Written for Femslash February 2019's twenty-fifth prompt "Split."
Drip Drip Drip
The bedsprings creak. Yumeno listens to Harukawa shift, her weight rising off the mattress. She keeps her breathing shallow, clutching the blankets as Harukawa rises. Focusing on the shadowy wall, she keeps herself still, listening to Harukawa's footsteps recede into the kitchen of their small apartment.
She hears Saihara mumble something in his sleep as he rests on the other mattress. She thinks it was the name of one of the other contestants. Saihara shifts, and she moves with him, the bedsprings groaning as he turns to face the wall as she flips over to gaze at his backside.
The faucet runs too slowly, the drip drip drip like a monotonous ticking. A shiver races up her spine. It sounds too familiar. Yumeno waits as Harukawa collects the water in a glass cup and chugs it down, her expression masked by darkness.
She closes her eyes, the drip drip drip still echoing. Harukawa seems to be getting herself another cup of water, but her pace is much slower. She seems to be standing there, watching the water fill up in the cup and overflow onto her hand, and Yumeno gnaws on her lip.
Saihara says a name in his sleep, and she's still unsure of who he's calling out to in that horrible game. Yumeno waits as always. For him to find some semblance of slumber and for Harukawa to return to her side, she bows her head and glares at the wall.
The back of her mouth feels grotesquely sticky as if phlegm coated the roof of her mouth. She tries swallowing, but it's too much. It simply collects by her uvula and mocks her. Yumeno grumbles, shoving the blankets off her, and as her feet touch the cold smooth wood, Harukawa slams the faucet off.
They stare at each other in the darkness. Harukawa tightens her grip on the glass cup, and Yumeno feels that their one room apartment is too small, closing in around them as they gaze at each other. Harukawa breaks first, the water drip drip dripping down her fingers and beyond the rim of her cup. She turns the faucet back on and grabs another cup from the cupboard, gathering the tepid liquid as Yumeno shudders.
Did Chabashira feel the drip drip drip of her blood slowly running down her neck? Maybe it came down in fast spurts, gushing out and staining her body in a thick, rustic ooze that plagued her until her final breath.
Mumbling her thanks, she ambles over and takes the cup as Harukawa turns off the faucet. It's cold in her palms, leaving her to suck down a breath before tipping the glass to her lips. She gulps it down in short bursts, her throat aching for the muck to be removed, and she heaves a sigh when it's all gone. Rubbing her throat, her fingers move to the back of her neck, sweat drip drip dripping on her cotton oversized shirt.
"I'll turn the A/C on," Harukawa says as if reading her mind. She sets down her glass on the counter and tiptoes over to the air conditioner unit sticking out like a sore thumb in the corner of the room. Bending down, she fiddles with the buttons, the beeping almost incessant and causing Saihara to grunt in his sleep.
The blast of chilly air comes too swiftly and hits Harukawa square in her face. She wrinkles her nose, tilting her head back far enough for Yumeno to make out her disgruntled expression.
Snickering, Yumeno brings Harukawa her glass, and they sit on their mattress, the frame groaning. Harukawa takes slow sips and closes her eyes. Yumeno crosses her short legs and gazes over at Saihara, wondering which trial is plaguing him tonight as another name slips out of his mouth.
It's always the third trial for her. The drip drip drip of blood seeping out Angie's head and surrounding her like a small pool, and the drip drip drip of Chabashira's ichor racing out, staining her in a brilliant pink, their corpses encompass her thoughts with rustic scents and slimy sensations. Each time she closes her eyes, their blood drip drip drips onto her head and slides down her tear-stained cheeks. No matter how hard she tries, she can still see their blood drizzling across their faces like warm rain kissing their eyes, noses, and jaws.
She never had the chance to part from them. All she can do is listen to their whispers and feel their essence drip drip dripping on her in the dead of night.
Harukawa sighs. She sets her cup on the ground and gently wraps her arms around Yumeno. She combs through the gnarled curls of her faded red hair and placates her trembling with worn, calloused fingers. Yumeno sucks down an airy breath, nestling into Harukawa and listening to her ghostly heartbeat, each beat fainter than the last.
Harukawa eases her back onto the mattress. She secures her arms around Yumeno, the smaller woman's tears drip drip dripping against her bare collarbone. Closing her eyes, she smooths back Yumeno's bangs and kisses her clammy forehead, the sound of Saihara's tormented whispering filling the silence. Only the distant drip drip drip of the faucet mocked them as they forced themselves back to sleep.