Chapter Text
Tamamo’s evening begins with a light meal. Salad with fruit on the side, most times. Her stomach could only take so much after an intense night of muscle training—tonight focused on her deep core with repetitions of crunches, push-ups, and planks, and a workout routine that lasted two hours (give or take). Sometimes, she would eat with Creek and Inari, getting heckled in the process by the former, who would sneak more food onto her plate, and the latter, who would loudly comment on how little she was eating.
This time, she grabs a wrapped sandwich and a fruit cup to bring to her room.
(Oguri had always been a sucker for those little packaged fruit blocks. Well, she ate everything and anything, but she always looked a teeny bit happier digging into the sugary-sweet bites.
Never mind that Tamamo would catch herself staring for a beat too long, wondering what she tasted like. Never mind that shame would immediately grip her by the throat and cause her throat to tighten around air. Never mind that it felt horrible viewing Oguri in any way other than platonic, especially Oguri, who had never once had her first kiss.)
Tamamo pauses, glancing back at the stack.
Another one wouldn’t hurt. Or another three.
She takes another cursory look around the cafeteria before snagging a few sandwiches and a handful of fruit cups. With her jacket pockets stuffed to the brim with mixed fruits, she waddles her way through the hallway.
Sure, some of the junior students looked at her oddly when she passed them on the way to her dorm room—hell, she would do the same, too—but a single glance at her face was enough for them to shut their mouths and look away.
Such was the life of a semi-retired, semi-celebrated athlete. Tamamo takes it all in stride.
It’s all she can do, anyway.
Tamamo sighs.
Usually, around the time Tamamo finishes her evening gym session, Oguri would be winding down from her busy day. Fresh from the shower, Oguri would be stretched out across her bed performing her nightly stretches. Other times, she would be sprawled out over her bed, head hanging off the edge, and staring off into the distance.
Most times, though, she finds Oguri meeting her at the doorway, half-asleep even as she wraps her arms around her.
Oguri’s been embracing her a lot lately, which was… fine, she supposes. It reminded her of her little siblings at home clinging to her arms and legs whenever she visited in between races, and how they refused to let her go when she inevitably had to return to the Central. Except, between her beloved squirts and her stubborn, strange rival, the latter barely allowed her to escape her grasp.
Take, for example:
Tamamo had innocently been standing in front of their shared bookshelf, searching for the textbook that she had lent to Oguri the night before for an upcoming certification exam. Why she wanted to use hers instead of the one that she had that was already annotated with Belno’s handwriting was beyond her. In one second, she spots the textbook, tucked into a corner on the highest shelf, far from her reach (damn height). In another second, she’s on her tiptoes, brushing her fingertips against the spine of the book. And, in the final second, she feels strong arms wrapped around her center.
She hated it. She hated how safe her body felt, how the steady warmth behind her had a near-Pavlovian response of washing away the sharp sting of annoyance that she felt, how Oguri was none the wiser of just how insensitive she was for placing her textbook at the highest possible place on their bookshelf.
Tamamo had tilted her head back then, ready to give her a piece of her mind. But whatever stern Ogurin! on the tip of her tongue dies as her roommate braces her palm underneath her loose shirt, fingers tracing the skin around her belly button curiously. Suddenly, something sinister boils inside of her, pulsing underneath Oguri’s fingertips menacingly until all of Tamamo’s jumbled emotions zero in on one single thought:
I want to kiss her.
Tamamo still wants to kiss her. Even now, with more sandwiches and fruit cups than were necessary. Tamamo still wants to kiss her, and it’s a shameful desire that cemented itself in her hindbrain as far back as Arima Kinen. Tamamo wants to kiss her, even if she was her roommate now.
(This is made even worse because Oguri was far too comfortable around someone who wanted to pin her down and swallow every single gasp and whimper.)
She takes a deep breath. It does little to dispel the sensual image of a disheveled Oguri tucked into her bed. So, she tries again, letting the air settle in her chest. It works eventually. It always does. That didn’t make it sting any less at the end of the day.
How would Oguri greet her today? With a crushing hug and a gentle smile? With a sleepy little mumble from her bed? Or would she be waiting for her at the doorstep? Tamamo puts a pin on her thoughts and enters their room, slowly nudging the door closed. That was strange. The room was pitch-black and quiet, and only the whirring of their air conditioning greeted her quietly.
There’s a lump on her bed.
Mind you, the large lump was on Tamamo’s bed, using her pillows and throw blanket, and taking up her personal space. She’s spoken to Oguri about this. All of this. Every time, Oguri would look at her with the same piercing stare, tilting her head to the side as if she didn’t understand the ramifications of what she was doing to Tamamo.
