Work Text:
Nakakita Yuma’s never been much of a crier. Tears just don’t come easily to her, so much so that it’s been a subject of debate amongst her family whether she was born with tear ducts or not. And to that, she would always snarkily bite back, “What’re you guys even talking about?!”
She definitely has tear ducts. Functional? Yes.
Here’s proof:
It’s seven in the evening. The one and only cat café—if it can even be called that—in the university district is closing early to celebrate the graduation (and inevitable departure) of their longtime staff. The party hasn’t even started yet and Yuma already has a piece of tissue shoved up her runny nose.
Nico stands up to address the room of two other people. “Fuma-tenchou,” she awkwardly starts as she raises a glass of orange juice, “I want to thank you for, you know, uh, making sure I stayed employed.”
She could’ve worded that better, but hell, Yuma’s too caught up in the idea of losing her work soulmate forever. Gone are the days of shoveling cat shit from the stinky litter box under the counter. No more staring at Nico’s annoyingly beautiful face as she patches Yuma’s battle scars up from having to deal with Maron, the gray British Shorthair that somehow has beef with everyone. She’ll have to take the train home alone from now on too. SNAFU. Situation Nico-less: All Freaking Uh-lone.
“Thank you for your years of service, Nico-chan,” Fuma-tenchou bows too politely, though it’s quite obvious she’s playing up the formalities for everyone else’s entertainment. “Nya-Nya Dreamy Café won’t be the same without you.”
“Tenchou…” Nico pouts and meets Fuma in a tight hug. When she lets go, she smiles widely, flashing her pearly white teeth. “I’ll miss you guys. And Yuma, stop crying. It’s not like I’ll be gone forever.”
“Mhrhnrmmmrhmrmmm.”
“What?”
“Mhrhrm—HIK!—hrrm. HIK! ”
Fuma snickers, arms crossed. “Yuma, use your words.”
Yuma grips her orange juice for dear life as she struggles to form a cohesive sentence. The back of her throat feels tight, like her voice is trapped in a tiny cage. It just hurts. The occasional hiccuping isn’t doing the pain any favors either. She rubs her eyes with the back of her palm, embarrassed at how wet her eyeballs are actually getting. Girl, Nico’s not dying!
“Yuu-chan.” Nico grins, pursing her lips and holding back a laugh. “C’mere. Give me a hug.”
“No!” Yuma’s voice comes out nasally. Oh, and who could forget the, “HIK! ”
“Why not?”
“Because!” The youngest refuses to look Nico in the eye. Her neck is burning with every word that leaves her mouth like every syllable is hot coal. “If—If I do—HIK!—then that means… HIK!—this really is goodbye.” Aki, the Maine Coon, climbs up on Yuma’s lap and rubs his head under her chin.
“I’ll come to visit. I promise.”
Fuma-tenchou waves her hand. “You don’t have to. Going back and forth between Taipei and Tokyo is expensive. We’ll be fine.” She then downs her juice in one go. Typical.
“No, you hafta!” A snot bubble comes out of Yuma’s other nostril. Though it absolutely wounds her to act this pathetic in front of a gorgeous woman, she lunges for Nico’s wrist and shakes it. “Please.”
Nico stares at Yuma, then at her now-former manager. All Fuma does is shake her head, as if to say, I know you wanna, but don’t indulge her. “Guess I can’t? Tenchou’s orders.” She pats Yuma’s head with a tight-lipped smile. Her silver accessories get tangled in the younger’s bleach-damaged blonde hair.
“HIK! But what about Euijoo-nee-chan?” is Yuma’s last ditch attempt at keeping Nico here in Tokyo, or at least within the hundred fifty thousand square miles of the archipelago.
“What about her? She’s moving back to Korea too.”
Drat, Nico is right. Time for Plan C. Whatever Plan C may be.
“What about—” Yuma’s eyes dart around, quickly searching for the only black cat that ‘works’ in the café. She catches him pawing at the dangling fairy lights and immediately pries him off the windowsill, shoving the kitty into Nico’s face. “What about Tapioca?! Yer leaving him?!”
“Yuma.” Nico takes the black furball into her arms, mindlessly stroking his chin with her manicured fingers. “My student visa’s expiring, you know, because I’m no longer a student.”
“We’ll be understaffed!”
“I already have job postings up,” Fuma mumbles, eyes peering at them from behind her second glass of juice that she’s consuming at a reasonable pace. “Seven new applicants.”
Though long overdue, Yuma concedes, sinking into an oversized bean bag as Maron relentlessly attacks her leg with her right paw. “I give up.”
“Hey, at least your hiccups are gone.”
Right. Yuma didn’t even notice. “I’ll miss ya a lot.”
Nico kisses Tapioca’s head one last time. “I will, too.”
Two days later, Nico departs for her homeland, and it’s business as usual for Nya-Nya Dreamy Café.
The following work week is absolute hell for Yuma. Watching applicant after applicant walk in during the middle of the day with their resumes held in sweaty hands. Yuma takes a shot at cat whispering, mentally urging the docile felines to abandon the customers’ laps and charge at all of Nico’s potential replacements with no mercy, pronto. Does it work? Nope. Does Fuma-tenchou notice right away and tell her off for freaking the customers out by looking constipated all the damn time? Absolutely.
Friday night comes and Yuma’s mopping the cat piss that somehow made it outside the litter box and onto their cream porcelain tiles, while Tenchou warmly welcomes another applicant into the closing store.
Kriing, the bell above the door chimes brightly.
Yuma sneaks a look from behind the counter, making sure to crouch low enough that only her flyaways stick out.
Hm. Long, black hair. Straight-cut bangs. A gray cashmere cardigan over a plain white t-shirt. Brown loafers peeking out from under a tiered maxi skirt. Yuma scoffs. She’s really pretty, but she’s not Nico-nee-chan.
As Tenchou leads the mystery girl to a nearby table to have a quick interview, Yuma’s eyes fixate on her lanyard swinging around as she bows and bows, apologizing for the intrusion and thanking the manager for the opportunity, yadda yadda.
“Ugh, damn.” Yuma aggressively sloshes the mop around in the bucket, still crouched down, knees trembling from the lack of limb strength. The mystery girl attempting to replace Nico is one thing, but being from the same university as her? That’s a whole ‘nother level of all-caps BOTHERSOME. She’s surprised she hasn’t seen the girl around though. A face like that is hard to ignore.
So far, this is the fifth person Fuma-tenchou’s interviewed. Based on her knitted eyebrows and tensed jaw every time an applicant makes their way out of the café, they’re all no-go’s. Yuma doesn’t bother to get into the specifics though. As long as they’re out of there, all is gucci.
Although, she will admit that being simultaneously in charge of kitchen and cleanup duty is absolutely bonkers for a working student. If Yuma wants to stay alive until the semester is over, then she probably shouldn’t be too against a new hire. But it’s impossible that she’d ever admit that. Yuma has successfully gaslighted herself into thinking that her growing openness to a Nico-replacement is due to the fact that she is severely sleep deprived and can’t think straight as a result of that. Well, what college student gets enough sleep anyway?
“Oh, sorry, that’s Maron,” Yuma hears Fuma-tenchou laugh suddenly, “I think she likes you.”
Psh. Maron? That little shit (affectionately)? She doesn’t even like her fellow cats. What makes Fuma-tenchou think—
“Mreow,” Maron purrs, loud and pronounced. Mocking. Almost as if she wants Yuma to hear her. That little shit. No longer affectionately, by the way!
Okay, what the hell. Yuma emerges from under the counter because if she’s one thing, it’s nosy.
Lo and behold, Maron is curled up on the mystery girl’s lap like she’s her personal cat bed. A big, bold red question mark manifests out of thin air above Yuma’s head.
“Ah. Hello, Maron.” A gentle voice. Deep. Stickily sweet like molasses. It sends sparks through Yuma’s skin. Ick. “May I pet her?”
