Archive of Our Own

When the fire alarm rang, flooding the dormitories with its shrill call, fear was the last thing on Ririka’s mind. 

It was, after all, still the dormitory of a college. Just the week before, somebody had had the brilliant idea to try the coke and mentos combo in the main hall. The result was a shattered lamp on the ceiling, massive soda stains on the already weathered moquette and a trip to the ER. The genius behind it lost his eyesight for at least two months. The following suspension became the least of his problems.  

The faint, sugary smell of fizzy drink still clung to the moquette during the latest Master Chef watch party on Tuesday. More or less, it was just enough to cover the reek of vomit: three weeks before, one of the biggest jackasses on campus had gambled against his own ethylic coma. It goes without saying, but he had pretty much lost the fight. 

Compared to all this, a fire was child’s play. A nonentity. If all, the RAs must have been relieved. It was Friday evening that had been the only emergency so far.  

As Ririka left her room and joined the rest of the evacuating students in the hallway, she wasn’t surprised to find them as calm as she was. Bored and annoyed, yes. Nobody was in tears; aside maybe from those who had been torn away from their books, right in the middle of an emergency study session for their evening classes. 

Ririka was resolute in avoiding the commotion. She had been in the middle of planning her night when the alarm started. Her favorite kind of weekend: alone, dining with the greasiest cheeseburger from the nearby café and watching whatever show managed to attract her attention for more than five minutes. Just what she needed to recharge her energies after her latest Dietetics class. 

She headed for another emergency exit, dragging her feet in her rubber slides. She wasn’t looking forward to coming back to class on Monday, and the grievance for her interrupted self-care night took most of her attention. 

By the time she noticed the little, awkward cough she was letting out, the smoke was right in front of her. It came out in feeble whispers from the top and bottom of a door.

 Ririka cleared her throat of the acrid reek. The red light of the detector was flashing on the ceiling: as the PA speakers repeated the evacuation procedures, the beginning of a headache planted itself between Ririka’s temples.

Curses and clattering came from the room. Somebody was definitely in there — breathing in the rest of the smoke. 

In Ririka’s defense, it must be said that it had been a long week. 

It is a truth universally acknowledged that every week is a long one when you’re in college. Being a sophomore — a Nutrition one at that — is one of the biggest tragedies in the world, right below Krispy Kreme running out of Reese's Peanut Butter doughnuts. You can’t expect to have energies to spare when you spend half of your time in class and the other half hoping to make it to class. 

In a word, then: Ririka did falter in the hallway. 

She looked both ways, expecting someone who could take this — literal and figurative — hot potato off her hands. 

She waited in vain. 

The smoke coiled under the ceiling. Ririka coughed some more as she eyed the only extinguisher in the hallway.  Reaching for the cold, red metal, she tried to remember the few things she had learnt from some old police tv-show. 

They don’t teach you this kind of shit in college. The doorknob must have been burning, right?   

Holding her breath, she approached the door and raised the extinguisher: the bottom slammed against the doorknob, tearing it from the wood with unexpected ease. 

Between the power of the impact and the drive of the thrust, Ririka was thrown inside. 

The smoke spat in her eyes. As she regained her balance in the hazy room, the strong, pungent scent of burning plastic made her gag. Ririka pulled her shirt to her mouth and squinted: the source of the pandemonium was a little, white microwave. 

A muffled yell made her almost drop the extinguisher. 

Hacking and coughing, a figure was flapping a textbook, trying to get the smoke out of the open window. The dark-haired stranger had draped a tissue or a pillowcase on their face. The resemblance with a western movie bandit was desperately comedic. 

This town ain’t big enough for both of us, pardner. It’s the Indians with their damn smoke signs again. 

“Who the hell are you!?” they shouted through the smoke.

They raised the book: CONTRACT CASES, TEXTS and whatever else Ririka couldn’t read. The other was changing their grip with the clear intention of using the full eight-hundred-plus pages against her. Ririka saw herself about to get trashed by the literal definition of self-defense.

As she raised her arms for protection, she did the last thing she was supposed to: she forgot to hold her breath. 

The coughing shook her from head to toes, bringing her to the point of heaving. Without seeing what she was doing, she fumbled with the extinguisher. 

“Wait!” yelled the other. 

The metal handle danced in Ririka’s hands. White, freezing foam spouted from the extinguisher’s black mouth as she fought to hold onto it. A good amount of polar-solvent materials landed on the stranger’s pants, prompting a yelp.

Ririka wasn’t too sorry to hear it. Coughing, she blinked the tears away.

The foam was dissolving into a thick, white mist. A breath of fresh air blew in from the window, taking care of the rest. As the reek of burnt plastic let out, Ririka’s head stopped spinning. 

The room owner coughed one last time. 

“The fire was out!” she protested, “I was handling it, it was just—”

Under the make-shift mask, her mouth slouched open. Seeing each other became far too easy as the stranger — who wasn’t a stranger at all — seemed to forget the rest of her words.

Ririka couldn’t blame her. What are the chances of seeing your ex break into your dorm room à la Bruce Willis? 

Except Ririka wasn’t her ex. 

She was the twin sister of her ex. Which, all considered, was about thirty times worse. 

As the shock became more manageable, Igarashi Sayaka removed the pillowcase from her face.

“Vice… President?” she said.

Ririka held back a grimace at the old name. 