(And, maybe, Tamamo could ignore the ache in her stomach every time Oguri’s bare shoulder brushed against her. Or the way that Oguri leaned into her, and how her face fit perfectly against the curve of her neck. All of this and more was enough for even bystanders to question if they were more than just friends.)
Well, she was figuring that out too—thank you very much!
Oguri snores, none the wiser.
Tamamo shakes her head, grumbling quietly: “Why do I even bother?”
She goes into autopilot quickly after that. It takes a few minutes for her to stack her haul on Oguri’s desk, undress, and change into her pajamas.
Tamamo squints, hearing a quiet hiccup from her pillow.
And, of course, Oguri drools. It’s a sight to see, that’s for sure. Any hardcore Oguri super-fan would probably kill to see her so vulnerable with the straps of her tank-top askew and her hand resting against her (unfairly) sculpted torso. This was all so unfair. Oguri didn’t even realize just how much power she held over Tamamo outside of the racecourse, all wrapped up in her blankets and rubbing her shampoo all over her pillow—
Wait.
Oguri’s hair was still wet.
Tamamo slapped her forehead, digging her nails into her scalp and biting the inside of her cheek. If there was one pet peeve she couldn’t stand, it had to be lying down immediately after a shower and soaking the newly-laundered covers. Everyone knows this. Her siblings know this. Hell, even Creek knew this! She was sure that Oguri must have been aware of it, but clearly not.
Sure, any sane person could just sleep in their roommate’s bed (especially since it was conveniently empty). But, for all intents and purposes, that would only drive her even more batshit insane.
Consider: Every corner of Oguri’s bed smelled like sharp mint, so characteristically her. Tucking herself in her bed, bundled up in her blankets when all she could smell was her? Just the mere thought of being enveloped in Oguri was enough to send an electrifying shiver down her spine.
Consider, as well: Oguri was far too comfortable around her. The very whisper of her shampoo would linger on Tamamo’s bed indefinitely until it stuck to her skin.
So, Tamamo does the next best thing.
It’s silly. There’s a soft, plush towel in her hand and she’s inching around the room like she was facing a ticking time-bomb. Lately, being around Oguri was enough for her throat to tighten painfully. It didn’t help that the wound of her desire took any chance it could to bleed through her skin and past her fingertips.
Before she could hesitate, Tamamo sat herself down next to Oguri. She gathered her long tresses, scruffy and uncombed, and threaded them between her fingers. Everything was silly! Tamamo knew that this was toeing the line between friendly roommate activity and tense, romantically charged activity.
It’s easy to push those silly thoughts away when Oguri is faced towards the wall.
Her mind quiets for a moment, concentrating on drying her roommate’s hair carefully. Oguri desperately needed a haircut.
Wasn’t Oguri making a big fuss about using a new conditioner that was recommended to her by City? She certainly didn’t miss any details about how City had looped her delicate, well-manicured fingers through the ends of Oguri’s hair; how City had managed to wrangle her hair into behaving (for the rest of the day). She certainly had no problems telling Tamamo how City smelled good—
Tamamo bites down on her tongue, hissing. She had no right to wallow. Oguri wasn’t hers. Tamamo wasn’t her keeper.
This was all so very silly.
Oguri stirs.
“...ngh,” Tamamo pauses, peering at Oguri carefully. She shifts in place, her limbs snapping at her joints with the great effort of turning to her side. There’s hair everywhere scattered across her pillow like a web, billowing past the edge of the bed. Now, with her pesky, annoying rival facing her, all possible complaints evaporate at the very glimpse of drool pooling on her lips.
It should be gross.
Tamamo bites even harder on her tongue, ignoring the taste of iron invading her senses.
Oguri mumbles, “Tama…”
Tamamo’s hand twitches, slowly releasing her hair. Her fingers linger at the tips of her tresses, carefully rubbing the frayed ends. Oguri was no fair. In a race, she was this unreachable behemoth of a runner. She toppled Tamamo from the pinnacle of the best, unapologetically and effortlessly. Some part of her would hold that in contempt, bitterness trickling between the edges of sweet memories—that was… fine, she supposes.
Because in the four walls of her room, Oguri was mumbling her name in her sleep. She was at her most vulnerable, her neediest. She always had to be touching Tamamo in some way, whether it was with her head in her lap while Tamamo was reading the morning newspaper, or wrapping her arm around her waist whenever she wanted her attention. No one else would ever see her this cute.
(Tamamo pointedly ignores that Oguri had a roommate before and that they were close enough for them to call every week. She also chooses to ignore that Norn had given her a particularly dirty look when they had made eye contact after the Autumn Tenno Sho. Whatever. That was then, and this is now.)
