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Fumi looks peaceful when she’s sleeping.
Granted, it might be the new mattress she and Akira had gotten for their apartment recently, but Fumi’s soft breaths, her relaxed expression, and the small smile on her face makes Akira melt. It’s been five years since they graduated, three since they moved in together, and a few months since that fateful day when they shuffled to the town hall to get a certificate from the prefecture, to the mild annoyance of their friends and family. Fumi didn’t particularly care for officiality, but Akira wanted it, and Fumi, the ever wonderful wife she was, rolled her eyes and agreed.
The fact that Akira could call the woman beside her wife makes Akira smile softly, pressing a kiss to the other woman’s forehead. Teenage Akira would be in shock at how easily Akira gave affection, and especially to Fumi. Akira was cold back then, and Fumi burned everything in her path. But somehow, they’d gotten together. The King and her Queen, side by side.
Akira gently nudges Fumi awake, softly reminding her she had classes today. Fumi mumbles, grabbing Akira and sighing as she absorbs Akira’s warmth, reminding her wife that she was no longer a student. Akira reminds her that she’s a teacher now, chuckling.
A drowsy Fumi was more prone to affection, and it never failed to amuse Akira how Fumi could be so soft yet so sharp at the same time. She doesn’t mind looking at Fumi more, Akira says.
Feel free to look, Fumi says as she pulls away from Akira, groaning as she stretches, sore from late-night activities. Akira smirked, traces of the smug Frau Platin showing themselves. Fumi flushes. She asks Akira to start the kettle while she showers and Akira kisses Fumi on the lips, saying she’ll make breakfast herself. Fumi teases her about the last time she tried that, earning a huff from Akira.
Fumi leaves for their bathroom and Akira sighs like a lovesick fool as she walks to the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and putting it on the stovetop. She couldn’t believe how lucky she is to live the life she has now. She has an amazing wife who she loves very much, a child (a puppy they’d adopted a few weeks ago) pawing at her legs for food, friends she talked to daily, and small breaks in between theater productions where she could relax. Akira was more than satisfied with her life.
Said puppy scurries to Akira, whining as Akira chuckles, bending down to scratch him under the chin, promising him food. Noire sat patiently as Akira opened the fridge, taking out the bottle with the spare pancake batter from yesterday. It was one of the few things she could make without horribly messing up. She hums as she pulls out the frying pan, spreading the batter once it was hot enough. Minutes passed, and as Akira finishes the last of the batter, she felt hands snake around her waist, blonde locks appearing from the corner of her eye.
Fumi kisses Akira’s cheek, praising her wife for not burning the pancakes. Akira pouts, offended, while Fumi laughs, sounding like the sweetest of wind chimes. She walks past her, reaching for the kettle. Before she could touch the handle, Akira takes it off of the stove, pouring it into a cup that had Fumi’s favorite tea leaves already inside of it. Akira places the cup of tea and the stack of pancakes on the table, pulling out one of the chairs for Fumi to sit on. Today’s about you, Akira says, smiling softly. I’ll take care of everything today.
Fumi raises a brow. Akira huffs. Fumi snorts.
I just wanted to do something nice for my wife, Akira says as she pouts. She tells Fumi that she’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to her. That earns her a smile from the blonde, Fumi cupping Akira’s cheek and pulling her in for a kiss. Akira melts into it, wrapping her hands around Fumi’s waist as she reveled in Fumi’s soft lips, always tasting faintly like ponzu. It became Akira’s favorite taste over the years.
The two eventually parted, panting for breath. Akira touches her forehead to Fumi’s, relishing in the warmth that the blonde gave her. She must have been some sort of saint in her past life to deserve this woman.
—
“Ah... Fumi?”
“Oh, Shiori. Hey, what’s up?”
“Oh, nothing, I was just wondering if the number worked... sorry for bothering you.”
“Ah, that’s okay. I wouldn’t trust me that much either if I was in your position. I just started my lunch break right now, so talk to me. What’s been happening at Siegfeld?”
“Oh! Um... we’re putting on another play! It’s short, and a lot smaller scale since it has a more modern setting. The casting process is also going to be different! The characters we’ll be playing are ourselves! We did a read-through of the script yesterday, and the first set out auditions are going to be next week. It’ll be interesting since the story is so sad...”
“Oh, a tragedy?”
“Something like that. I’m excited about it, but we need a Frau Jade before the first auditions for the play...”
“Wait, aren’t you Frau Jade?”
“No, I’m Frau Saphir. We still haven’t filled your position since you left... Michiru-senpai is stressing out about it, having to juggle her responsibilities as Frau Platin...”
“Wait, what about— Ah...”
“Fumi? What’s wrong?”
“Wasn’t there... someone else?”
—
Akira feels the stares of the people they pass by as she and Fumi walk through downtown Tokyo. Her instincts were to bask in them, but her greater conscience told her to tilt her head down a little, staring at the sidewalk.
Fumi reaches out for Akira’s hand, asking if she was okay. The warmth from her wife makes Akira smile a little. Better now that you’re here, Akira says.
I’ve always been here, came the sharp retort, but it makes Fumi roll her eyes out of fondness and that’s more than enough for Akira’s heart to leap out of her chest. This woman is incredible. She tells her as much.
You are too, Fumi responds in kind. Fumi talks about how much Akira helped her, how much Akira had driven her at Siegfeld, how much she trusted Akira with her darkest secret, about how Akira had given her the courage to stand at Siegfeld, to stand strong and proud despite her reservations, despite her insecurities. You made me into the best version I could be, Fumi says. Akira feels like crying. She instead presses a kiss to the back of Fumi’s hand, still intertwined with her own.