The young woman before her, half-frozen under the foam and clad in a worn tracksuit, was indeed the ex-Secretary of Hyakkaou’s Student Council. 

Sayaka was still as lanky as a Middle Ages child about to succumb to the plague. Her long, black hair was held up in a messy bun on her nape. More than once, in their adolescence, Ririka had had to play with the same, shiny black hair. Not of her own volition, of course: while Kirari was busy handling the Clan’s business, Ririka had been the one filling in the shoes of the most deranged President Hyakkaou had ever seen.   

Igarashi must have given up on the side-ponytail. Getting rid of it was maybe one of the numerous steps which followed her break-up with Kirari a year or two ago. 

Ririka tried to give herself an air of composure. A way of begging, I’m not my sister — please put down your book. The empty extinguisher in her hands made it much harder.

Doing her best to ignore Igarashi’s wide eyes, Ririka glanced at the microwave. Or its remains, rather: inside the blackened plastic, a small, cylindrical shape was still steaming with foam. 

“Y-You didn’t have to come in!” blurted Sayaka. “I was just— Studying, you know! I didn’t hear the ring, and my roommate— My roommate was—!”

Frowning, Ririka took a better look at the microwave. The burnt smell of food and plastic reached her nostrils.

“I-I-I was wearing headphones!” Igarashi was practically begging. “I know this is embarrassing, but it’s the first time, I swear! It has never, never happened before. Please— don’t tell the RA? I’m on a scholarship, the dormitory—!”

“Ramen,” said Ririka.

Sayaka blinked. “Huh…?”

“You managed to burn cup ramen in the microwave.”

The fire extinguisher thudded on the floor. 

With the textbook in her hands, Sayaka watched it fall between them. 

Ririka pinched the bridge of her nose. “...Was it really the first time?” 

“M…More or less.”

Ririka nodded. She took one last glance around the room.

She asked, “Should I teach you how to make it from scratch?”

***

Calling it a mortifying accident would have been a generous understatement. 

This was the kind of shit that kept you up at 3 am, even after weeks and years. Your brain would repeat it on a regular basis when you least expected it, a slideshow of your idiocy at its apex. On the plus side, it would keep you humble. On the minus side, it would also prevent you from finding ever-lasting peace, and Sayaka already had enough disturbances when it came to her sleep.

Her breakup with Kirari right after the latter’s graduation had been as unexpected as humiliating. Being high-school sweethearts is easy, at least according to campy Christmas movies. However, there is a reason why people like Sayaka’s ex rarely play a good part in those films. 

At the end of her third year at Hyakkaou, Kirari had lost the Election on purpose and let her cousins take over the Clan in her stead. Suffice to say that the taste of her newfound freedom had overpowered everything else. In a matter of months, it had inebriated her, bringing her further and further away from Sayaka. Ghosting — but not the kind that comes with unread texts and missed calls. 

Sayaka’s therapist had called it a ‘second adolescence’. Deep down, Sayaka had started to define it as ‘the complete and utter inability to act like a decent human being’.

Three years of Sayaka’s life had turned into ash, carried away by the winds of the future and buried under the rubble of her broken heart. She hadn’t heard from Kirari in well over a year now. More than enough time to justify her ignorance concerning her twin. 

You must admit, Fate can be quite the tasteless jester sometimes. What were the odds of finding the ex Vice-President of the Student Council living in the same dormitory as Sayaka’s? 

Sitting in her — now completely smoke-free— room, Sayaka’s stomach grumbled loudly enough that she feared waking her roommate. 

Her studying session had gone well into the small hours of the morning. She reminded herself that there was no food in the room, that her roommate had forbidden her from cooking until further notice and that Ririka’s offer was still valid. 

Sure, it was past 2 AM on a Tuesday, but Ririka had gotten used to it. In the few weeks following their embarrassing reunion, they had had all the time to adjust to each other’s odd schedules. Knowing her, Sayaka imagined she’d be busy scrolling through her social media, consuming her eyes on cooking reels and random hut-building videos. 

When she texted her, Ririka’s answer was almost immediate. 

“Meet you outside?”

The time to wear some shoes and jeans, to put some order on her desk, then, Sayaka was out. She sneaked through the dark hallways, listening to the occasional voices and low music behind closed doors. 

Leaning against one of the columns of the entrance, Ririka was already waiting for her. She covered her mouth and greeted Sayaka with a muted yawn.

“Sleepy?” asked Sayaka, smiling. 

Ririka pulled the visor of her baseball cap over her eyes. “‘S alright,” she mumbled.

With her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket, she left the porch and headed for the main gate. Following her, Sayaka couldn’t help glancing at the few lit-up windows of the dormitory. 

How many people had seen them already? They must have looked like quite the pair, stealing off in the middle of the night. It wasn’t the first time, and with all probabilities, it wouldn’t be the last one either. 

Someone was definitely wondering about the kind of drugs they were buying off each other. Snorting Adderall together is just what old acquaintances do sometimes, but Sayaka was sure it wouldn’t be their case. Not yet, at least. 

The walk to the 24/7 supermarket was a short, uneventful one. The clerk barely raised his gaze when the door chimed. He wasn’t interested in the two girls who kept showing up in his shop at the oddest hours of the night. Whatever idea he had formed about them, Sayaka knew he wouldn’t waste his breath confirming it. 

Ririka was already eyeing the shelves. She asked, “How hungry from one to ten?” 