Fuma-tenchou gestures for her to go ahead.
She languidly runs her fingers through Maron’s soft gray coat (which is all thanks to the staff’s consistent grooming with a special rubber brush) and Yuma knows her telepathic connection with that cat is close to nothing but, dear God, she wrinkles her forehead to send the kitty a message: “Bite her! Chomp on those long… slender… perfect-looking fingers—I mean, what? ” Erratum: ignore the last part.
Either it’s opposite day for Maron or Yuma should completely drop cat whispering, because the British Shorthair starts leaning into the girl’s touch even more, rubbing her head against the soft fabric of her cardigan like she’s never felt the loving touch of a human before.
“She’s friendly.” The girl’s soft laugh reverberates around Yuma’s empty cranium.
“That’s unusual. She doesn’t do well with most people,” Tenchou hums, “Do you have magic hands, or something?”
The girl lifts her hands and bares her palms. Maron meows again to lament the lack of petting. “No, ma’am. Just regular hands.”
“Oh, I was just joking.”
“Ah.” And her hands go back to business. The rascal Maron is now baring her fluffy belly to the world, a sight so uncommon it feels almost inappropriate to stare.
Fuma-tenchou offers Jo a pleased look before scanning through the one-page resume attached to her clipboard. “Let’s start?”
“Yes. I’ll be in your care.” She bows again.
“Likewise.” Fuma-tenchou reactivates tenchou mode with a polite bow as well. “Please tell me about yourself.”
The girl clears her throat and sits up impossibly straighter. “Good evening.” Of course, another small bow. It’s all bows with this girl. “My name is Asakura Jo, a second year Fine Arts student—”
LALALALAIDON’TCARE.
Hey, Yuma, you do know that it makes you look terrible when you interrupt the narrative?
YES.
Okay.
The moment Yuma sees Fuma crack a toothy smile, she knows it’s over. Little by little, the bits and pieces of Nico-nee-chan scattered around Nya-Nya Dreamy Café are being stored into cardboard boxes, to be left in the tiny storage closet beside the white-tiled kitchen nook. Not completely gone, yet will eventually be forgotten. So, there’s really no difference. Yuma’s nose twitches and she shivers despite the heater being cranked all the way up.
She puts herself in timeout and trudges to the back of the cafe in an attempt to wash away all the anti-Nico energy plaguing her thoughts. The dirty dishes stacked on top of one another placed neatly in the far corner of the sink are calling her name. Well, it’s either taking care of that or listening to Nico-replacer, so she nabs the yellow sponge and dishwashing liquid from their caddy, albeit a bit too begrudgingly.
“Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid,” Yuma mumbles to herself, violently scrubbing bits of stuck pancake crumbs off a colorful ceramic plate. The stupid one in question is up for debate. She lets a big huff of air out, blowing her choppy bangs in all sorts of ways.
Akasaka Bo is gonna get what she deserves.
Psst, Yuma, it’s actually “Asakura Jo.”
…
Asakura Jo is gonna get what she deserves.
—
As it turns out, getting employed isn’t as hard as Jo’s mom had warned her about. It was only a random Wednesday afternoon when she passed by a café with a big blue “HIRING” plastered on their glass window while taking a detour to campus.
The moment she saw the adorable Maine Coon by the windowsill, something in her moved tectonically. He’s the fluffy version of Mint, was her amazing revelation. Best believe that half-empty resume was typed out and printed within the same day. What can she say? She’s a simple girl.
It’s a miracle she even got hired in the first place. Never been employed before. No experience in customer service. Needs detailed instructions on how to turn the stove on (it’s a griddle with a single button and crank to adjust the temperature). But she guesses this new opportunity has something to do with the gray Shorthair that approached her during her interview, as weird as that sounds. Thanks, Maron!
All’s a-okay here at Nya-Nya Dreamy Café. It’s everything Jo could’ve asked for. The walk on the way there from the train station isn’t bad. Her shift fits perfectly within her university schedule. Pay is decent. And she gets to play with cats all day? Hey, someone pinch her.
There’s only one glaring problem, though. Literally. Because her coworker won’t stop glaring at her from across the café when Jo’s just clumsily trying to navigate the POS system by the counter like an absolute noob.
Nakakita Yuma-san is an enigma. Jo isn’t too good at reading people. A match made in hell. Yuma keeps her cards close to her chest for reasons unknown, and Jo starts to wonder if she’s done anything wrong. Stepped on any tails. Ruffled any feathers. Actually, “ruffled any fur” would be the appropriate phrase in this situation.
Their first meeting was a bust. Of course, Fuma-tenchou was kind enough to introduce the both of them to each other. But when Jo stuck her hand out for Yuma’s, she was left to shake the air like an odd try at a mime act. At that exact moment, all she wanted to do was go back home, pull Mint into her arms, and stare at the wall for a few hours.
Maybe enigma isn’t the word to describe Yuma. Nothing about her is particularly mysterious. Her face gives away everything, like she can’t contain her disdain for anything Jo does or says. It’s even worse when Jo actually gets something right, because what will it take for Yuma to wipe that scowl from her face? She’s cute. Scarily beautiful, even. But that look of contempt permanently plastered on her face makes Jo forget.
Jo makes an effort to start small talk with her. Mindless chatter about the weather, pointing out funny things about the cats, double checking orders with Yuma just for the sake of talking to her, trying to subdue the other’s detestation that manifested out of thin air.
When Fuma-tenchou leaves the both of them to close up on Thursday, the silence, save for the sound of squeaky clean dishes, is borderline unbearable. Their elbows bump against each other awkwardly as Jo sorts all the freshly washed plates by size and color.
“I dunno why yer doing that, by the way,” Yuma says out of the blue.
“…Doing what?” Breathing? Blinking? Standing too close to her? It could be anything at this point.
“Arranging ‘em by color.” Yuma punctuates her sentence by handing over the last dish. “Nico-nee-chan never did that,” she adds under her breath. Then, Yuma pulls the dishwashing gloves off to toss them aside somewhere other than the appropriate caddy.
Jo looks down at the fruits of her labor. “Ah. Sorry.” She gives Yuma a small, apologetic bow.
“S’fine.”
“Actually, Yuma—Nakakita-san,” Jo coughs out, “I was wondering.”
”…Hm?”
Man, Jo really doesn’t do well with taking the lead during conversations, but it’s not like she has a choice. “We go to the same university,” she simply states, mentally facepalming when she catches onto Yuma’s disinterest.
“Yeah, we do.”
If this torturous back-and-forth is what it takes for them to become congenial with one another, then so be it. “What, um… What is your major?”
As Yuma unties her apron, she sighs. “Interior Design.”
“Ah. I’m in Fine Arts. Painting.”
“Really.”
“Yes.” This conversation is drier than the chicken Jo had in her konbini salad this morning. She’s trying hard to maintain the honorifics—after all, Yuma is still her senior when it comes to working in the café despite them being the same age. “Do you live close by?” Jo follows Yuma out to the counter area like a lost duckling.
“No. I take the train to school.”
Jo knows that. They ended up on the same morning train once or twice, though she didn’t bother to at least wave to the other girl amidst the morning rush hour crowd. She probably wouldn't’ve appreciated that anyway.
“I live around the area.”
“Really.”
“Yes.”
Yuma locks the register and slings her book bag over her tousled hair. “I’m going ahead. Don’t forget to dim the lights on your way out. Lock the gate too. See ya.” She kicks up a trail of dust on her speedy way out the door. And with that, Yuma disappears into the night.
Jo has no idea. She really doesn’t.
When she gets home, Mint is there to greet her by the entryway, letting out a content mreooow when Jo crouches down to scratch her ear. “I’m home,” Jo says with a smile and as routine, her mom replies from the kitchen as she prepares their supper. Jo gingerly cradles Mint in her arms and heads straight to her room at the end of the short hallway.