Even in her sleep, Oguri reaches for her.
It’s horrible for Tamamo’s heart.
She’s still mumbling, barely stringing any coherent syllables together. On any other person, Tamamo would be mildly annoyed with how she smacks her lips as if she’s feasting on a mountain of croquettes. But this was Oguri, and she could parse some vague semblance of her name between the gibberish.
“...nya.. nyama…”
“Yer a cat now, Ogurin?” Tamamo snickers. She smooths the growing crease between Oguri’s eyebrows with a single sweep of her thumb. There was no deeper reason to explain how she relaxed immediately.
Oguri leans into her touch, following the drift of her fingers until they rested on her cheek.
“Real classy of ya.” Tamamo hisses, feeling heat bubble beneath her skin.
“I…” She was probably going to mumble about how she needed another helping of rice, or how she was chasing after two-legged pancakes that ran at the sight of her (understandably). Oguri’s dreams were sugary sweet and indulgent, just like her. She could hear the tail end of her rambling, but it was not nearly enough to understand it.
Tamamo hums, leaning in closer.
“...need you,”
She blinks.
“...I need you,” Oguri repeats, brow creasing again.
All of a sudden, the world spins. Tamamo thinks that this must be how dying feels like—like she was drowning even when all she had to do was breathe. Her heart is a stone at her feet, chest concaving against itself as if all it wanted to do was disintegrate. Oguri was never fair. Oguri would never know that the one simple phrase was enough to throw Tamamo’s whole world off axis. Oguri would never see how Tamamo’s breath hitches, the sound pinched as if it forced its way out.
“I need you.” Every word lingers in the air, scratching at Tamamo’s restraint with every passing second. “I need you, Tama.”
Tamamo chokes on thin air, wretching her hand away and cradling it to her chest. What happens now? What happens when the sun rises, and Oguri wakes up and forgets all about holding her wrist like it was a tether outside of her dreams. What happens then? What happens when the memory cements itself into her psyche, and she can’t act normally around Oguri?
What then?
How could she fathom that the next day she would return to becoming Oguri’s ideal—the ideal that she had already surpassed both in mind and body? How could she ever return to being the one and only person that Oguri could turn to for safety and comfort when all she wanted was her, and only her?
She doesn’t get to mope around any longer, not when Oguri jerks and grabs her by the wrist.
Tamamo tumbles, barely catching herself with her forearms and anchoring her body over Oguri’s. Her grip is unforgiving, fingers wrapped around her wrist to prevent her from escaping again. The worst part wasn’t the fact that all of Tamamo’s hard work untangling her hair had now become null and void, nor was it the fact that all her tossing and turning had caused her shirt to rise dangerously high. No, it was neither of those.
Because even after throwing her off balance mentally, emotionally, and physically, Oguri was still asleep.
“—Ogurin!” Tamamo hisses, jostling her wrist. Oguri doesn’t hear her. Of course, she doesn’t!
Not even her little squirts back at home would ever be this troublesome whenever they had nightmares. Hell, this was her own personal corner of hell.
Oguri’s grip remains solid and true, unforgiving and unrelenting. Sprawled out and defenseless… did her previous roommate get to see her this unguarded? Did she get to see this view—with Oguri beneath her, lips parted enough for her tongue to peek out—too? Did Norn have the good fortune to lean down and press her thumb against her bottom lip?
She was going to hell.
The sheets beneath her ball into helpless clumps under her grip, nails digging into the bed as if her very life depended on it. It was her conscience that prevented her from doing anything more than hooking the pad of her thumb on her lower lip (which, by all accounts, was definitely enough to warrant a lifetime restraining order should Oguri conveniently wake up). That wasn’t relevant to Tamamo now. Not when every fiber of her body wanted to kiss her.
“Ya better wake up now, ‘fore I do anythin’ dat we’ll both regret,” Tamamo mutters, tugging on Oguri’s ear with her free hand. She doesn’t rouse.
“Ogurin, ‘m serious. I’m really goin’ to kiss ya at this rate.” It’s a desperate plea before she seals her fate and becomes a criminal. No, she can do this. She can resist. She was able to withstand the great challenge of waking up to a sleepy Oguri.
Tamamo gives her five seconds.
Five.
A lot could happen! Oguri could finally wake up, and Tamamo could play it off, motioning that she had tumbled down because someone decided to grab her. She was also strong enough to fling Tamamo off.
Four.
If she had to be honest, there was a part of her that wished Oguri would open her eyes and really look at her.
Three.
She would pull her down until Tamamo’s hair hid both their faces like a veil. It would just be the two of them in their own secret world, where no one could see them or judge them or assess them.