“Well, eight.” Sayaka shrugged at Ririka’s glare. “Civil Procedure is harder than it sounds, you know.”

Ririka ignored the cup noodles aisle and headed in the opposite direction. Like every time they had come here before, Sayaka knew her expression: the instincts of the late-night, weathered cook were taking over. 

“Fish or meat?” said Ririka. 

Half-trotting, Sayaka tried to keep up with her strides. “Uhm, fish?”

Ririka took a large bag of rice from the shelf. That thing was big enough to feed a family of five. As Ririka let it fall into her arms, Sayaka staggered under its weight.  

“Tuna or salmon? Actually… nevermind.” Ririka muttered to herself, moving on. “I’ll make both kinds.”

Sayaka hurried after her, now considerably slower. “Wh-Wait… What are you…?” 

“ Onigiri,” said Ririka. “I’m making forty, maybe fifty of them.”

“That’s too many! Who’s going to eat all of them?”

“You can freeze them and they’ll last a while. Your roommate can supervise you when you use the microwave to thaw them.”

Sayaka bit into her tongue: it took all her willpower to remark that she was a college student, not a kindergartener. But then, even a kindergartener would have been able to use a microwave without causing a fire alarm. 

With a huff, Ririka half disappeared into one of the freezers. Face to face with ice cream and frozen broccoli, she grimaced: at this hour, the clerk was too busy picking his nose to restock the tuna. 

 “Y-You don’t have to do this!” said Sayaka. “I don’t want to trouble you anymore, we can just—”

“We have an agreement,” said Ririka. She glared at the packaged fish, inspecting the expiration date. “I make you food. You make sure not to set the dorms on fire.”

She went on, comparing prices and brands. The Nutrition student in her natural habitat. 

Watching her, Sayaka chewed her lips. 

“I know that things… didn’t go too well between me and your sister,” she murmured. “I hope that… you’re not doing this because of her.”

She fought against the knot in her throat. Crying in a 7/Eleven would have been more humiliating than blowing up her microwave.  

Ririka reached inside the freezer. “The fact that Kirari is an asshole has nothing to do with me,” she replied. 

Sayaka had just the time to close her mouth: the frozen salmon landed on top of the rice bag, dusting her shirt with frost.  

She had to admit then, that sometimes that’s all it takes. 

In the middle of a konbini , in the dead hours of the morning, Sayaka realized that maybe starting a fire in the dorm wasn’t the end of the world. 

***

The onigiri did end up lasting for weeks. 

Survival of the fittest; or rather, of the one with the biggest freezer in their dorm room. And when Sayaka grew tired of them, it wasn’t hard to convince Ririka to show her culinary prowess elsewhere.

Because Ririka had the privilege of a single room, it wasn’t uncommon for Sayaka to swing by so that they could cook and eat together. Only her roomate mourned their microwave: from snacks to meals, Ririka’s small kitchen provided everything that the cafeteria couldn’t offer. 

More and more often they shared a table in the library, each quietly walled behind Law books and Biostatics essays. Although their majors couldn’t be more different, Sayaka had learned to appreciate those quiet afternoons. Her propensity for solitary studying had secured her almost no friends in high school. Even Sayaka’s therapist had to admit it: after six weeks from the beginning of the semester, Ririka proved to be a real Godsend. 

But Sayaka wasn’t the only one risking to spend her college years as a loner. 

Ririka’s natural reserve, plus the otherworldly looks of an ancient goddess, had made her more or less popular on campus. Half of her acquaintances drooled after her. The other half pretended not to envy her. 

Overall, both groups agreed that it was nearly impossible to approach her. 

At a certain point during her freshman year, Kirari had managed to convince her to join a certain sorority. With Mary still attending Hyakkaou and her twin at the other end of the country, making some powerful friends had seemed like a good start for Ririka. 

Except “the powerful friends” of the sorority turned out to be a mass of unbearable idiots. Greek life — but on the worst side of Dionysus. 

The girls all shared the same, insufferable inclinations: Papa’s wallet was filled to burst and they made a point to prove it whenever they could. For being younger than twenty-three, the meaning of ‘too much blow’ was already part of their vocabulary. Most of them were the embodiment of emotional constipation, but all of them made sure to mask it behind never-ending smiles, super (fake) empathy and liters of mascara.

Ririka was sure to have more than a few bilious admirers among them. Hearing her complain about it, Sayaka joked that someone was trying to hex her. 

Ririka was well acquainted with the “sisters”’s malicious gossiping. According to them, having no chauffeur automatically landed you in a pile labeled trash. And God forbid you couldn’t afford take-out at least six times a week!  

It was Hyakkaou all over again. The only difference this time was less gambling and more burnt-out kids. 

As a freshman Economics student in the same college, Saotome was making friends in the way she knew best: by terrorizing her acquaintances into submission and taking advantage of their resources. Her ruthless attitude would have made her the perfect candidate for the sorority. Mary was Ririka’s only friend on campus, and the latter would have been more than glad to welcome her in their ranks.  

If it wasn’t for one little detail: Saotome’s scholarship put a huge, flaming target on her back. Because Sayaka was also part of the ‘rabble’, Ririka’s opinion of the sorority was swiftly plunging into pure aversion. 

Now, then, the right question would be: if Ririka thought all of this, why did she let those brats drag her to a frat party? 

When a sorority girl with a nose ring and a suspicious amount of cash in her handbag inquired about it, Ririka said it was because of tests . 