She’s not gonna stare at the wall this time to process today’s events. Instead, she talks to Mint curled up in her lap as she spins around on her screaky desk chair.
“Mint. Can I tell you something?”
“Meow.”
Jo bites her lip before continuing. “I have a problem.”
No answer from Mint this time. He’s processing. Maybe.
“It’s about my coworker. I think she hates me. I don’t know.” Saying it out loud feels weird. She struggled with realizing how bad everything’s been before the words finally escaped her. And Jo’s never been in this situation before so, like, she’s beyond lost. She doesn’t even talk this much normally, to cats nor to humans. “Did I do something to upset her? I know I’m not really good with the register, so…”
“Meow?”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
“Meow.”
“I wish I could read her mind. I don’t know what she’s thinking half the time.”
Jo has been people-watching ever since she exited the womb. Basic human-to-human interaction isn’t something that came naturally to her as it did with the majority of the population. Her adolescence was spent observing behavioral patterns, typical conversation starters, appropriate facial expressions, the signature “I don’t get the joke” laugh—constituents of surviving the Wild West of having a social life.
Fun fact, she learned about “the weather is perfect today” conversation starter from the jolly guy who always sat beside her in the lecture hall during her freshman year. Jo tried that on Yuma and, well, safe to say Yuma didn’t care about the sky having just the right amount of clouds blocking the sun. This absolutely crushed Jo. All the other people love weather talk.
Hm.
Hmmm…
This can only mean one thing.
Nakakita Yuma isn’t “other people.” She’s…
“Meow.”
Yes! Exactly!
If she can’t figure Yuma out, then she must be approaching her the wrong way. The human way. Jo grabs a notebook from her desk and gets to work. She quickly scribbles a title with her mechanical pencil in hiragana:
“Nakakita Yuma…”
She hesitates before sticking with it.
“…Is a Cat?”
Bingo.
—
yuu-chan 🐱
psst
are you still awake?
nico-nee-chan 🫶
heyyy
whats up?
yuu-chan 🐱
can we facetime
pleaseeeeeeee
It takes a few minutes before Yuma’s phone vibrates. She sits up and leans against her headboard, putting her hair into a ponytail before answering the call.
“‘Sup?”
Nico rolls her eyes and laughs. She looks like she’s at home too. “What do you mean ‘sup?’ You’re the one who asked to facetime.”
Oh yeah. “So there’s a new girl at work.”
“Eh? That’s great!”
“Not exactly.”
A concerned frown forms on Nico’s lips and it sends a wave of guilt up Yuma’s spine. “Why? Is she treating you badly? Bullying you? Send me her name and I’ll—“
“No, no.” Yuma runs a hand through her bangs, not knowing how to explain the shit she’s in. She also has no idea how bad Nico’s gonna take the information she’s about to drop. The last thing she wants is to feel even more distanced from her favorite person in the world when they’re already miles apart as is. “I feel bad. Terrible. She’s perfect and great and nice. I’m the asshole here.”
“Yuu-chan… What happened?”
“Don’t hate me.”
Nico shakes her head. “You know I could never.”
“I dunno how to explain it. It’s like— It’s like I’m jealous of her, but I’m not. She’s a hard worker, she’s polite, she picks things up in one go. Fuma-tenchou really likes her. I mean, Fuma-tenchou likes me too obviously, so m’not sure why I can’t bring myself to accept— Accept that she’s… um… nevermind.”
“Just say it. I won’t judge.”
Yuma closes her eyes and sighs. “She’s replacing you.”
“Yuu-chan,” Nico says softly, “You’re so cute.”
“I AM NOT.”
“She’s not gonna replace me. She’s her own person, Yuma. You really need to get used to meeting new people.” Nico shakes her head. “What’s her name anyway?”
“Erm. Jo. Asakura Jo.”
“Oh? Juju, oh my gosh,” Nico says, face moving offscreen.
Juju? “Is Euijoo-nee-san there with you?”
Euijoo’s humongous eyeballs pop up on Yuma’s screen. Jumpscare. “Did you just say Asakura Jo?”
“Yeah? No, wait, are both of you in Taiwan?”
Nico nabs the phone from Euijoo and sets it down against her bedside lamp so that the both of them are in frame. It takes quite a bit of adjusting for her to avoid the device from slipping and sliding against the coated hardwood table. “Yep! I took her with me to meet the family.”
“Jojo… I really miss her.” Euijoo’s mind wanders. Based on the look on her face, they must’ve had some history together. Who would’ve thought? “I miss you too, Yuma! But, wow, Jo… What a coincidence.”
“So you know her?” Yuma tilts her head, absolutely befuddled. Small world. Tiny, microscopic world…
“Yup. She was my underclassman when I was in the ufology circle!”
What the hell is a ufology circle? “Ha?”
“Like, UFO. We talked about UFOs and aliens. Stuff like that. She was really nice! And she liked talking about the weather a lot. I can’t believe she’s actually working in the café right now. It must be so fun having her around!”
“Heh.”
“Anyway, please say hi to her for me. And treat her well.”
Nico rests her head on Euijoo’s shoulder. “You heard her, Yuu-chan. Make things right between the both of you.” Then, Nico drops the call, leaving Yuma to stare at her own stunned state through the black screen.
The universe is playing one big trick on her, it seems. It needs to cut it out before Yuma absolutely crashes out. But the more she thinks about it, the more she can step back to see the bigger picture. So big that it almost slaps her in the face with how obvious everything is. There is absolutely nothing Jo has done to warrant this sort of hostility. Yuma had been unfair. She realizes that now. Jo being Euijoo-nee-san’s friend makes things ten times worse. Yuma wishes she could dig a hole and just hide in it forever.
The next work day comes faster than she hoped it would. Yuma clocks in with big, black eyebags the size of wild leeches purely from staying up until dawn because of this flawed philosophy: If I don’t sleep, tomorrow won’t come. And if tomorrow doesn’t come, I won’t have to see Jo and swallow my ego to apologize to her. A severe miscalculation on Yuma’s end. Time waits for no one, even when you beg the world to consume you whole.
“Mornin’, Fuma-tenchou.” Yuma nods at her boss who is currently hunched over a laptop by the counter. She sets her bag down and takes a look. “What’re you doin’?”
“There’s a discrepancy between yesterday’s sales and stocks,” Fuma-tenchou says, a finger over her lips as she scans through a spreadsheet full of numbers, numbers, and—you guessed it—numbers . “Yuma, who was in charge of manning the register yesterday?”
“Um.” The obvious answer is Jo, but Yuma fidgets. Fuma-tenchou can get seriously scary when she’s mad. She’s not sure if Jo’s ready to be subjected to that kind of horror. “Uhmmm.”
Fuma-tenchou exhales and her expression softens. “Was it Jo?”
“M’not gonna say it wasn’t Jo…”
“Right. Okay.” Tenchou clasps her hands together. “Remember when I told you to teach her how to remove double orders? Did you do that?”
Great, so now it’s Yuma’s fault. Maybe if she weren’t too focused on scaring Jo away during their first week of working together, then she would’ve had all the time in the world to give the other girl a step-by-step tutorial on the ins and outs of the POS system instead of just telling her to “press the correct buttons” because “it’s just like playing cashier as a kid.” So, yeah, it pretty much is Yuma’s fault.
Fuma-tenchou takes the cartoonishly large droplet of sweat dripping down Yuma’s temple as an answer. “That’s your agenda for the day. The both of you need to communicate more. We’re a team now. You need to get used to Nico not being around, Yuma.”
Yuma doesn’t respond because somehow, Tenchou is always right. She’s able to read Yuma like a book, which both works in Yuma’s favor and disservice. There’s no sneaking around her. She’s got eyes in the back of her head like some kind of biblically accurate angel.
