. Tell me your location and I’ll direct them to you.
Mortis: [Audio Message - 0:43]
Umiri: I see. I apologize for my overreaction.
Umiri: I’m still in Yokohama. It will take me an hour to reach your location. Please stay put until I arrive.
Mortis: i’m fine! you don’t need to come all this way, silly!
So she wasn’t in immediate trouble? Sakiko pressed play on the audio message. Mortis’s staticky voice burst out of her speakers. “I got soooooo tired all of a sudden and my feet were sore enough to fall off! It came out of nowhere! So I sat down, but then I couldn’t stand up. Can you carry me home? I want a piggy back ride- omg umiri stop panicking I can see you messaging me right now.”
The message concluded with truncated laughter.
Sakiko: I’m close by. I can come.
<Mortis started sharing their location. Do you want to share yours?>
No, phone, no she didn’t. She was glad Mortis felt comfortable asking them for help, but she wished she was slightly more judicious about putting herself in situations where she would need to do so. Sakiko stopped by a convenience store on the way to grab a box of candy. That was her go to cure-all for the times Mortis proclaimed herself a god amongst mortals and promptly overexerted herself. Silly Mortis. Being god was her job.
A defeated creature lay on the bench Mortis had shared the location of. It looked like Mortis, it was dressed like Mortis, but the way its limbs were thrown over the bench every which way more closely resembled a splayed spider or perhaps a particularly unlucky skydiver.
“Mortis. Are you okay?” asked Sakiko once she was only a step away.
The creature raised its head half a degree. “Sakiko… I’m tired…”
“Come on, get up. Let’s get you home. You can lean on my shoulder.”
“I can’t… limbs too weak… you have to feed me… you have to use your hands…” The creature struggled to drag itself upright into a seated position before giving up. How did she know Sakiko had brought her candy?
“Fine. Open up.” Sakiko dug in her school bag and fished out a piece. Green tea dusted chocolate. Mortis demanded to be spoiled, and, against her better judgment, Sakiko always obliged. Her accursed guilt complex. Sakiko knelt next to Mortis and held the chocolate up to her mouth, but she rejected it with a scrunched up face.
“No! Make the noises!” demanded Mortis.
Sakiko’s eye twitched.
“Here… here comes the airplane!” she said through grit teeth. Sakiko made engine noises and maneuvered the candy on final approach to the Mortis-tarmac. The moment the chocolate passed between her lips, the melted creature before her reconstituted from a Mortis shaped blob into a regular Mortis.
“Horay!” she cheered, full of life once more. Sakiko smiled. Even when she was being a total princess, Mortis was undeniably cute.
Sakiko stood up. “Do you feel well enough to walk?”
“Hmmm~ I will in a minute!”
Sakiko nodded. They could afford to delay a little longer before she would have to leave for her event with Umiri. She wanted to prepare answers to potential interview questions and research one of the attending producers beforehand, but she could do that on the drive over.
As Sakiko was lost in thought, she was startled by a disturbing warm-wet sensation on her fingers, like some great beast about to swallow her whole starting from her hand.
“Great heavens!” Sakiko swore.
“Tasty matcha!” said her assailant.
The matcha powder left behind on her hand by the candy had been licked clean. The cause was Raana, Mortis’s special friend, or more specifically Raana’s tongue.
Sakiko gathered herself to give the licker a dressing down. Friend’s headmates’s special friend or not, putting your mouth on strangers was highly unacceptable! Then, she considered the optics. The girl couldn’t’ve been more than twelve. There was no way she could beef with a twelve year old and come out looking good. Even if she won, she’d lose.
Sakiko held her tongue.
“Raana! You came to save me! You knew I needed help!” said Mortis.
“No. Just saw you. Looked pitiful.”
“Awww~ so you mean it was fate that brought us together!”
“Nope! Street!”
“Where are you going? Can I come with?” asked Mortis. She had recovered enough energy to struggle upright on the bench.
“Home.”
“Okay!!” beamed Mortis. Raana hadn’t answered the second question so far as Sakiko could tell, but it seemed a mutual understanding had been achieved.
“Let’s walk together?” Mortis asked Sakiko with that pleading face she knew worked every time.
“Fine! But you need to keep your hands to yourself, Raana! And your tongue!” Sakiko glared. She dug around in her bag with her clean hand for wet wipes.
Why was everyone so eager to touch her today? Had she been isekaied into some parallel universe where whoever put their hands on the most was awarded the throne? She didn’t have time to ruminate on it. There had been so many detours on her walk home that there was barely had enough time to get prepared for her evening engagement with Umiri. Sakiko dropped Mortis at Raana’s place and kept powerwalking home. Before she even got the door open, she heard a greeting.