Two.
And, because it was never enough for Tamamo, Oguri would finally give her the satisfaction of knowing how her smile felt on her lips.
One.
She was definitely going to hell now.
Between milliseconds, Tamamo seals her fate.
It doesn’t take much energy or effort to press her lips on Oguri’s. It pales in comparison to her hopeless daydreams and darkest nightmares. There was no dramatic fanfare in the backdrop of their kiss, nor were there any sparks flying in the air from the sheer romance of it all. Her lips were chapped. Really, really, chapped. Every crack provided an uncomfortable mouth-feel—it wasn’t painful, per se. Just odd. Nothing about Oguri was normal, anyway.
This was nothing like she ever imagined. It didn’t make her heart flutter. It didn’t make all the tension in her body melt away. It didn’t cease the incessant chatter in her mind. If anything, being so intimate with a sleeping body felt like forced passion with a statue. The Oguri of her dreams would pull her even closer, fisting her hair in her hand to anchor her in place. The Oguri of her nightmares would have her strong, perfect legs wrapped around her lithe waist, chaining her to her eventual doom and destruction.
The real Oguri doesn’t move.
When Tamamo pulls away, she expects Oguri to finally wake up. Instead, when she opens her eyes, she is greeted with silence.
Everything was just, so, so, so silly.
She feels nauseous.
It was silly. Who was she kidding? This wasn’t a fairytale. This wasn’t a miracle fantasy where Oguri would magically open her eyes after true love’s kiss. This was the real world. And, to add insult to injury, she just kissed her. Tamamo had done the unthinkable and forced her own desires onto a sleeping, prone, unconscious—
Tamamo nearly retches.
How could she do that? How could she kiss someone who never once thought of kissing another person, let alone her friend who had never expressed any romantic interest in anyone? Regardless of her shameful and ugly feelings, what was she expecting? For this farce to solve itself? For her crush to finally be vindicated? To be loved? Who would even love her?
Oguri would never love her. She knew this. She knew it in her body and soul.
She doesn’t particularly care for how hard her body jerks, shame crawling beneath her skin and festering in the space between her lungs. Tamamo covers her mouth, biting down on her palm to silence the pathetic whimper that claws its way out of her throat. All the while, Oguri lies beneath her like stone.
Tamamo scrambles off of her, knees weak even as she steadies herself. She had to go. She couldn’t stay here. Not when she took advantage of her one and only rival. Not when she finally scratched the itch that had festered in her ever since she first saw her run in Kasamatsu. Scratch she did. Her heart was a bleeding wound, and she had no one to blame but herself.
A sick part of her knew that Oguri would never hear of this. That there was a clear out that she could take, but it involved having to smother the fragile string tying the both of them together now. She could leave. She could drop out of the Twinkle Series and pursue a career abroad. Tamamo could do what she does best and run. But that wouldn’t be right, and it wouldn’t be fair to Oguri to be left in the dark.
Desire was a cruel mistress, but Tamamo was the fool that dared to listen. She was an even bigger fool for the shame that pricked at her eyelids. If anyone deserved to cry, it should be Oguri. She had to leave. She had to. She couldn’t stay here tonight.
It’s muscle memory that guides her back to her desk, scrounging around for scrap paper. Maybe she could stay with Komi-chan tonight. Yeah. That sounded like a plan. Anywhere but here. Even the smell of Oguri’s shampoo, soft and comforting, was enough for her to feel sick to her stomach.
Scrawling the words on the old receipt goes without a hitch, even as her vision blurs and she begins to heave painfully. She drags her feet to Oguri’s desk, making a pointed effort to ignore her. Before long, the note is carefully folded and pressed underneath the pyramid of fruit cups. Oh, she couldn’t even look at those anymore either.
Tamamo takes one last look at Oguri, lingering shamefully. This would be the last time she was going to see her for a long while, but it was for the best. She didn’t deserve to be her roommate any longer. She hadn’t embodied Oguri’s ideal since Arima Kinen. It was only for the best that she ripped the Band-Aid off, once and for all.
The White Lightning in Oguri’s eyes would face through all her battles like a raging storm, steadfast and unyielding even when the circumstances were against her favor. Her Tama was patient and rough around the edges, but she was kind. Nurturing. The real Tamamo Cross was a coward who only had her bravado and pride buried beneath layers of disgusting, filthy desire. She didn’t deserve to be her aspiration.
Stepping out and leaving had been the easiest decision she made all night. Because underneath the rough sinew of her muscles and the poison bursting from the seams of her heart was fear.
Oguri had always been the braver one between the two of them, anyway.