A few minutes before their afternoon opening time, Jo arrives and greets everyone with a thirty-degree bow. “Good morning,” she cleanly enunciates, not making eye contact with anyone in particular. Yuma watches as she sets her book bag right beside hers. It’s a neat, dark-brown leather satchel bag adorned with a few keychains, an interesting contrast against Yuma’s bright pink messenger bag that has seen better days.
Yuma braces herself to finally reply to Jo. Yes, the weather is great today, she rehearses in her head when their eyes meet.
But to her surprise, Jo gives her a polite smile and directly heads for the apron hung over the wooden pegs on the wall right behind her. No other words. No usual small talk. Just straight to business.
Something is wrong. Yuma fears that she’s pushed it too far this time. She broke Asakura Jo.
Fuma-tenchou emerges from the kitchen after pre-mixing today’s batch of pancake batter. “Oh, Jo. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Tenchou. Forecast predicts light snowing today.”
So she isn’t completely broken.
“Ah, really? We need to turn the heating up, then. Thank you for the heads up, Jo.”
Yuma’s brain starts working overtime. No, ugh, shit. She doesn’t even have to think any further. The only sensible conclusion to draw out of this is that Jo gave up on her. There’s really no use in trying to befriend someone that wants nothing to do with you. And Yuma’s made it pretty clear that she wants nothing to do with Jo. Looks like the past two weeks are coming back to bite her in the ass.
It’s back to dead silence when Tenchou disappears again. As the two employees wait for the usual customers to come in, Jo makes herself busy by picking dirt out of Tapioca’s fur right by the cat tower near the window. Yuma watches Jo closely, how her light-pink lips twist into a shy grin as the cat purrs from her gentle touch. Her hair is done up in a bun today, too. It’s the first time Yuma has seen wisps of hair messily poking out from the base of Jo’s neck, her unpierced ears, the delicate curve of her jaw, the subtle blush creeping across her cheeks—Stop staring, you idiot!
Yuma bursts into a coughing fit and she definitely thinks she’s dying. Or she’s the one who’s broken. She’s long overdue for her annual doctor’s appointment anyway.
“Yuma. You okay?” Fuma-tenchou shouts from the kitchen.
It takes a swig of warm water for her to fully compose herself. “M’good. Yeah. Great.” She can see Jo pretend to not notice a thing but she’s not entirely sure if she should be extremely pissed at the lack of concern or jumping for joy that she wasn’t just caught checking Jo out like a girl-crazy fiend.
The rest of the day continues like any other, but before the both of them pack up and clean the litter box up as part of their closing duties, Yuma timidly beckons Jo over. Of course, Jo is surprised.
“Sorry.” Yuma, what the hell are you apologizing for?! “Fuma-tenchou told me to, uh, help ya out with the POS. Yeah.”
“Ah. Okay. I’ll be in your care, Nakakita-san.”
Yuma’s face contorts because why isn’t Jo grabbing her by the collar and yelling at her for not teaching her properly in the first place? Now the both of them have to work overtime when they most likely have more important student-things to tend to! Maron makes an effort to jump onto the counter to watch because it’s clear that she likes seeing Yuma suffer.
“Gimme your hand. It’ll make things faster.”
Before the both of them can process, Yuma has Jo’s hand in hers as she guides her to the buttons on the screen. Jo is cold. Colder than Yuma ever imagined her to be. She tells her about the double order issue from yesterday and carefully leads Jo to press the big “edit quantity” button on the lower left of the screen. They’re so impossibly close to each other, no one would expect that they’ve never once had a non-work related conversation prior to this.
Yuma can hear Jo’s hitched breaths every time Yuma’s thumb accidentally rubs against her skin. She can’t help herself. Jo is the softest thing she’s ever touched. It’s like her skin hasn’t been blemished at all—as if any miscalculated graze can damage her. She’s tempted to feel more.
“Um. Nakakita-san?”
Yuma shakes herself out of a trance. “My bad.”
Jo withdraws her hand from Yuma’s warmth. “Thank you. For teaching me.” She adds awkwardly, “I didn’t know.”
Of course you didn’t. That’s all on me. Why are you always so damn nice?
“Yeah. No prob.”
Maron meows and Yuma sticks her tongue out in retaliation, discreetly so that Jo doesn’t catch her.
—
The first step to befriending a grumpy cat is to not befriend the grumpy cat in question. Ignore the cat. Let the feline play by themself, eat by themself, do whatever they want to do. Do not bother them. Wait for them to come to you, then let the magic happen on its own.
So far, Jo’s self-made guide is working. It’s terrifyingly accurate. She must’ve been a cat in a past life.
She didn’t anticipate things to move so quickly. After all, it was only yesterday night that she finished her three-page research paper on her coworker, as strange as that sounds out of context. Mint acted as her adviser, meowing here and there when Jo would make a mistake on her thorough analysis on cat psychology. Who better to guide you on your study about cats’ social norms than an actual cat?
This now leads her to phase two. Lure the cat in with little treats and trinkets.
Jo comes to work later than usual—a rescheduled afternoon lecture is to blame—holding a bag of multicolored fruit jellies. After putting her work apron on, she sneaks her hand into the plastic and reaches for a peach-flavored one, sliding it across the counter towards Yuma’s direction. Yuma, who had been idling around while monitoring customers prior to Jo’s arrival, side-eyes the candy.
Her heart skips a little when Yuma checks the little treat out, suspicious. She’s a cat. Oh, she’s definitely a cat!
“The heck is this?” At this point, Jo is used to Yuma’s naturally abrasive way of speaking. She doesn’t take it too personally.
That’s just the way Yuma is. Always on edge. Never letting her guard down. If Yuma’s the biting cold of the winter, then Jo’s the fluffy snow that comes with it. The black coffee to her green tea. The kiki to her bouba.
Yet, somehow, neither of them have realized that this polarity is ultimately what draws them together in the first place. Forever cursed to collide.
“For you,” Jo says with a nod, “Fruit jelly.”
Yuma stares at Jo then hesitantly takes the candy, reading the package before ripping it open and popping it into her mouth. After a few chews, she swallows slowly and her body deflates, cheeks puffing out to form a pout. “Thanks.”
Jo slides her another one. This time, it’s apple flavored. She doesn’t get to see Yuma cutely chomp down on the little thing though because a customer’s calling her over to order another plate of Biscoff pancakes, Fuma-tenchou’s special menu.
Another day, she goes from jellies to a box of homemade cookies (baked by Jo’s mom!). Fuma-tenchou’s the first one to ask for a bite, while Yuma stands by the side to watch her hungrily devour a palm-sized cookie with just two mouthfuls. She could’ve done one, but apparently she wanted to savor the snack.
“Nakakita-san.” Jo offers her the one with the most chocolate chips. She accepts it less reluctantly than before, although her face is beet red.
“Thank you.”
Yuma approaches her more nowadays, whether it’s to shyly ask for help with opening a fresh tub of popping boba or to request Jo to take over trimming Maron’s overgrown nails. Jo finds herself smiling like a fool when she gets home, giddily reporting Yuma tidbits to Mint. Like how cute it is when Yuma’s feet faintly thump against the floor when she’s embarrassed. How she quietly mumbles a slurred “thank you” while never failing to blush every single time. Is it weird to be this fond of someone?
On her way to campus on a chilly Tuesday morning, she passes by an old stationery shop she’s never noticed before. The brick building, inlaid and stained with age, boasts a teetering, spinning metal display rack right outside filled with accessories and trinkets of different colors. Jo decides that she has time to spare, so she takes a look.
There’s keychains of every kind—a plush cow, bejeweled cherries, a hamburger with a happy face. But one in particular catches Jo’s eye. It’s a calico cat with a little tooth poking out of the corner of her mouth and a tiny golden bell attached to her red weaved strap. Jo takes the keychain and quickly pays for it using the three hundred-yen coins she scavenged from the bottom of her book bag. Lucky!
Would it be strange to hand it to Yuma right as she enters the café? Probably. She keeps it in the pocket of her skirt for the rest of her shift, the bell lightly tinkling with every step she takes.
