"These two women are good friends."
"They're holding hands, Miyabi."
"Is this significant?" Miyabi swallows cookie dough. Her eyes glimmer under the saturated flickers of the TV.
Rain hammers the windows. Heavy clouds blot the night sky, but the moon peeks through and casts the world in shimmering frosty light. Traffic signals smudge the inky blackness. Cold seeps through every pore, a bangboo waddling amidst a puddle casts a gaze across Sixth Street, where water weeps in waves.
But not in Belle's bedroom. A TV flashes full spectrums of light and the rambling dialogue of movie characters blocks the miasma of rain smothering the building. Fighting against the cold, radiators emit a luscious heat. Sharp steam rises from a pair of coffees on the table. Two young women huddle under a blanket, and they may be the coziest women in New Eridu, as an orange light glowers over them, and their eyes shimmer against it as they flop against the couch, relaxing, unwinding, uncaring about the outside world.
"This action movie lacks action." Miyabi observes. Her ear twitches. There is a strand of fur on the blanket.
"It's a romance." Belle chirps.
Miyabi shifts and leans on the armrest, Belle slides her feet off the floor and submerges them in the blanket, relaxing against the cushions. Their legs and feet entwine together beneath the blanket, Belle's bare skin against Miyabi's tights, and the same thought flashes through both of their minds; is this a little awkward? Just touching each other like this? But, they're warm, they're comfortable, and they're quite immovable in this nice little patch of the world. Both girls sink into the couch.
"Mm." Miyabi ponders with cookie dough at her chin, her eyes narrow in deep concentration. "I have severely misinterpreted the scene where the protagonist boondoggles at an old picture of her womanly friend."
"What did you think that scene was about?" Belle chews with mouth full of microwave popcorn.
"Murder lust."
"Mm."
"Perhaps Yanagi proposed I join you for movie-viewing so I can train my media literacy." Miyabi resumes her movie-watching experience, as if watching an obscure mid-budget lesbian romance movie could provide training experience of any kind.
"What did stealing my cookie dough have to do with training?" Belle has surprisingly little emotion. More an observation than a question, really.
Miyabi looks at her current movie snack. A crumb falls on the blanket. She has no response and doesn't pretend to have one. Fastest fingers first, she supposes.
The rickety radiator creaks. On the small table in front of them, two decaffeinated coffees bellow steam, surrounded by a smorgasbord of snacks, and the Hoshimi hairpin. As the movie shows an establishing shot of the sun, Belle ruffles the blanket beneath them and grabs a sip of her coffee. She stays slumping forward for a second, contemplating her options, and without being too sure of what she wants to achieve, she settles back into the couch just a little closer to Miyabi. Just a little closer to the centre, with a little more body warmth.
"Homosexuals." Miyabi says. There is no emotion on her face as she chews.
"Yeah." Belle nods. They are both staring at the movie, in general agreement. Homosexuals, indubitably.
"I like homosexuals."
"Same. But I think 'gay' or 'queer' rolls off the tongue better."
Miyabi pays no attention.
"My homosexual fanbase has garnered a strange amount of my attention. For reasons unknown to me, it's the only part of my fanbase with which I like to mingle."
"Mingle?" Belle didn't quite mean to say it like a question, it just slipped out like that. "For reasons unknown."
"Yes. The rest of my entourage cannot illicit strong emotions from me, much less the warmth and strange acceptance of my homosexuals."
"Okay, Miyabi, okay." Belle snorts and pokes Miyabi's leg with her toe. There's a small jump and waggle of furry ears.
"What?" Miyabi pokes her back, giving her a sharp side-eye. "Your tone concerns me. People have spoken to me with that dubious tone before, and I didn't like what they were implying."
"You need self-awareness training." She casually scoots popcorn into her mouth with a tilt of eyebrows.
"I do not, I know myself very well." The self-aware fox girl balls up the cookie dough wrapper.
Outside, a cat is digging through trash in the rain. Another cat waltzes up and tries to help itself to the contents of fish bones and scraps, until they both devolve into a slap fight. Feline hissing reaches their window, and is promptly ignored.
Miyabi fiddles with the packaging. Both hands are in her lap, and her gaze leaves the television. There is a lull in the movie, as the protagonist solemnly gazes out to a sunset. Miyabi stops breathing for a moment, and a bubble rises from her heart. She picks at the scraps of cookie dough.
"Thank you for inviting me to watch movies." Miyabi's ears flop and shoulders slump.