“Welcome back, Saki!! I missed you so much!!”
“Thank you, Uika. It’s good to be home.”
Sakiko stepped inside and made for her bedroom. It was weird that Hatsune happened to be right by the front door the moment she got home, but, well, coincidences happened. Hatsune skipped little circles around her in her excitement. Her feet were moving so quickly that Sakiko worried they’d slip out from under her.
“Do you need anything? Do you want coffee? You and Umiri have work tonight, right? Need help picking an outfit? I don’t have any plans so I’m free to help!”
“That’s very kind of you, but Umiri and I already selected our outfits last week.” The smile fell off Hatsune’s face for a moment, but it was back the next. “Okay, but let me know if you need anything!” Hatsune called after her.
Sakiko threw on her dress and makeup for the evening as quickly as she could and hopped in the car with Umiri. Their engagement was one of those entertainment industry publicity events with a red carpet and photographers and a public audience area so the screaming fans could remind everyone just how important the celebrities were.
Umiri stepped out of their car first. She offered the waiting crowd a wave and a few cool winks before opening the door for Sakiko and offering her gloved hand. “Please, right this way.”
This wasn’t the script. Sakiko hesitated for a moment before accepting. She leaned in close, her voice little louder than an exhale, and whispered a warning, “There are cameras watching.”
“Then we should give them something to watch,” Umiri smiled. She brought Sakiko’s hand to her mouth and hovered her lips just a millimeter away. To the crowd, it read as a kiss. Sakiko heard at least one authentic “kyaa!” shriek from the onlookers.
“Shall we?” asked Umiri for their audience’s sake. She traded her grip on Sakiko’s hand for one around her waist and pulled her down the walkway. Sakiko could feel Umiri’s warmth radiating through the suddenly too thin material of her dress. She pulled away a centimeter.
The event was a deluge of unpleasantly firm handshakes, clinking glasses, and Satos, Chens, and Smiths sporting accessories worth a small nation’s GDP. Despite the invitation promising hors d'oeuvres, they were impossible to get ahold of. The cocktail table she and Umiri had found themselves at was the opposite side from the kitchen, and every time Sakiko succeeded in gracefully extricating herself from a conversation to track down a crab puff, she instead encountered another Togawa business partner eager to make an introduction.
By the time they escaped the event, Sakiko was irritable with hunger. She didn’t let it show. When they were both back in the car and the window was rolled up, Umiri said, “That event was great. We should go shopping.”
“Now?” asked Sakiko.
“Yes, now. What point would there be in going later?” Her head tilted a few degrees as she asked the question. “I have been quite interested in this mischievous elf creature recently. Perhaps you have heard of it? They’re called ‘Labubu’. At first I found them ugly, but their sort of devilish charm grew on me. They could even hold a role in the world of Ave Mujica. Their sharp toothed smile is rather similar to Rika’s after she joined Mujica’s carnival. They would make fine accomplices.” Umiri spoke in the same professional, rapid clip she would use to deliver information about an update to the recording studio contract.
“I will handle decisions regarding the worldview of Ave Mujica,” said Sakiko.
Umiri bowed as deeply as the seatbelt across her chest would allow. “Of course, Labubu has no place on stage with us. It was unprofessional of me to suggest so. I apologize. I just thought obtaining trinkets might help your mood-”
“Spending tends to have the opposite effect for me.”
“Ah.”
The clock struck twelve and her suave wolf familiar transformed back into a common mutt. “I’m sorry.” Umiri’s voice rose an octave. She didn’t realize post-T Umiri could still go that high. “You still need me, right? Even if I’m no good at comforting you, I can still play bass! Or I can support you from behind the scenes as the band manager. I don’t mind as long as I can still be part of the Ave Mujica!”
“Think nothing of it. It’s in the past,” said Sakiko, trying to stave off the inevitable. It was in vain.
“Am I a good bandmate?” Umiri whimpered.
“Yes, Umiri.”
“Am I… a good girl?” She peeked up at Sakiko. Oh lord. Her eyelashes were laden with tears.
“Yes, Umiri.”
The casual observer might’ve described Umiri as “well trained”. They would be incorrect. Umiri was eager to please, but she was not well trained, and the difference was apparent.
Exhaustion gripped Sakiko’s soul. She tried not to think about anything on the ride back. When they arrived home, she excused herself immediately. Her ironclad sense of decorum was all that kept her from flopping or collapsing onto the living room couch with Nyamu. Instead, she sat.
“Long day?” asked Nyamu. She was channel surfing on her phone. That that “reels” thing.