When Fuma-tenchou leaves the both of them to tuck the cats in and close the store up again, Yuma doesn’t go ahead to leave first. Instead, she waits for Jo instead of running off to catch the train like she always used to do. They get outside after making sure the heater is on and the lights are dimmed, then Jo hops up to grab a hold of the storefront gate, pulling it down with ease.
Yuma passes her the key with her gloved hands. Jo crouches down on one knee to secure the lock to the ground, then tugs on it twice to make sure.
“Good work t’day,” Yuma says, voice muffled from the checkered scarf bundled around her neck and chin. She has her hands shoved into her winter coat, fingers playing with a newly opened disposable heat pack. Today is colder than usual. “I’ll see ya.” Yuma turns to head to the station.
“Wait, Nakakita-san!”
The other girl turns around. “What is it?”
Jo fumbles as she digs into her pocket, sifting through loose change, lint, and discarded receipts. She grabs a hold of the familiar shape of a round kitty. “Um. Here!” The cat keychain is dangling in between the both of them and all Yuma can do is stare at it dumbfoundedly. “It’s for you.” Jo braces herself for whatever smart comment Yuma has about her silly little gift.
Yuma doesn’t say anything, though. She pulls her right glove off and takes the keychain, examining it under the glow of a nearby streetlight.
Does she hate it? I shouldn’t’ve bought it—
“Hey.”
Jo perks up and exhales shakily, a puff of vapor clouding her sight for a split second.
Any person with ears can hear the grin in Yuma’s voice. “S’this supposed to be me?”
“…Yeah.”
A silence falls in between them while Jo stares at Yuma swiftly hooking the cat onto her bag’s carabiner. “I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Jo.”
It’s the first time she’s ever addressed Jo by her name. Jo’s heart flutters and her stomach painfully twists and turns—this feeling definitely has a name that Jo can’t place at the moment, but when she looks at Yuma’s flushed face and eyes refusing to meet hers, she somehow has an inkling of what it could be. They need to part ways before Jo’s knees give out.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Nakakita-san.”
“Yuma,” she replies, “Just Yuma is fine.”
Jo’s eyes widen and she’s stuck in place. She bites the inside of her cheek before she tries it out. “Then, I’ll see you, Yuma.” It sounds wrong, so foreign. But it feels just right.
When she gets home, she greets her mom and heads straight for Mint to give him the rundown of today’s events. The poor cat is probably sick of it at this point, but who else can Jo confide in?
They’re both sprawled out on the bed with Mint laying down on Jo’s chest. She absentmindedly pats Mint as she tells him about Yuma this Yuma that.
“She said my name, Mint. Can you believe that?” Yuma has finally bid goodbye to “newbie,” “hey you over there,” and the good ol’ “Asakura.”
“Mrmmm.” That’s Mint’s sleepy meow.
“She… She said ‘Jo.’”
No rough edges. No spite. No hint of diffidence either. Yuma said it loud and clear. The syllable still rings clearly in Jo’s ears, just like the calico’s golden bell. Her chest burns with excitement and curiosity, and she wonders if Yuma feels the same—exhilarated from the snowballing feeling of like.
“Tenchou,” Yuma approaches Fuma the next week before a shift starts, “I, uh, I need ta clock out early today. Gotta get some studying done but the university library closes right when we do.”
Fuma-tenchou raises an eyebrow, not that opposed to the idea. It’s near finals week and she expected this much from her employees. “Is that so? You don’t study at home?”
Yuma scratches the back of her head with a tightlipped, apologetic smile on her face. “The fam doesn’t really know what the word ‘quiet' means. I focus better in silent places. Heh.”
“If that’s the case, then it should be fine.” But, Tenchou’s lips twist in concern. “Hopefully there won't be an influx of customers tonight. That would be tough on Jo.”
“Ah. You’re right.” Yuma’s shoulders sink as visions of the kitchen catching fire and the blender exploding race through her head.
Phase three of the plan. A big, bright lightbulb appears on top of Jo’s head as the girl eavesdrops from the corner of the café where she’s cleaning gunk out of Aki’s ears. She swiftly flips through her mental file cabinet to look for the third chapter of her study. If her memory serves her correctly, the last step to befriending a cat is to… provide them with a safe environment where they can thrive and feel safe! Jo needs to get some studying done too so this situation is more than perfect.
Jo gets one last piece of dirt out of Aki’s ear before she pitter patters over like a penguin. “Nakakita-san—” she stops herself, “ Yuma . Um, would you like to come over to study later…? I live close by and—”
“Oh yeah. You told me.”
She remembers!
Fuma-tenchou’s eyes dart between the both of them, not too sure when the two of them became buddy-buddy but she’s not complaining. “Then, Yuma…?”
With the expectant raise of her eyebrows, Jo tilts her head. “It’s quiet at home,” she adds, selling her offer even more.
…
“S-Sure. Thanks.”
Woohoo!
So now here they are, setting their bags down on Jo’s bedroom floor while Mint rubs the side of his head against Yuma’s leg like a diplomatic cat welcome. Jo’s mom barges into the room with a plate of expertly cut bunny apples and two glasses of juice then sets them down on the low table the two girls are huddled over. She gives Jo a knowing nod before closing the door behind her.
“Sorry, again, for the intrusion. I must’ve surprised the kitty.” Yuma rocks back and forth as she sits crossed legged right across Jo, unsure if it would be polite to grab a bite of the perfect-looking apple slices.
“No worries. Mint likes people.” The secret is, Jo’s never invited anyone over, so she has no idea if that’s true. She pushes the plate towards Yuma, eliciting a light shrrrk from the ceramic sliding against wood. “Is sitting on the floor okay? Do you need a pillow?”
“M’fine. The floor is… soft.”
It really isn’t, but Jo takes that at face value anyway. They both start laying their textbooks and notes out on the small table, so cramped that the spine of Jo’s Art History 2 book immediately bumps into Yuma’s Fundamentals of Space Planning spread out opposite her. Ironic title.
In the middle of creating her flashcards, Yuma glances up to see what Jo’s up to.
“I didn’t know ya had to study all that for Fine Arts.”
Jo meets her gaze, caught off guard by the unexpected comment. Yuma’s initiating a conversation. She puts her gray highlighter down beside her notepad. “Ah. Yes—Yeah. We’re having a theoretical exam for one of my classes.”
Yuma crunches down on an apple slice. “Ya good with exams?” she asks, munching and munching.
“They’re okay,” Jo laughs softly, hands instinctively reaching to pet Mint sleeping on her lap. “How about you?”
A lazy shrug. “Eh. Could be better. I don’t really like this course.” She uses her mechanical pencil to tap the page header. “Like, space planning is so… bleh.”
Another small laugh escapes Jo. “That’s a foundational course for Interior Design, though.” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth before adding, “Is it fun? Your major?”
“Not really.” Yuma leans back and rests her weight on her arms. “Dunno why I took it up in the first place. S’not a good fit for me, I think.”
Jo purses her lips, wondering what the appropriate response would be. She fully knows Yuma would hate to be pitied, and one thing Jo wouldn’t want to be is patronizing.
But it’s like Yuma can see right through her, because she immediately follows up with, “It’s not that I’m saying that to make you feel bad, ‘kay? Ya don’t have to feel sorry, Jo.”
“Yuma.”
“What?”
Jo catches herself and slaps a hand over her own mouth. “Sorry,” she mutters, “I was—I was just thinking about, um, how we’re using each other’s names more often now.” She shifts her gaze to a picture of an old man printed in black and white on her textbook just to avoid looking at Yuma. “Is that weird? Ignore me.”
“Jo.”
“…Hm?”
“ Jo .”
“…”
The corner of Yuma’s lip curves up, exposing her little tooth. “Do you like it when people say your name?”
Jo blushes furiously and nods, both of her hands now covering her whole face. Not other people—I just like you. Something in her stirs violently and she feels a warmth spread across her abdomen like droplets of watercolor on damp paper.
