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Winter receded from Gensokyo like a curtain slowly being drawn back. Inside a quiet bedroom hidden within a boundary no human could name, golden eyes snapped open. Yukari Yakumo had awakened from her winter hibernation.
For a few long moments she simply lay there, adjusting to wakefulness. The air was still. The shikigami were nowhere nearby. Even the gaps in reality felt drowsy. “…How long did I sleep this time?” she murmured.
She shifted slightly—
—and froze.
There was warmth beside her.
Yukari’s expression did not change, but the air subtly distorted as if reality itself flinched in anticipation. Very slowly, she turned her head. There, curled comfortably against her side beneath the blankets, was Yuyuko Saigyouji.
Peacefully asleep.
Very peacefully asleep.
And very, very unclothed.
Yukari blinked once.
Twice.
The boundary between “expected” and “impossible” wavered.
“…My, my.”
She did not immediately move. Instead, she calmly took in the situation with the detached curiosity of someone examining an unusual but fascinating specimen.
Yuyuko was breathing softly, hair spread across the pillow like pale silk. One arm was draped lazily over Yukari’s waist as though this were the most natural arrangement in Gensokyo.
Yukari raised an eyebrow. “A bold ghost.”
As if summoned by the faint shift in tone, Yuyuko stirred.
“Mmm… five more minutes…” she mumbled.
“You have already taken several months.”
Yuyuko’s eyes fluttered open.
There was a brief pause as awareness returned.
Then she smiled brightly.
“Oh! You’re awake, Yukari!”
“Yes,” Yukari replied smoothly. “I am. Would you care to explain why I am not alone in my bed?”
Yuyuko tilted her head, as if the question required deep philosophical reflection.
“I wanted to join you.”
“In my hibernation.”
“Yes!”
Yukari’s fan snapped open with a soft flick. “You joined my seasonal boundary of suspended consciousness.”
“I did,” Yuyuko confirmed cheerfully. “It looked cozy.”
Yukari stared at her for a long moment.
“…I see.”
Yuyuko stretched lazily, utterly unbothered. The blanket shifted. Yukari very deliberately did not look down.
“Another question,” Yukari said evenly. “Why are you naked?”
Yuyuko blinked. Then she looked down at herself as though only just remembering.
“Oh! That.”
“Yes. That.”
“I sleep in the nude.”
Yukari closed her fan halfway.
“You sleep in the nude,” she repeated.
“Mm-hmm! It’s much more comfortable.”
Yukari’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re very warm,” Yuyuko said dreamily. “Like a heated kotatsu.”
Yukari inhaled slowly. For a moment, the room seemed to tilt, as though considering whether it should continue existing. Then Yukari laughed softly.
Yuyuko giggled.
“I thought you’d be lonely hibernating all by yourself,” she added. “So I kept you company.”
Yukari studied her carefully. “…You cannot hibernate. You are already dead.”
“Yes, but I can nap very enthusiastically.”
“That much is evident.”
There was a comfortable silence.
Yuyuko, having apparently decided the conversation was settled, snuggled closer. Yukari raised her fan again. “You are still unclothed.”
“Yes.”
“You are not cold.”
“Nope.”
Yukari watched her for several seconds, searching for mischief beneath the surface.
There was always mischief.
But this time… perhaps it was only simple, whimsical affection.
Finally, Yukari sighed.
“You are incorrigible.”
“I know.”
“And you will tell no one about this.”
“About what?” Yuyuko asked sweetly.
Yukari’s smile returned in full. “Good answer.”
With a small motion of her hand, a gap opened briefly at the edge of the room. From it drifted a neatly folded set of Yuyuko’s clothes, which dropped onto the floor beside the futon.
Yuyuko looked at them, then back at Yukari.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.”
“Aww.”
“Eventually.”
Yuyuko grinned. “Then I’ll stay like this a little longer.”
Yukari gave her a long, unreadable look. “…You truly have no sense of personal boundaries.”
Yuyuko’s eyes sparkled. “That’s your specialty, isn’t it?”
For a split second, the air shimmered with dangerous amusement.
Then Yukari laughed again, rich and elegant. “Very well. Next winter, however, you will request permission.”
“Maybe,” Yuyuko replied.
And so the youkai of boundaries and the carefree ghost princess lay there in the quiet aftermath of winter—one composed and calculating, the other utterly shameless—while outside, the first hints of spring began to stir.