Tests were coming up, all she did was study, there was no room to breathe. Woe to me, whatever shall I do . 

Her sorority sister bought the act without much trouble. She kept looking at herself in a hand mirror and Ririka was pretty sure she hadn’t heard a word. That was more than alright with her 

The truth overall was much less dramatic. Ririka had accepted to come because Sayaka’s previous engagements had prevented them from hanging out as usual. Saotome was busy being an absolute terror and Ririka didn’t feel like spending the night staring at her phone, expecting texts that couldn’t come. 

She knew Sayaka wouldn’t be at the party. More than once her acquaintances had persuaded her into similar situations, with very poor results. They were still trying to unearth the party beast buried deep within the 4.0 GPA student. 

If Sayaka had ever harbored such an animal, Ririka was sure it had long perished in its cage of Torts, Legal Method and Civil Law.

The plan for the night was simple: come in fashionably late with her sorority sisters, maybe grab a drink, and then, once everybody got drunk enough to forget their names, slip away, back into the quietness of her room.  

She just went for it. It’s the weekend , baby. Put on those high-heels and make sure your make-up is on fleek. Ririka put particular care into her appearance. After all, her chaperone for the night was a sorority girl called Chanel. 

When they made their entrance at the party, Ririka’s other companions were already various degrees of high and/or wasted. 

Bodies danced and sweated, occupying every inch of the boys’ main hall. The music was just loud enough to make it hard to speak, but not enough to prompt a complaint from the faculty. Someone had started an unofficial Mario Kart tournament and a small crowd was huddled around the TV in the living room, waiting for the losers to chug their wagers.

The bass of the speakers thrummed in Ririka’s chest. Chanel pushed a cup in her hands.

“Try this!” she shouted.

“What is it?” replied Ririka. 

“Eh? Oh— The bathroom?” Chanel pointed behind them. “On the left, over there!”

Ririka shook her head and tried to repeat her question, but others were joining them,  patting her shoulders and giggling. 

“ Try it, try it! ” they all chanted. 

Ririka brought the cup to her nose: with the first whiff, her eyes teared up, twisting her face into a mask of pain and disgust. It was like sniffing hand sanitizer. 

Just a sip , they told her.

With her instincts shouting at the top of their lungs and half a dozen high girls chanting her name, Ririka had no choice but to try the cocktail. 

She had turned of age only recently; when it came to alcohol, she knew nothing beyond the difference between red and white wine. Suffice to say that this was about the worst way to expand her knowledge on the matter

It was like rubbing sandpaper against the walls of her throat. It burnt, and it was sour and bitter , and wow : in comparison, Ririka imagined battery acid to be the gods’ nectar. Anything seemed better than this. Even getting a bout of diarrhea in the middle of a Microbiology midterm test would have paled in comparison. 

“ This is what we drink the night before a test!” shouted Chanel. 

Ririka couldn’t know this, but they had given her one of the most terrible concoctions a twenty-year-old had ever created. The quantity of alcohol in that drink would soon be introduced as a war crime in the Geneva Convention.

The ingredients included, but were not limited to: a shot of cinnamon brandy, a few tears of sake , a swig of ninety-year-old absinthe (a souvenir brought back by somebody’s grandfather after the Great War in Europe), enough devil springs vodka to start a small fire and, worse of all, orange juice. 

Speaking of spirits would have been a euphemism: a whole kabbalah was in that cup and Ririka would soon stop being agnostic because of it. 

Her companions insisted until she got three more sips. Between the fumes of alcohol, the loud music and the girls’ shrill laughter, Ririka’s head started floating a palm or two from her body. It spun from time to time, to remind her that Nirvana is a reward, not an alcohol-induced achievement. 

Navigating the party became considerably harder. A layer of fog had settled before Ririka’s eyes, increasing at each step. At a certain point, she blinked and found a controller in her hands: without knowing how, she had entered the Mario Kart competition. According to the shouts around her, she was doing a magnificent job at driving into every wall, cliff and tree on the map. 

When somebody yelled, “I want what she had!”, Ririka took it as a sign to give up the controller and leave.

She spent a few minutes — or maybe half an hour? Who knew — watching the girls dance in the living room before heading for the kitchen. By then, time had become a distant memory. More like a dish she had eaten once, in a forgotten restaurant, than a social construct.

She was in dire need of either a glass of water or the sink’s drain cleaner. Her mouth was dry, sticky. Her stomach was protesting the cocktail, twisting and turning into all sorts of boy scout knots. An acidic burp made Ririka grimace. She brought a hand to her mouth. 

That’s when she noticed that she wasn’t alone in the kitchen. 

Who’s that pretty girl? she thought.

The counter was covered in cups. Sayaka had taken refuge behind it, where the music wouldn’t mess up her heartbeat. 

Ririka had never seen her wearing that kind of outfit. That’s why it took her a considerable amount of time to recognize her: Sayaka was wearing a simple pink dress. The shoulders were bare, showing that even if Sayaka had given up the taser, she still hadn’t fallen behind on her physical training. Her eyes, in the unfamiliar shadows of the make-up, were as shiny as ever. 

Ririka was about to ask what she was doing here when she noticed Sayaka’s company. A square-jawed man was talking to her. His tongue kept flickering out to wet his lips as he gestured in the heat of what must have been a lengthy monologue.