“Mmhm.” Sakiko summoned the energy to respond properly. “A bit. Umiri and I had work. I still need to make sure one of my group projects is on track, and I need to read ahead for biology.”
“Dang, that’s a lot,” Nyamu deadpanned. She didn’t look up.
“The event tonight went long. Umiri went overboard, and I had to calm her down after.”
“Was the shindig on a cruise ship or something?”
There were several seconds of dead air as Sakiko processed Nyamu’s joke (if it even was one). She caught Nyamu up on the highlights.
“Wow, you let Umiko get handsy with you at work? You must really be touch starved.” Nyamu propped her head up on the back of the couch. She was paying attention now. Her gossip sonar must’ve pinged.
“That’s the portion you focus on? I am not touch starved!” Sakiko hadn’t heard the phrase before, but it seemed relatively self explanatory and definitely not relevant to her. Neediness was unbecoming of a woman of her stature.
“I know how you princess types grow up. Always loved, always at a distance. C’mere.” Nyamu pat her lap. Sakiko refused the ridiculous invitation with an upturned nose.
Nyamu took matters into her own hands. She grabbed Sakiko around the waist and yanked her over.
Sakiko suppressed an undignified little squeal at the sudden offensive. She ended up half in Nyamu’s lap, half still on the couch, and smothered in an unmistakably big sister flavored hug. Nyamu’s hugs were unfairly good, able to make her feel safe without feeling trapped. She was so perfectly built for hugging that creationists could’ve broken her out as a compelling piece of evidence for intelligent design. Pillows everywhere were jealous of her body.
“Unhand me!” Sakiko struggled halfheartedly.
“You’re not fighting back~” smirked Nyamu. There was a tiny bit of cruelty in her smile. It was true. Her protests were bold, but in this moment her willpower was not.
“… I’m just tired.”
“Be good and take your nap or you’ll be cranky later.”
Sakiko resisted on principle, but with the warm blanket of Nyamu around her she was powerless to resist the call of sleep. She slumped into Nyamu’s lap and passed out.
Sakiko woke with a clear head. Suspiciously clear. She checked her phone. Over an hour had passed.
“You should’ve woken me,” she said. She was still in Nyamu’s lap, but Nyamu was no longer on her phone.
“Ehh. Rest is rest whether you get it now or later. Just stay up late.”
“I will have to,” grumbled Sakiko. Nyamu waved her off.
Sakiko struggled to her feet and dragged herself to her desk to begin stuffing information about bacterial plasmids into her brain. She generally liked learning, but at midnight she liked being in bed better. Two hours later, her brain had been reduced to a blob of agar jelly. It felt leakier than a cell membrane cycled between 60°C and 3°C for ten minutes-
Okay, enough. It was time to rest. Studying like this was inefficient. Sakiko went to take a bath and then to sleep.
While the tub filled, she hummed a few melodies she was considering for Ave Mujica’s next single. Umiri’s rubber ducky supervised the work from its perch in the corner amongst Nyamu’s dozen different serums and creams. Sakiko was still out of her own conditioner, so she picked one of Nyamu’s conditioners at random and let it soak while the hot water melted the day’s stress from her muscles. Baths were one comfort she never wanted to give up.
Through the frosted glass of the bathroom door, Sakiko thought she saw a shadowy figure waiting for her in the dark hallway. It looked like the person had something long and sharp in their hand but… that was ridiculous. It was completely improbable that someone had broken into her house. Even if they had, why would they wait menacingly in the hallway instead of just attacking her? If the threat was real, it would’ve happened already. This was just a classic cPTSD (ICD-11 6B41) hypervigilance symptom. Which wasn’t a condition that affected her, but if it did, it might manifest like this. But it didn’t.
Sakiko finished her bath, toweled dry, and threw the door open before her nerve could desert her.
The shadowy figure rushed her. Sakiko’s blood ran cold. The thing was real. The knife in its hand was real. There was someone waiting to kill her.
Sakiko drew breath to scream for help, but the shadow preempted her. “Saki…! I thought maybe I could help you get ready for bed? I can brush your hair! And then maybe… we could rest together for a bit?”
The murderer was just Hatsune. What Sakiko’s imagination had painted as a weapon in her hand was a mere hairbrush.
“Sleep together? I already said you could have that- that thing. You promised me it would be enough,” said Sakiko. Hatsune had broached the topic of the… thing a few months back. It was a pillow, long, rectangular, in roughly the proportions of a person. On its cover was a stylized illustration of Sakiko herself in a reclined position. The depicted outfit was benign enough, at least.
Did the picture have to be of her making the “Cool, cool~” face, though? It was way too charged!