Yuma coughs, eyes shifty but slightly amused. “Okay. I’ll make sure ta use it often.”
All Jo can think about is how their knees keep rubbing against each other, and how she can feel Yuma twiddle her toes under her borrowed fluffy socks from the sheer proximity. Also, come to find out, Yuma smells a lot like caramel when they’re not surrounded by the smell of cat litter and butter-coated pancakes. Jo nods to herself. She’s learning a lot about Yuma. Not enough about the history of abstract expressionism though.
They spend the next thirty minutes in a comfortable silence, memorizing key terms and repeating short phrases under their breaths. However, co-studying proves to be ineffective when Yuma peeps at Jo again and nudges her with the tip of her electric eraser.
“Hey.” Then she turns it on to start erasing Jo’s skin for shits and giggles. Why the hell not.
“Ow.” Jo giggles at the sensation, not pulling her hand away.
“Heeey.”
“Hm?”
Yuma drops the eraser and rests her chin in the middle of her open book with a loud huff. “M’bored.”
“Okay.”
“…Hey.”
Again? “Is something on your mind, Yuma?”
It takes a few seconds before she responds. There’s clearly something bothering her. Jo can see her chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Were you, um… Did I scare ya back then? When you first started?”
“No. Not really.”
Yuma’s head rolls sideways, and now her left cheek is melting onto a picture of a living room diagram. “That’s good.”
“But…” Jo’s lips twist as she picks her words with utmost care, “I thought you didn’t want me there. And that scared me. Does that count?”
“Um, yeah! Of course it does, dummy.” Yuma frowns as she mindlessly plays with a dog-eared textbook page. “I am the worst coworker ever. Draaaat.”
Jo hesitates yet her hand moves on its own to brush Yuma’s unruly bangs out of her eyes. Her fingers linger on the strands of blonde, however she retracts them when sees Yuma staring straight into her, starry eyed, expecting. “You’re not the worst,” Jo says, almost like an attempt at a distraction from what just happened.
“It’s just… I kinda felt shitty after Nico-nee-chan resigned. I wasn’t myself, ya know?”
Nico-nee-chan? That’s certainly a new character for Jo. “Do you like her?”
Alarmed—flabbergasted, even—Yuma sits straight up and forms a large X with her arms. “NO! Not like that! Oh my gosh. No. Nooo way.”
Hm…
To be honest, Jo didn’t even know she was into girls before she met Yuma. Heck, she didn’t know she would be into anyone her whole life, really. But based on Yuma’s reaction, maybe she isn’t like Jo, or whatever Jo thinks she herself is. Yuma looks almost offended at the question. That makes Jo’s stomach kinda hurt.
“Was that not a good thing to ask?”
“No. S’fine.” Yuma returns to resting her face on the table. “I think I might’ve overreacted there,” she mumbles.
Jo reaches for the last apple slice and feeds it to Yuma, an action so terribly intimate yet strangely like second nature. Jo puts jagged pieces together as her fingers delicately brush against the other girl’s cherry-red lips: Yuma needs to be fed. Yuma needs to be pampered. Yuma needs to be complimented. Yuma needs to be taken care of .
Except Yuma isn’t really a cat. She’s got everything that makes a cat, well, a cat —piercing eyes, the cutest upturned lips, questionable displays of affection—but she isn’t. She isn’t like all the other weather-loving people Jo’s encountered either. Yuma is Yuma in her own Yuma way, and by God, that simple conclusion absolutely blows Jo and her three-parter paper away. Sorry for wasting your efforts, Mint.
It comes as no surprise when Yuma eventually falls asleep after borrowing Jo’s bed to “take a five minute break” because apparently, she learned about the Pomodoro Technique from a random online forum somewhere. She snores erratically, drooling onto Jo’s oversized onigiri plush she got as a goodbye gift from Euijoo.
Jo is observing her from her seat when she pulls a pencil out, lightly sketching a vague figure in the corner of one of her flashcards. Her eyes flicker between her work and her subject, making careful strokes as her gaze traces over every line and angle of Yuma’s slumbering face. It doesn’t take her long, and it doesn’t take too much work either. Those familiar lines and angles are etched into Jo’s mind, marked callowly like a pair of lovers’ initials on a wooden school desk.
That night, she leaves the lamp on for Yuma and trudges to the living room couch to catch some well-needed sleep.
—
Something terribly homosexual just happened during Yuma’s short stay at the Asakura household. So deeply, undeniably homo. Girls-kissing-girls type of stuff. Wait, no one kissed anyone , but holy shit, she so badly wanted to the exact moment her lips came into contact with Jo’s neatly manicured fingers. Everyone and their moms know about Yuma being quite fond of other girls—it’s not as if she hides it—but this takes her way back. The feeling of hesitance, like she’s second guessing her own want. Not knowing up from down, wrong from right. Yuma’s back to her fourteen-year-old self. Greedy. Confused. All things juvenile.
What the actual fuck was in those apples?
Everything from the morning after had been some of the most humiliating moments of her life. She didn’t even shower that night and probably stinked like doodoo. The sheer panic on her face when she woke up in a bed she didn’t immediately recognize with a random cat making biscuits on her stomach—oh God, it almost sent her into cardiac arrest. Yuma thought the aliens finally got to her and somehow transported her into a cleaner, easier-on-the-eyes version of her bedroom.
The rest of the events were a blur. They ate breakfast and parted ways once they got to campus. Yuma freezes when she passes by a mirrored wall on the way to her exam. Am I wearing Jo’s shirt… and jeans? That girl owns a pair of jeans?! They’re baggy and altogether too long for her humble little limbs. She really has no recollection of changing into different clothes, a mild dissociation that might’ve been caused by an abrupt second gay awakening.
She tries not to trip over her trousers on the way inside the exam hall and pathetically forget everything she’s half-learned last night. It’s just one hour of her life. It can’t be that bad.
Oh, but it was that bad. Yuma can’t stop thinking about things.
Like, what was Jo trying to imply when she asked her about Nico? Well, was she implying anything in the first place? Jo always says what she means and means what she says. So… Perhaps… She was jealous?
Heh. Haha—No, Yuma! Stop being delusional! Just a little is okay once in a while, but don’t overdo it. Quick, what does POE stand for again? There’s only ten minutes left. Darn it all.
The last five questions of Yuma’s exam are left unanswered and she walks out of that exam feeling worse than she did when she started it. All that and she still can’t get Jo’s irritatingly perfect face out of her head.
There is definitely something up with that girl and how she always manages to confuse the hell out of Yuma without even trying. Jo takes care of her in the quietest ways even when Yuma isn’t looking, like when she would come home and find a folded note secretly shoved into her bag with an insanely good portrait of one of the café cats. Or that other time when Yuma coughed literally once and found a throat lozenge on the counter after coming back from clearing a table. It’s the tiny details that drive her crazy. She’s falling for Asakura Jo and it makes her wanna rip her eyebrow hairs out.
Thank God Fuma-tenchou decided to close the store up for the rest of the exam week. If Yuma has to be within that girl’s five-foot radius later today and only be allowed to talk about a customer’s follow up Dreamy Vanilla Bean Frappe, she thinks she might actually do something drastic to the shitty coffee machine that urgently needs to be deep cleaned.
Why did it have to be Jo? Out of all the people? One moment Yuma’s plotting her downfall, and the next she’s sitting in a public restroom stall with her head in her hands because Jo’s shirt smells so much like her . She’s way past her bitterness against Jo, but she never realized how far she’s really gotten or how deep the pit has been getting. Is this what liking someone feels like? Has it always been this consuming?
It’s terrible and confusing, but she doesn’t hate it. If it’s Jo, she can’t. Ever.