“So you do know about NFTs, right? You study Economics!” he was saying, “You must be so smart! Like, I don’t think I’ve ever spoken with anybody as smart as you. Can I, like, offer you a beer, or something…?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” replied Sayaka, unfazed. “I’m just waiting for a friend.”

He grinned, showing teeth as white as his sports car, probably. 

“One drink!” he said, “And once your friend comes back, we can ask her to join us.”

“Thank you, but I don’t drink.”

“Live a little, it’s a party! Come on, smart girl, come dance with me…”

He placed a hand on Sayaka’s hip. 

As Ririka stumbled forward, a cascade of red cups fell from the counter. Two pairs of eyes shot to her: Ririka had loudly failed to find a handhold. Various beverages were mixing in a muddled puddle at her feet. Their pungent, alcoholic scents sent her stomach into a Cirque-du-Soleil kind of somersault.

“Ri… Ririka?” called Sayaka, bewildered. From up close, she was much prettier and less blurry than ever. 

Pressing her lips tight, Ririka prevented herself from belching again. She cursed the girl that had made her drink; Gucci, Mercedes or whatever the hell her name was.

Watching her pull herself to her feet, the man’s teeth flashed in a burst of laughter. 

“A drop too much?” he said. 

Ririka hiccuped. Slurring, she replied, “Sayaka studies Law, you stupid bitch.”

The smile died on his lips. She saw the horror picturing itself on their faces, and she couldn’t understand why. 

She thought she heard a strange sound, an acidic, rhythmic urk-urk noise. She felt it, deep in her throat, where the vibrations of the music were making her whole stomach quiver. Ririka thought that she could taste it. For being a sound, it was surprisingly solid.  

She had the time to think, I don’t feel that good, Armani.  

The alcohol left Ririka as fast as she had swallowed it. 

“Man, not the shoes!” cried the man, as the content of Ririka’s stomach redecorated the kitchen floor. 

***

“How— Why— ” Saotome sighed through the speaker. “You said you threw up orange?”

Grimacing, Ririka shifted her phone to her other ear. It didn’t soothe the pounding in her head, but at least it made it easier to sink into her pillows

“I don’t know what it was, but it was the foulest thing I’ve ever drank.”

“I didn’t take you for a party girl,” said Mary. “Igarashi too. Surprised to hear she does more than study and fawn over your dickhead sister.”

“I think someone from her course invited her. And she and Kirari aren’t dating anymore.” In an attempt to bleach last night’s scarce memories, Ririka covered her eyes. “I can’t believe I just went and— Ugh. She’ll never want to talk to me again. She’ll think I’m disgusting.”

“I mean, you kind of were.”

“ Thank you, Mary.”

A light knocking at her door lit sparkles behind Ririka’s eyes. As the headache increased, she gritted her teeth and ended the call with Saotome.

She dragged herself from the bed, trailing her duvet behind her. The open water bottle on her desk was stale, but it didn’t matter if it was stale: as she emptied it in three sips, it felt like the purest spring water down her parched throat. 

The remnants of last night’s make-up were still plastered in blotchy spots on her face. 

Ririka had yet to shower and she looked far from her usual self, but she didn’t care. Not until she opened the door at least. 

Sayaka was just a little too slow in masking her surprise.  

“O-Oh, hey!” she stammered, a little louder than necessary, “I, uhm, I was just… passing by, and I— I wanted to see if… you were alright?”

The mortification must have been so clear on Ririka’s face. For the first time in years, she missed her mask like one misses an old friend. 

She trailed a hand over the black circles under her eyes. “I’m… alive,” she muttered, flushing.

“I can see that, yeah.” Sayaka smiled. “How’s your stomach?” 

“I definitely still have one,” replied Ririka grimly.

“Good then. I figured you might find this useful.”

Holding back a chuckle, Sayaka offered a plastic bag. Its rustling heightened the ache in Ririka’s temples.

Ririka spotted a container of what looked like plain, white rice, some medicine for the stomach and various bottles of water. The night must have been worse than she remembered if Sayaka took such pity on her.

She rubbed her eyes. 

“I am so sorry,” she said.

“No need to apologize! Plus, you did me a favor, you know?” Sayaka shrugged. “I’m the one who told him I studied Economics. I’d been looking for a way to get rid of him and… Well, you proved to be very effective. So thank you!”

Ririka groaned. “Always at your service.”

Chuckling, Sayaka left her the bag. “Get well soon, okay? And eat the rice before it gets cold! It might not be my best creation, but it’s all I can do until my chef teacher gets better.”

“Don’t drink and cook,” muttered Ririka. 

Sayaka laughed, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was so natural and graceful that Ririka found herself staring. 

Was Sayaka always this pretty?

With a moment of delay, she noticed the light pink in Sayaka’s cheeks. Her black eyes were shining, amused — but not disgusted. 

“What is it?” asked Sayaka, arching her brow.

“N-No, I was just— I mean you don’t have to but—” Ririka winced as the bag rustled in her hands. “Would you like to… hang out for a bit? O-Only if you don’t mind being with an old, smelly, vomity boozer—"

“You got hungover once , and look at you, already becoming the drunk of the village.” Sayaka chuckled. “I don’t mind being with you, Ririka. Not at all.”

***

With Ririka cutting off the sorority once and for all, the time she spent with Sayaka could only increase. 

Parties were off-limits for a while, but studying, cooking, and spending at least one day a week together became routine for them. 