“It is! It is more than enough! Just being able to see you each day is all I need! It makes me so happy I could die! Only, I thought it might be nice to sleep together once in a while is all…!”
“I don’t think it will be possible today.” Sakiko drew her towel tighter around herself, suddenly conscious of her state of undress.
“Sorry! I shouldn’t’ve asked!! It was stupid! I’m a terrible friend! I’ll never ask you for anything ever again!” cried Hatsune. She promptly exploded into sobs.
This couldn’t be happening. A second velcro puppy breakdown in one day? Why couldn’t her wolf and dog have imprinted on each other instead of her?
Hatsune couldn’t resist seeking more of Sakiko, even when she knew that the prize for which she reached was blanketed with thorns and that the mere act of asking would bring her pain. It was her self inflicted burden. Luckily for her, Sakiko was a patient god and all too sympathetic with the struggle against one’s compulsions.
“Please don’t say that. You’re allowed to ask for the things that make you happy,” said Sakiko.
“But all those things ever do is make you upset!”
“That’s not true. Yes, you take it too far sometimes, but I treasure your devotion. You’ve proven it over and over again. When so many have left me, it brings me a great peace to know that you will not.” Sakiko meant it. “I don’t have the energy to accept your offer right now, but perhaps some other time.”
“Okay!!!”
And just like that, all was right in Hatsune’s world. Her misery from a moment before vanished like newsprint in a fireplace, and in its place was a radiant smile. She was glowing despite the snot and tears actively running down her face. Sometimes it was hard to believe this mess of a girl was Sumimi’s suave heartthrob Uika. Actually, scratch “sometimes”. It was hard to believe all of the time.
Having successfully pressed the snooze button on this particular time bomb, Sakiko bid her goodnight and retreated to her bedroom. The lights were already out. That made sense; Mutsumi was an early sleeper. Sakiko changed into her pajamas as quietly as possible, but as she slipped into bed she felt Mutsumi’s arms find their way around her waist.
“Sorry for waking you,” said Sakiko.
“Shh. Sleeping,” Mutsumi said softly.
“Your arm is going to lose circulation,” Sakiko protested.
“Bedtime,” said Mutsumi. She didn’t remove the arm that was tucked under Sakiko.
That night, Sakiko dreamed a strange dream. She was standing in the living room surrounded by her bandmates and the members of MyGO. It wasn’t just them, though — there was a whole crowd of girls. A dozen girls who looked like Mutsumi and Mortis and… was that Mashiro Kurata she saw towards the back? And an unblinking copy of herself? That required some unpacking that her dream-self didn’t have time to get into.
Her friends and former-friends and not-quite-friends crowded in around her, but her dream self felt no fear. She opened her mouth to ask what was happening. No words came out.
The Mutsumi to her side leaned on her shoulder. The Anon pat her head. A hand cupped her cheek. Another traced its way up and down her forearm. Wherever they touched, warmth bloomed.
“W-What are you doing!” asked Sakiko.
“Thank you for working so hard for us!”
“You deserve to be spoiled too, Sakiko!”
“Soba!”
A hundred gentle but inexorable hands pushed her down to the couch where they continued their unrelenting caresses. Sakiko couldn’t see what was happening anymore. There were too many people in her field of view. There was a warm presence against her side, fingers intertwining with hers, a gentle nibble on her earlobe. The overflowing emotions were too much! This was bad. If this kept up… she was going to lose her mind!
Through the storm of touches, Sakiko felt someone place a butterfly kiss on her forehead. It was the last straw.
“D-Desu wa!” Sakiko cried out.
She awoke in a sweaty tangle of blankets. Either someone had turned the thermostat up five degrees while she was asleep, or she was sick.
“Sakiko?” asked Mortis from beside her. She must’ve woken her up with her tossing and turning.
“It’s nothing!” squeaked Sakiko. “Go back to sleep!”
“‘kay,” murmured Mortis, groggy. She rolled over to the far side of the bed, taking the blankets with her. Sakiko knew she would be cold in a few minutes when the sweat dried, but she was too disoriented to protest.
What on earth was that dream? Actually, no, she didn’t need to reflect on it. There was no way she was a yearner. It was just a meaningless collection of images. Trying to draw meaning from random electrical noise in her brain was as illogical as trying to read oracle bones.
“This isn’t you. You gotta lock in. Stop thinking gay thoughts. Or at least think less gay ones,” Sakiko whispered to herself, speedrunning the stages of grief. She would have to visit a doctor in the morning for this fictitious-sounding “touch starvation” ailment Nyamu spoke of. Surely a licensed medical professional could prescribe her a cure. There had to be one, or the humiliation would kill her.