In sickness and in health, till death do us part, Akira recites, hoping a fraction of what she feels for Fumi comes through with those words. Fumi knows, she somehow always does. They are irrevocably intertwined. Akira idly wonders how she’d be without Fumi. Fumi throws out another insult at her cooking. Michiru might’ve kept her fed, Akira defends, and Fumi only laughs at the mention of the other blonde.
Dealing with you for your entire life is something I would never wish upon anyone, Fumi says. Akira says that Fumi’s just saying that because she’d be jealous. Fumi doesn’t have a witty response, instead sticking her tongue out childishly at Akira. It makes her forget about her anxieties, makes her forget about the stares, makes her forget about everything that isn’t Fumi.
—
“I feel like I’m forgetting someone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like I’m forgetting someone’s whole existence. It’s like a word that’s on the tip of your tongue, except it’s a person. You know the edels, right?”
“Yes? Isn’t it Shiori, Mei Fan, Yachiyo, and Michiru?”
“There are five spots in the edels. Can you name each of them for each person?”
“Fumi, I don’t see how this is going to—”
“Just humor me, Claudine.
“Fine. Yachiyo is Frau Perle, Mei Fan is Rubin, Shiori is… Saphir? Or was it Michiru?”
“Shiori told me she was Frau Saphir and Michiru was Frau Platin, with the spot of Frau Jade being unfilled.”
“That’s…”
“Exactly.”
—
Fumi’s at work and Akira meets with the former edels at a park near their apartment. Akira takes Noire with her, his dark coat contrasting with the white snowy blanket on the ground. The only things that stand out aside from Noire are the stones scattered around the place. A voice calls behind her. He’s almost like a void.
Shiori, Akira greets. While she wasn’t an edel during Akira’s rule, Akira treats her as if she was. She often hung out with the edels due to Fumi. She made a fantastic Frau Platin, seeing the start of Siegfeld’s rule over the other theatre schools in Japan, barring possibly Seisho. Fumi’s proud of her. So is Akira.
Akira, Shiori responds in kind. It’s been years since Shiori meekly called her Yukishiro-senpai, yet the image of her younger self still lingers. She’s more confident in her own skin, and the weight of leadership made her voice stronger, but she hasn’t changed much at her core. How are you, Shiori asks.
Great, as always, Akira says. Great is an understatement. Heaven is more like it. I’ve been spending most of my break relaxing.
That’s good to hear, Shiori says, almost relieved, but when Akira mentions she gets up early to make breakfast for herself and Fumi, her face falls, her expression becoming more concerned.
How’s my sister, Shiori asks, as if she doesn’t message Fumi daily. Akira laughs and plays along. She came in yesterday talking about how working at Rinmeikan was like, Akira recounts with a soft smile. There was the head of the performance department, the dance instructor, their scriptwriter, and their fight scene specialist. Apparently, they’d been the last generation of the performance department when it shut down, the same time Fumi had almost left Siegfeld. Once the current head of the department graduated though, she fought tooth and nail for the department to be reinstated.
Akira admires the tenacity of the head of the department. She wishes she could’ve seen the kind of stage girl she was. Fumi respected her a touch more than the rest of her coworkers.
Shiori bites her lip hesitantly. Akira raises a brow as Shiori sighs, running her fingers through her hair. I hate this, Shiori says, and Akira furrows her brow in confusion. I hate lying to you, Shiori says.
Akira asks. Shiori sighs. Noire paws at one of the rocks. Shiori bends down to pet him, brushing the snow off of the headstone.
—
“Yachiyo, Mei Fan, Michiru, Shiori…”
“We’re right behind you, Fumi.”
“Let’s go get our Frau Platin back!”
“I can’t believe I forgot her… heh, guess that makes even.”
“Onee-chan…”
“Let’s go!”
—
Everything came rushing back to Akira. She couldn’t believe she was so dumb as to fall for the stage’s tricks.
“Akira!” A voice calls from behind her, and she knows this isn’t reality. The fake Fumi, this fake life, was what Akira wished to happen. Her dreams, fulfilled, and her failures, nonexistent.
Akira clenched around her weapon, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. She glanced around, and the older Shiori was gone, replaced by a Korosu. Akira speared it through the chest.
“Akira, are you okay?” Fumi ran up to Akira, turning her back to Akira’s. The Korosu rose from the dark wisps on the ground.
“I'm fine,” Akira said tersely. She lunged forward, slashing another Korosu.
“Why was it only you?” Fumi grunted, driving her sword breaker into a Korosu. “I thought it’d take all of the edels.”
“I’m not sure,” Akira swore as she saw Mei Fan get nicked by a Korosu. An arrow speed past her, driving straight into the Korosu’s head. “Was my role already decided?”
“Maybe.” Two more Korosu fell, leaving a crowd of them left. “Akira?”
“What?” Four more Korosu fell.
“Did you know you were in a RE-Live?” Eight more Korosu fell.
“...Yes.” Sixteen more Korosu fell. There were only a few left.
“I’m sorry.” The others took care of the rest, leaving Akira and Fumi panting.
“Don’t be.” Akira shook her head. “You’re happier where you are now. Siegfeld changed for the better. All I regret is missing my chance.”
Fumi looked away. “For what it’s worth, anyone would be lucky to have you as a partner.”
“Same to you.” Akira smiled. “Tomoe is a lucky gal.”
The gassy remains of the other Korosu gathered together, solidifying into a bigger Korosu.
“For old time’s sake?” Fumi held her hand out.
“A king and her former queen.” Akira held it.
—
“What was the play even about?”
“Ah. The lead would have an amazing life and a partner they loved. The partner turns out to be dead, and the lead pretended they were still alive, only shaken out of the illusion once seeing their partner’s grave. It’s a sad tale, wouldn’t you agree?”