The plan for that Saturday was simple: meet in front of the burger shop, grab something to eat and then head out for a movie. 

For whatever reason, Sayaka had insisted a lot on the latter part. She didn’t care for the movie, she knew it would be boring. Ririka, however, never bored her. Sayaka looked forward to spending time with her, in the dark of the movie theater. It was just what she needed to prepare herself for the upcoming week. 

Sayaka smoothed her dress as she waited in front of the burger shop. She was nervous but in an exciting kind of way. She had spent the whole week waiting for this outing.

She expected Ririka to arrive at least twenty minutes earlier, as usual. However, that wasn’t the case: Ririka showed up only five minutes before the appointed time, leaving Sayaka to wait for a good quarter of an hour. 

“Did something happen?” asked Sayaka, looking at her curiously. 

“No. Why?”

Notwithstanding Ririka’s deadpan answer, Sayaka prevented herself from inquiring further. 

She stood in front of the restaurant for a solid minute before realizing that Ririka wasn’t going to open the door for her. Not a question of gallantry, of course. It was one of the little things between them: Ririka opened the door for Sayaka and Sayaka called the waiter when Ririka was too shy to ask for more ketchup. After all, it’s not like they were dating! God, no, never. 

Sayaka flushed just thinking about it. 

Ririka glanced at her. “Not going in?”

“O-Of course…!”

The shop was its usual, greasy self. Like every time, the scent of fries would stick to their clothes, forcing them to wash them as soon as they got back. 

Sayaka tried to smile as she led the way to their table at the corner. 

Well, it wasn’t really their table of course. Ririka had been the one who chose it the first time they came here. She liked to stare at the street from the windows. It helped in the long stretches of time she spent in silence, although that didn’t happen anymore. Or so Sayaka thought. 

From the moment they entered to the moment the waiter came to take the orders, Ririka didn’t say a single word. Not a ‘ How are you? ’ or ‘ How did Procedure go? The other day I might have bombed Metabolic Diseases. ’

The joyous nervousness Sayaka had felt while waiting for her shifted. She hushed the agitated blabber of her instincts and dried her palms on her skirt under the table. 

“So, what is my chef taking today?” she joked. 

“Double cheeseburger,” replied Ririka. 

Sayaka tried to smile. “You’re… not going to try the fish burger? You sounded so excited about it the other day.”

Shrugging, Ririka pushed the menu aside. “I changed my mind.”

During the meal, the only noise was the sound of their working jaws. 

When the time to pay came, they’d usually fight over the bill. After the fire accident in the dormitory, Ririka had somehow convinced herself to be responsible for Sayaka’s food. That, apparently, also meant paying for it when they ate out together. 

It was pretty fun, to be honest. Like playing chess, one always tried different ways to win and made the other give up the bill. This time, Ririka paid for herself first and then let Sayaka do the same. 

Sayaka would have never admitted it aloud, but it was disheartening. 

They were friends, weren’t they? They had seen each other at their lowest, Ririka with her The Exorcist vomit scene reenactment and Sayaka with the fire alarm. 

Was Ririka hiding something, all of a sudden?

“Are you sure everything is alright?” asked Sayaka, once they were out. 

“Yeah.” Ririka tilted her head. “Why are you asking?”

“I just… you seem weird. You know you can talk to me if… something’s wrong. We don’t even have to go to the movies if you don’t feel like it!”

“It’s alright,” said Ririka. “If you want to, that is.”

Sayaka had wanted to go but… she wasn’t so sure anymore. 

They had already bought the tickets, the theater was just around the corner. The whole time, Ririka walked behind her, letting her lead the way. It was in the top ten most depressing things one could experience, and even a loner like Sayaka could feel it. 

Had I wanted to go out alone I wouldn’t have gone on this date with you, she thought. 

The guilt washed over her at once. They weren’t dating. Ririka wasn’t her girlfriend.  

She had all the right to have a bad day from time to time. 

They sat in the dark, loud hall of the cinema. Still in complete silence, still as if they were strangers. Sayaka didn’t want to admit it but… it felt as if she was back with Kirari. The constant silence, the inability to guess what the other was thinking: a part of her was hurting and she didn’t want to acknowledge it. 

The movie was a confusing mess of superheroes, magical hammers and shredded hunks. Sayaka spent half of the time choking back the tears and the other half calling herself a fool. 

Idiocy at its highest point. She could already imagine her therapist’s bored expression, the feigned compassion with which he’d listen to her stupid doubts. 

Sayaka was so busy rehearsing a fake therapy session that she didn’t notice the hand on her dress. 

It appeared, like a ghost in the dark, pale and lean over her thigh: Sayaka yelled so loudly that every head in the place turned around. ,

When it became clear that nobody was getting killed, handfuls of popcorn rained in their direction, followed by elegant invitations to shut the fuck up. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” whispered Sayaka. She turned towards Ririka, her cheeks hot with mortification. “What is wrong with you?!”

It was too dark to see Ririka’s reaction. When her answer didn’t come, Sayaka grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of her seat. 

More booing accompanied their rushed escape. Sayaka was sure she had at least five popcorns down the collar of her dress, but she didn’t stop. Not until they were out, in the open. She forced the tears back as she faced Ririka on the sidewalk. 

Ririka’s head hung low. She was staring at the tip of her white sneakers. 