“I need ta die,” she whispers to herself as she hurriedly scrolls through her contact list. Let’s hope Nico isn’t too against the idea of being cold called at ten in the morning (she will probably detest it!). Yuma bites her nails and brings the phone up to her ear, and it rings.
Five rings later and Nico’s groggy voice comes through like a ray of hope. “Hello…”
“Nico-nee-chan. God. Help.”
“Hrhhrmhrm,” the girl on the other end of the line slurs. Translation: What happened?
“I like a girl.”
“...And you need help with that?”
“Kinda. Yes. Absolutely.”
She can hear the tussling of Nico’s bed sheets as she sits up to get her brain to function properly. “Advice? Or do you want me to fly over to be your wingman?”
“Err, advice.” Yuma whispers the next part when she hears someone enter the stall beside hers, “How, uh, how did you and Euijoo-nee-san… you know?” She gestures with her free hand.
“Hey, girl, are you in the restroom? Why does your audio sound so echoey?”
“I am but s’not the point! How d’ya know you liked each other? Like, what happened from point A to point B…”
Nico pauses to think. “It just happened. I don’t know.” Of course she’d say that.
Great. We’re fucked.
No, Yuma, only you are.
OKAY.
To her dismay, she doesn’t see Jo again for the remainder of exam season. Straight-up mental torture. Sure, she got to focus a bit more on her three final presentations and one project proposal defense, but Jo still stays in the back of her head like her used clothes that are draped over a chair in the corner of Yuma’s bedroom, standing there menacingly like a really pretty Babadook. It sucks because Yuma never realized they literally have no contact with each other outside of working at the café. No number. No email. No Line account. Snail mail is definitely an option but she doesn’t have Jo’s written address either. She only vaguely remembers the short walk to her house from the station.
On the train home from her last requirement of the semester, Yuma leans against the glass partition with her bag held closely to her chest. As the tracks make a subtle round and the carriage shakes, the trinkets on her bag jingle-jangle as their metal chains scratch against one another. The sound of the golden bell rings through. That goofy-looking calico.
Yuma frowns when she examines the little cat. A pang of guilt hits her real hard in her abdomen because, geez, what has she ever done for Jo? She takes and takes and takes whatever is offered to her without stopping once to think. Maybe she really is just a spoiled little thing. But she doesn’t want to be doted on forever. She’s no cat.
That may come as a surprise to some. Or one.
Anyhow, she spends her free days stuck at home, rolling around the tatami flooring like a steaming convenience store hotdog. Her mom thinks she’s gone loco crazy. She insists it’s the separation anxiety. Two things can be true at the same time.
Yuma totally has no excuse to go see Jo right now. She’s not too certain if Jo wants to see her either. Confessing your freakishly undying love to someone you just met, like, a month ago isn’t a good agenda for a casual term break meeting. Wait, ugh, shit. She’s forgetting one of the most important things to consider. Does Jo even like girls?
So many goddamn problems. None of which being under the warm kotatsu rewatching Bocchi the Rock! can solve.
When Monday arrives, she has to drag herself out of bed. Before she departs for Nya-Nya Dreamy Café, she makes sure to take the now-washed clothes in a used Christmas gift bag that’s a bit tattered up. A piece of her is crossing her fingers just as she gets on the half-empty train. Perhaps she will see Jo there again. Yuma won’t hide this time and they’ll walk to work together under the light snow, foolishly slipping here and there. And she’ll remove her gloves to slot her fingers between Jo’s to steady herself, feeling her soft skin once more.
She’s too stuck in her own imagination to realize that she’s missed a turn after exiting the station.
The coarse asphalt scrapes the bottom of Yuma’s sneakers when she abruptly stops walking. “Gah, darn,” she groans and tries not to walk into traffic. First day back and she’s gonna be late. How humiliating.
This isn’t a street she frequents. It’s a quiet one without many establishments nearby apart from a police post and an old corner store with a crap ton of keychains displayed out front. The place is strangely calling her over to take a look, and so she does. She spins the creaky display around, amused at the most random selection of knickknacks, completely getting lost in the charm of it all. After God knows how long, she hops away with a small brown paper bag in hand, happily like Fuma-tenchou isn’t going to give her an earful about punctuality.
Yuma gets to the café three minutes late and she makes sure to look through the window where Aki is sunbathing before entering.
Huh. Jo isn’t here yet.
On a normal day, she’d be wiping down some tables or expertly grooming some of the cats with a slicker brush before the customers start to flood in. Tenchou’s head pops out from the kitchen and she beckons Yuma to come in with an unreadable expression.
Yuma gulps and pushes the door handle. “Tenchou. I can explain—”
“Where’s Jo?”
She’s not mad? Awesome. “No clue.”
Fuma-tenchou scratches her head. “I left my phone at home so I can’t contact her at all. Can you give her a call for me?”
“Uh. I dunno her info.”
“Seriously?”
“Heh.” Maron finds her usual spot on the counter and meows at Yuma. “I know. Shaddup,” Yuma snarls at the Shorthair.
“You’ve been to her house but you don’t have her Line?” Fuma-tenchou has every right to be confused.
“It’s complicated.”
“Say, Yuma,” her boss starts to ponder and taps a finger on her chin, “Did anything happen last week? It’s unlike her to be absent.”
Oh, do we really wanna open that can of worms, Tenchou? Let’s see… I realized my feelings for a girl I was supposed to drive away. And I don’t even know if she can return those feelings because what if she thinks I’m gross? And if I tell her then we’ll ruin the friendship we now have and—
“You know what, nevermind. It’s none of my business. Sorry.”
“FYI, Tenchou,” Yuma hurriedly responds, “We didn’t fight, if that’s what you were assuming.”
Fuma-tenchou holds her hands up defensively, “Hey, I wasn’t assuming anything. You guys are pretty close now so I thought you’d be the first to know if something happened to her.”
That’s the thing. Yuma doesn’t know if she can consider what they have as close. She, for one, thinks that the whole “yearning for what could be” thing makes them close, but like Euijoo said, Jo is kind. Overwhelmingly so. The chances of Jo treating Yuma like she’s the most precious thing in the world just because she treats everyone else the same way is slim, but never zero. Argh. Jo, why are you so hard to figure out?
They’re friends—if you can even call it that—but Yuma doesn’t know a damn thing about her. Not her favorite color, what flavor of ice cream she regularly orders, or the way she likes her eggs. Nothing. The both of them are practically strangers. Strangers that leave lingering touches on each other’s skin and stare into each other’s eyes a little too much when the comfortable silence turns unbearable. Unambiguously ambiguous strangers.
…
Not knowing a thing be damned. Who cares? She knows the only thing that matters: Jo is the only thing in the world she wants right now, hopelessly and urgently.
She braves through the rest of her shift alone, which includes filing Maron’s nails and prying Tapioca off a customer’s laptop. Yuma ends up with a few scratches on her arm but it’s whatever. At least Aki was a good boy today and didn’t get his piss everywhere but in the litter box. It’s the little things, really.
When closing time rolls around, Yuma mops the floor with maximum speed and bare minimum accuracy. She wills herself to grow an extra limb to get the kitchen counter clean twice as fast but alas, that’s not how biology works. Fuma-tenchou shakes her head as she watches Yuma power through the dishes, almost dropping a few while passing them over to be towel dried. She can’t reach the storefront gate so she lets Tenchou lock the store up for her.
Yuma, gift bag still in hand, rushes as she tries to retrace the steps to Jo’s house from that day. She remembers the exact station to get off on. Jo had held her hand to pull her through the crowd of people in the way of the train doors when she thought she was going to die in there alone. It’s all still so vivid to her.
By the grace of the universe, she finds herself in front of Jo’s apartment building in one piece. Yes, it took her twenty minutes of roaming around astrayed, but a win is a win.
Hoping she got the unit number right, Yuma stands in front of the door awkwardly, not sure if she’s supposed to knock or ring the doorbell, so she does both. To be extra sure, she even follows up with a meek “Hello? Jo?”