"You don't have to thank me." Belle pretends she can't see the vague social awkwardness on display. "Just friends doing friend stuff."
Miyabi is looking away from the screen. How nice, being under a blanket with someone, on a small couch, like normal friends. Reverie snaps, as Belle reaches forward and takes the trash out of her hands, and tosses it over the couch and into the void. It's a level of carelessness and messiness completely alien to her; as she stares at the proxy with wide eyes, she shrugs it off and accepts that they can both be lazy tonight.
Belle feels the same as her. Silently, gently, Miyabi does not bristle as a small hand push her down, and the void hunter lets herself fall back against the armrest in a lying position. Legs stretch out and shuffling ruffles their covers, a quick clatter of limbs and Belle is taking her position on the other side of the couch, with a soft 'ah.'
It's so comfortable. What a completely innocuous little act. Just lying down with someone under a blanket. Letting your bodies flop together in a relaxed heap. One of her arms settles over Belle's ankles, and she anticipates a comment or a flinch, but there is nothing. And on the flip side, Miyabi inexplicably becomes conscious of her own body mingling against the warm touch of another person, and tries to calculate the feeling in her heart. Vulnerable? Nervous?
Belle feels that the silence is a little more stuffy than usual. She tilts her head off the cushion and looks into Miyabi until their eyes are forced to meet. From deep within her soul, Belle offers a sincere and gentle smile, but more importantly, a little wink. Something about it, or maybe something about this unrestrained friendly physical contact, makes a bubble wriggle out of Miyabi's heart and into her chest. 'Ah, so this is what endorphins feel like.'
Miyabi smiles back, slightly. Trusted. That's the feeling.
Back to the movie.
"Why did the protagonist declare war on this supposed love interest?"
"That was a pickup line." Belle slides a hand under her cushion.
"Oh." A confused lip twist. "I am still not convinced this is a romance."
A bucket of popcorn rests between them. Through the curtains, a flash of light tries to impede on their world. A few seconds, and the thunderclap reaches them, to no avail. There is a split second where Miyabi's eyes close, and she forces them open. The mellow room covets her and soothes her body. If it wasn't so rude to just fall asleep, she'd do it. She hides the urge with a stretch towards her hot drink.
"What was my brother's pickup line to you when you came over?" Belle, inexplicably, also has to force her eyes open, and tries to sound as chirpy as possible.
"I don't believe there was a pickup line." Miyabi wipes coffee from her lips.
"Did he say anything?" An eyebrow raises, curiously, disbelievingly.
"Yes. He declared war on me by saying 'I'm terrible at fighting, how about you try to pick me up instead?'" Miyabi does not attempt an impression. The deadpan delivery amuses Belle much more.
"Are you sure he didn't say 'flirting' instead of 'fighting?'" Belle rolls her eyes a little.
"I am sure of my hearing." Her ear twitches. "His weak aura and combat prowess led to him to retreat and claim he wanted to eat at a dessert restaurant in Lumina Square."
"What are the odds he brings us something back?"
"High. I ordered tiramisu." A blink accompanies Miyabi's handful of caramel popcorn, as they both approach the two-hundred percent mark for the recommended amount of sugar they should eat in one day.
The movie drones on. Dialogue exchanges. More establishing shots over meaningful story progression. Now, here, at this time of night, both girls have a singular thought, as they lie together in a warm and cozy heap and unwilling to move. One singular admission.
It would be really nice to fall asleep like this.
Belle blinks. It's getting late, and it's been a long day, and the movie is schlocky generic romance. The back of her brain is sending the signal of sleep. Shuffle the cushion a little and close her eyes. Tell Miyabi to stay the night and flick off the movie.
But something unexpected is happening on the screen. A cold jolt hits their spines.
"What are they doing?" Belle sits up a little.
The urge to sleep subsides. Both of their eyes open wide and mirror a pink flash and tilt back as if the scene had some kind of psycho-kinetic force pushing them away.
"Huh. Clothing removal." Miyabi nods in a misplaced sense of understanding. "An effective technique for destroying the confidence of your foes. I have employed it several times."
"Do you do it with your hands while desperately panting?"
"No." She looks so innocent for a moment. As rain drips down the windows, a thunderbolt strikes in the distance, and the implications of this scene slaps her across the face. "Oh, sex approaches."
They're squirming. Both girls rise until they're sitting, leaning on the armrests, and bring their legs back to their own chests. Belle is the first to turn pink.
"I didn't see the age rating on this movie. Whoops." Belle coughs. She's smiling, in the same way a dog may smile after knocking over a lamp.