Only then Sayaka noticed that she hadn’t even bothered dressing nicely for the occasion. Momobami Ririka , wearing a flannel shirt and jeans? What was this, Dowdy Town?

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today,” said Sayaka, doing her best to even her voice, “Why did you do that?”

Ririka refused to reply. 

“ This isn’t you, Ririka!” insisted Sayaka. “Why would you act like a— like…”

Like a fuckboy, she wanted to say. But Ririka had always been too soft for it. The idea was too absurd to even leave her mouth. 

Ririka’s answer was so low Sayaka thought she had misheard her at first. The words had been so hushed— so unexpected.

She said, “It’s because I like you.”

Sayaka had to make an effort to close her mouth. 

“You what? W-What did you—” 

Before Sayaka could finish, Ririka’s hands were around her hips. She pulled her closer, their noses about to touch in front of the crowd on the sidewalk. Her eyes were blue, and beautiful and… weird .

“I said: it’s because I like you ,” repeated Ririka. 

“Ririka—” 

Unable to do more, Sayaka could only press her palms against her collarbone, trying to push her away. 

“You don’t want this?” said Ririka. 

“I— Ririka, don’t get me wrong. I like you but not… now . Not like this.” 

Sayaka trailed off. 

Ririka was staring at her, her eyes deep and unchanging like never before. They were kind of familiar now. A strong sensation of deja-vù made Sayaka’s head spin. 

It was all so odd. Just the other day they were studying together in the library, gossipping about the latest fashion among the professors. Sayaka had been so excited about this outing! So much for their date.

The screeching sound of breaks broke their reverie. They both winced, grimacing at the reek of burnt tires as a car stopped right in the middle of the lane. A cacophony of honking and protests filled the street. When the door opened, the summit of long, pale hair appeared from the other side of the vehicle. 

“Keep the change!” they both heard. 

The car growled back to life and left as fast as it had come. 

Sayaka’s eyes were as wide as saucer: Ririka — another Ririka — was gambling with her life in the congested street, receiving the most multicolored ensemble of curses from the surrounding drivers. 

She raised her hands in the universal gesture of ‘Sorry, please don’t run me over’ and jogged to the sidewalk. The open lapels of her cashmere blazer flew behind her. Her leather shoes were so shiny that Sayaka swore she saw her reflection dancing on their tips. 

The Ririka at Sayaka’s side hummed. 

“Right at the best part, hmm?”

Sayaka stared at her. “What?”

By then, Ririka had reached the safety of the sidewalk, panting but intact. 

“Sayaka—!” she said, “Sayaka, that— That’s not me!”

“Thank you for the clarification, sister. I’m sure she would still be in the dark without your insight.” 

Rolling her eyes, the fake Ririka produced a hair tie and proceeded to pull her hair in a ponytail. She sighed, adding, “I was about to do you a favor, you know.” 

“What… is going on here?” said Sayaka, moving her eyes from one to the other. 

“I’m sorry!” Ririka bowed. “I got caught up! Kirari told me a representative of the Bami wanted to meet me, and I thought it would be quick but—”

A part of Sayaka’s brain short-circuited. Like pouring water on a working computer, the screen went blank.

It was the name, the bane of her existence. The magic word that even Ririka had learned to avoid, and for a very good reason. 

“In my defense,” said Kirari, watching the change happen in Sayaka’s face, “my sister wouldn’t shut up about you. On and on, every time we’re on the phone she’s all ‘Sayaka did this, Sayaka did that, oh, Rari, what should I do?’”

“T-That’s not true!” said Ririka, growing as red as a tomato. 

“I know we haven’t seen each other in a while,” continued her sister. “Trust me though, this is for the best. If I don’t intervene, my sister might die a vir—”

Ririka’s hand clamped on her mouth, silencing whatever was about to come next.

“Shut up!” she cried. “Just, stop— Saying things, please! Sayaka, I swear I—”

With a measured gesture, Sayaka trailed her hand through her hair.

“I think I understand,” she said. 

Two identical pairs of blue eyes looked at her perplexed.  

“You… You do?” said Ririka. 

She exchanged a glance with her twin before letting her go. 

“I’m… glad you get it,” said Kirari. “After all, you were always perceptive. Glad to see that didn’t change in the time we spent apart. No hard feelings then?”

Sayaka stared at the hand Kirari was offering. She looked at Ririka: her face was flushed, her eyes moist with tears.

 Sayaka had never seen her look more miserable. 

“As a matter of fact,” she said, “you know what, President?” 

Kirari winced at the old title. Somehow, she must have detected Sayaka’s feelings, bubbling in her gaze like Mountain Dew in a redneck’s cup because she took a half step backward.

Wary, she tried to smile and Sayaka didn’t let her.

“ Fuck you ,” she said. “I’m glad you came back. I wouldn’t have been able to tell you otherwise.”

Sayaka exhaled. It was as if a trash bag full of tacky Christmas decor had left her chest. 

At her side, Ririka’s mouth was agape just like Kirari’s. Without a word, Sayaka reached for Ririka’s arm.

“Let’s go,” she said, dragging her away.

“You—” 

Ririka saw it coming from a mile away. She grew red, but not out of embarrassment: she was trying her hardest not to laugh. 

As if having an afterthought, Sayaka whipped around fast enough that she almost threw them both to the ground. She took the deepest breath of her life. 

With her eyes set on Kirari, the whole street heard her as she shouted, “You’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met!”