No one comes to the door for a good while. Case one, it’s the wrong unit (very possible). Case two, Jo’s outside (eh). Case three, Jo’s passed out in there and needs immediate medical attention (please, no).
Yuma rings the doorbell again and bites her nails.
She almost jumps out of her skin when she hears the door unlock and slowly creak open. A head of unkempt black hair peeks out from the gap. Jo’s eyes widen before she slams the door shut in Yuma’s face. Anyone within the area can hear the muffled sounds of her almost tripping over the entryway as she runs to the living area.
Yuma just stands there and debates if that was a sign for her to go. But before her brain gets a chance to rationalize, Jo swings the door open again. The girl’s in her matching pajama set with a white mask now covering the bottom half of her face. Mint’s there too to scope the situation out.
“Sorry,” Jo croaks out. God, her voice sounds terribly hoarse, yet still so adorable. “Uh, come in.” She steps aside and lets Yuma hesitantly walk past her.
“Pardon the intrusion,” Yuma nervously mutters as Jo closes the door behind them. She shakes her shoes off and places them neatly on the shoe rack. It’s awfully quiet for dinnertime in a family house. “Yer mom not home?”
“She—” Jo’s voice cracks and she clears her throat, covering her mouth with a balled fist and forgetting she already has a mask on. “She’s on a—COUGH—business trip. Excuse me. COUGH. Sorry.”
“Geez, how long have you been sick? And by yerself?!” Yuma grabs her by the shoulders almost too aggressively, then she loosens her grip. “Jo, you’re burning up. God.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, will ya?!”
Yuma yanks Jo’s arm and gets her to bed where she should be resting because she is in no condition to be standing around and welcoming guests into her home like it’s no biggie. And yes, that is mostly Yuma’s fault, but…! But…! She didn’t even know Jo was sick the whole time! She wouldn’t’ve come if she knew she’d only be a bother.
She tucks Jo in and sits on the edge of the mattress right by the other girl’s side with her eyebrows knitted together. There was no way for Jo to let her know. She’d been by herself, sick to death with no one to wipe the sweat off her forehead or check her temperature every few hours. Jo had been stuck at home for, presumably, days. Cooking for herself. Feeding Mint by herself. Doing the chores by herself. That is no way to live for someone as kind as her. Stupid Jo. I should have known. I would’ve come sooner.
“COUGH. Yuma.” Jo weakly reaches and puts a shaky hand on Yuma’s lap. “Are you mad?”
Yuma bites her lip and keeps herself from accidentally raising her voice. She covers Jo’s hand with her own and caresses her skin without thinking twice. “...No. M’not. Why would I be?” Jo is so goddamn warm.
“I didn’t show up to work today. COUGH. And I made you come all the way here—”
“To hell with that!” She feels her stomach start to bubble with an unknown emotion. This time she can’t help herself. Her feelings are boiling over, sizzling. “What is it with you?! You’re so… so… so Jo! ”
“Wha—”
Yuma turns her body to fully face Jo, hand still held tightly in hers. “Always sorry. Always thinking about others. Always thinking about me.” The words are caged in the back of her throat. It hurts. Her mouth feels dry, but she needs to keep going. “I don’t deserve any of this. Whatever ya keep giving me. I never give anything back but you don’t care and now yer dying and you’re still apologizing. I don’t know what to do.” She looks down to see droplets starting to soak Jo’s light-green sheets with salty tears.
“Yuma.”
“I don’t know why you’re so nice to me. Like, I can’t help but feel like I’m an idiot for thinking ya like me—”
“Yuma. COUGH.”
“But I… I like you a freaking lot.” She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, in disbelief that those words actually left her mouth. “I know ya won’t, but you can make fun of me in your head. Distance yourself from me. Push me away. You can tell me it’s gross and it’ll be okay because you’ve been nothing but an angel. I have no idea how I got here, but I’ll stop liking ya if you tell me to—”
“YUMA!” Jo gets up, the damp towel slipping and falling off her forehead, and uses the remaining power in her body to grab the other’s face and smash her masked lips onto Yuma’s. The both of them sit there motionless and the only thing on Yuma’s mind is how Jo’s fingers feel as they creep up her neck, and how different her voice sounds when she raises it.
Jo pulls back and averts her eyes, pretending the wall calendar is more interesting than the beautiful, dumbstruck girl in her bedroom.
“Did you… Was that…” Yuma never expected her first kiss to go like this. Could that be considered a kiss, even? “Hey. What.”
“COUGH.”
On a sudden high, she pulls Jo by the collar of her pajamas and pulls the girl’s mask down, finally meeting in a mess of a kiss. Jo jumps at the unfamiliar sensation, but immediately melts into Yuma when their lips finally lock together perfectly.
It’s sweet. Feels like all is right in the world for this one moment. Real-life kissing is way better than what Yuma could ever fantasize about from reading all of those shoujo-ai manga throughout her teenage years. She can’t help but adore Jo who’s squeezing her eyes closed so intensely that her sockets might implode.
When Yuma breaks the kiss, she catches her breath and pants, “Was that okay?”
Jo, eyes still super-glued shut, nods vigorously.
“Can… Can we do it again?”
Jo peeks at Yuma’s dilated irises and slowly gives another nod.
This time, Yuma sends a grateful prayer to whatever god is out there and pushes Jo against her headboard, not wasting a second to capture her lips in hers once again. She hesitantly opens her mouth and kitty licks Jo’s bottom lip, pushing her weight onto her. Their fingers tangle together like overgrown vines as Jo’s lips part and give way to the intrusion.
Fudge. Don’t get too carried away.
She gasps as Jo kisses back amateurish and all riled up, and Yuma swears her head is going to explode hearing Jo’s soft breaths and whimpers. The sensation creeping through her skin is making her pulse go crazy. Yuma’s going to be really into kissing from now on, it seems.
Her free hand goes to caress Jo’s flushed cheek, so hot to the touch. When their foreheads bump together, it sinks back in that, right, Jo is literally down with a fever right now. She shouldn’t push the other girl’s limits too much, but shit, Jo tastes too good.
She pulls away to gasp for air. “Jo, I’m…” Her jaw drops at the sight. “Wait, you’re—“
Jo wipes her nose with the back of her hand, smearing blood all over herself.
Yuma’s on her feet, scrambling to grab her bag. “Oh my God. Tissue… Tissue! Yer bleeding!” She finds a travel pack in the front pocket and rolls a piece up to plug Jo’s nose up while she just sits there looking like her life force just got sucked out of her.
“Sorry about that. COUGH.” Jo nasally murmurs, twiddling her thumbs.
Sitting back down, Yuma tames Jo’s messy hair. “Sorry too. I forgot you were sick. Heh.” She tucks her back in and watches as Jo’s eyes can’t keep still. “Something on yer mind?”
“Mm.”
Yuma never misses the opportunity to hold Jo’s hand. “I’m here. What’s it?”
“Are we… girlfriend and girlfriend? COUGH.”
“Pfft,” Yuma snickers, but she herself doesn’t know either. Are they? Her mind’s been so cluttered. “Dunno. Do you wanna be?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re girlfriend and girlfriend.”
Jo nods to herself, satisfied.
“Ah!” Yuma exclaims and digs her hand into her bag for the second time to pull a small paper bag out. The small charm rings as Yuma pulls it out of its packaging. “I got you this earlier. I’ll leave it here.” When she goes to set the resin keychain of a bowl of rice onto the nightstand, Jo stops her and takes it in her hands so carefully like it has a life of its own.
“Thank you.” Jo holds it close to her chest and smiles softly. She looks at Yuma like she’s given her the world. “I will take care of it.”
Yuma jokingly scoffs, looking away to mask her raging blush, “Ya better.”
—
Yuma (NNDC Employee)
tenchou
jo and i wont be able to come to work later
hehehe
we both got sick :(
fuma-tenchou (best boss ever)
Bruh :|