"Is it twelve plus?" Miyabi asks. There is no irony on her face.
"What the heck kind of twelve plus movies did you see as a kid!?" Belle shoots her hand at the screen as if presenting a work of sexual art.
There are noises.
"Miyabi, is my face red?"
"Yes."
"Your face is red."
"Unlikely." Miyabi's face is red. "But I happen to be quite warm."
Miyabi shifts forward, Belle follows suit. Both of them cast their gazes far away from each other, into the pitch-black room. A sickly warmth is encompassing them, and the darkness shrouding them serves to only make them feel like the only two people left in the world. The dark light of the movie dares them to keep watching like a siren call.
The noises are intensifying.
They're looking away…
…Then they look back at the screen. Watching it happen. Willingly. Just drinking it in. Their feet barely touch, but it's a touch nonetheless. A little connection to reality, a ticklish little reminder that neither of them have stopped the movie.
"I have always believed that kissing is a strange expression of love." Miyabi is emotionless. "It is horribly unhygienic."
"Do you hate watching it?"
"I didn't say that."
"I'm glad."
"Yes."
"Yeah."
They're sitting close. Huddling under the blanket. Neither have a clue when this happened. Kneeling on the couch, shoulders brushing together, arms touching. Hearts crackling. Breaths sharpening. Hands close.
Very naughty things are happening on the screen. The noises are louder than the rain. The TV colours wash over them like hypnosis. Gazes stay transfixed.
"Woah." Belle mumbles.
"Woah." Miyabi says. Her head is recoiling like hit by a sucker punch. Her ears stand upright.
And it goes on. The rain pauses just for them. Just so they can get a clear understanding of the scene. In case they need to take notes.
"Woah." Belle mutters.
"Dildo."
They are entirely silent and shy for the rest. Even as the characters make an explosive noise together, the two women don't shift an inch.
The scene ends. Even the rain is lighter. Quieter. Just two gals sitting silently in a dark room, huddling within each other's warmth on a comfy sofa, after an extremely erotic movie scene. They hang their heads low in the darkness of the scrolling movie credits.
Until a trickle of warmth spreads over their hands. Neither share a glance or even so much as react to the touch of their fingers. Belle slides her palm over the back of Miyabi's hand without so much as an acknowledgment. A faint giggly pulse ripples through them as fingers lock, but their faces stay stoic and blushing.
"Wanna watch that part again?" Belle gives a faint, nonchalant shrug. No big deal. Might be fun.
Never in history has there been such a violent silence. Something strange whirls in Miyabi's head. A desire she has considered but never acted upon, a need that she acknowledges but has never fulfilled, a craving that she buries; but now, would like to unearth. Just to see. See if this might go somewhere. Such is the curse of being a young adult with hormones.
"Yes."
And Miyabi delicately places their connecting hands on Belle's bare thigh. There is the tiniest, softest, sweetest smile on both of their lips. Something is caught in their throats, and it escapes in the form of a shy giggle, with Belle doing a worse job of suppressing it. Miyabi is taking a hot breath as takes the remote in her free hand and points it to the TV. 'Oh my, I'm touching a woman's thigh.' She thinks. She can never share something this scandalous with her friends and family.
And now, at the end of all things, there is a devastating realization.
There are footsteps right outside the door. The boots of a brother, and the door handle turns.
"What are you two watching and why is it so loud-"
Crash, bang, kapow.
A remote is sticking out of the TV. Sparks and loose wiring threaten to start a raging inferno. On the couch, from which the remote was hurled like a shuriken, Miyabi is frozen in her pose, arm stretching and eyes as wide as they've ever been in her life. To the side, Belle is shielding her face and curling in defence of something. Perhaps the broken shards, or Wise's blank stare.
"There was…" Belle pauses. She's peeking through gaps in her fingers, barely revealing her traumatised eyes.
"Was." Miyabi asserts.
"A bug, there was a bug."
"On her telephote device."
"Right on there."
"I slayed it."
"She killed it, Wise."
"It's dead."
"Like the mood."
"Homosexuals."
Wise is slumping in the lit hallway, languid, and holding a pair of tiramisu portions. Miyabi is still frozen in her throwing pose, red blush still ravaging her cheeks. Civilisations will go on to rise and fall, and Miyabi will remain here. The puddle of Belle, melted against the couch, will stand for eons.
Wise sniffs and looks at both women. No expression. He leaves and takes the desserts with him.