Work Text:
It wasn’t a one - sided bad decision, no, really, it wasn’t. It was mutual ignorance of the facts, willful stupidity against the obvious. It made Kirigiri berate herself inside, to think that she was so careless, thought with sweet impulse instead of bitter thought. She forced her shoulders back into a relaxed state - they had been that way barely twenty minutes ago, but now it was labored, and her muscles were sore to the bones beneath.
When she had first seen Fukawa, she had been shivering, despite the relatively warm weather, and she had tripped right over a lamp cord, landing face - first into her office. As she recollected her body to be upright, whyever she had come to her was forgotten, and she scampered off, presumably out of embarrassment.
It wasn't dangerous to make a friend out of one of the only other people who stayed at the office as late as she did - it was good to have colleagues, allies. It wasn’t anything serious; every interaction was full of awkward gaps between topics, every word was experimental, testing limits. There was a lot to deduce from small talk, though. Fukawa needed her glasses because of astigmatism, and she was slightly farsighted. She was an aspiring novelist - she had evidently written one already, Kirigiri had found it torn up in the office trash can. Her favorite late - night snack was apple slices. Her deduction was swift and precise, but, with the way Fukawa’s pair of orchid eyes ran her up and down, she wondered if she was the one being analyzed.
Crossing into a friendship with Fukawa was a huge mistake. It wasn’t that she minded her coworker’s presence, or disliked her company,but it was too personal. Any contact was too personal, and she doubted that it was just because her guard was up. Fukawa had fallen asleep at her apartment once. They had been watching the late - night news, and, when Fukawa had stopped responding, she had realised that the other girl had slipped into unconsciousness. She had moved to clean up their food, but she saw how wild and free Fukawa’s hair looked, how it pointed and cascaded. She laid a blanket over her.
By the time Kirigiri awoke, Fukawa was gone, and her door was unlocked.
She forced another breath. That wasn’t the only time something like that had happened, - “somethings’ all falling under an umbrella of confusion and emotion. It had become normal to awake on an unfamiliar - turned - familiar white couch, with Fukawa beside her - focused on the weatherman and with a purple gel pen in her hand.It was also not out of the norm anymore for Kirigiri to find the other girl sprawled out on her couch - likely pretending to be asleep, but she didn’t say anything about it - as Kirigiri sauntered out for a glass of coffee late (early?) in the night. Running a hand through her lilac tangles, she concluded that she couldn’t place the blame completely on the other girl, as she had instigated the first touch of their psychical relationship. A touch, a touch, another touch through clothes. A cold hand slid onto her back from the bottom of her shirt, fumbling with the two offending metal hooks. The couplers popped all at once and Kirigiri dissolved at the feeling. Yes, it was a bad idea, but neither of them was ready to get off the ride. Now, in the dead of night, Fukawa tossed the bleeding form of a young man - handsome, sharp cheekbones, shining eyes, auburn hair - through her door with fear flooding her movements, her actions, those eyes - Kirigiri barely made a noise of surprise.