***

The party was just that for once. 

No weird alcohol concoctions, no people trying to see Christ in the bottom of their cheap plastic cups. The DJ was one of the Floridian exchange students on campus. His stuff was just the right level of ‘oh God, if you want me to listen to this I’ll need three more Long Islands.’

They had escaped it at first, hiding in nooks and crannies where the music wasn’t as loud and where the juniors hadn’t started their mating rituals yet. They sipped their drinks, but with little pleasure. Speaking was just better. And they had nothing to speak of, after all, nothing that they didn’t know already. Every time somebody came by, they’d lower their voices, jealous of each other’s trifles.

They didn’t come here to drink, or dance, or fight with the other girls. They came here because it gave them an excuse to be together. 

Together they had come and together they left: while Ririka managed to smuggle out one last beer from the heap, Sayaka “borrowed” a bottle opener from the kitchen. 

The night was quiet on campus. It was chilly, but the right kind, that brings more color to your cheeks after a long time among too many people. The kind, also, that lets you walk side by side with someone, and they’ll welcome the closeness. 

In the light of the lampposts, a dimple had appeared on Ririka’s cheeks. She was talking about the midterms, the reason why they had left the party early. By now though Sayaka already knew her too well. 

“You’re thinking about Kirari, again,” she said, smiling despite herself. “You’re trying so hard not to laugh, I can just tell.”

“O-Of course not...”

“It’s been months , Ririka!”

Sayaka started laughing and soon Ririka couldn’t hold back anymore. Their voices tinkled through the empty courtyards, without caring for who would hear them. 

“It’s just— her face. ” Ririka cleared her throat of the last chuckle. “You just— You really went for it, huh?”

“It’s not like she didn’t deserve it!” replied Sayaka. 

The sound of Ririka’s laughter had warmed her chest more than the beer she was drinking. More than the awareness that their lips had touched the same bottle. 

“No, you’re right,” said Ririka. “She was always one to play pranks like that. I’m sure it must have felt good.”

Sayaka shrugged. “My therapist said that closure comes in all sorts of manners. For once I think he might have said something smart.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Ririka, nodding. 

As Sayaka handed her the bottle, their fingers touched. A sort of electric warmth went from one to the other: a game of Chinese whispers, except it went straight to Ririka’s chest.

Lowering her head, she brought the bottle to her lips. She hoped the dark would help hide her warming face. 

Sayaka was still smiling to herself, playing with the bottle opener. She must have been tipsy, no more and no less than Ririka. Her eyes gleamed as she looked up at the night sky with flushed cheeks. 

We could see God together, and it still wouldn’t be enough, thought Ririka.  

She took another sip from the bottle. Liquid courage, please and thank you. It sucked ass, but it was a passable placebo. 

Her heart was beating a little too hard in her ribs. She murmured at it to calm down, and perhaps it didn’t work. Perhaps murmuring wouldn’t be enough now that Sayaka was attempting a few dance steps before her. 

She shook her hips tentatively, humming one of the songs from earlier, even if they all sounded the same at the party. When she turned to look at Ririka, the smile on Sayaka’s lips was a lot of things: it was the equivalent of a cold pizza after a hangover, the toilet paper rolls in the faculty’s restroom, the professor’s email warning that his dog is sick and he won’t come in today. 

Ririka’s stomach fluttered and she knew the alcohol had nothing to do with it. 

“You’re being too quiet,” said Sayaka, giddy. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing… Why are you asking?” 

Ririka brought the bottle to her lips: empty. She sought the very last drops, pretending to be drinking. Maybe Sayaka was tipsy enough to ignore it. 

Sayaka shook her head. “I’m not buying it. Are you alright? If you need to be sick—”

“I won’t need to throw up ever again .” 

The other chuckled. “I’m just teasing you. But you are acting pretty weird. So tell me about it? Pretty please?” 

Sayaka fluttered her lashes, joining her hands over her chest. Ririka had always wondered about the simplicity of her wardrobe. All of a sudden though, Sayaka’s dress seemed just right for her hips. 

Ririka forced her eyes on the main building. 

“Oh, is that so?” Sayaka pouted, joking. “You saw me destroying a microwave for ramen’s sake, and this is what I get? I thought our friendship was stronger than this.”

“ Cup ramen,” corrected her Ririka. “And anyway, it’s nothing. Really. You’re just imagining things.”

“Oh, we’re taking the gaslighting route now?”

“God, I can’t stand your therapist.”

“Me neither. So?” Sayaka stopped in front of Ririka, preventing her from taking another step. “Will you tell me what’s wrong now?”

“Sayaka—”

“I’m not moving until you tell me!” said Sayaka. 

She stomped her foot, the sound resounding across campus as she crossed her arms over her chest. She was smiling, but even with her tipsiness, Ririka would have been reluctant to fight her. After all those years, she could still remember the crackling of her taser. 

“Nothing’s wrong!” said Ririka. Her gaze was doing all sorts of tricks to avoid looking at her. “You can’t just plant yourself here, you need to sleep! Don’t you have a test on Monday?”

“Monday is Monday. The now is today.”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t know beer could turn people into philosophers.”

“Hey, stop trying to change the topic! I want to know what’s the deal with you and I’m not going home until you tell me.”

Flushing bright red, Ririka trailed her fingers through her hair. 

Was she ready for this conversation? No. Would she ever be prepared for it? Maybe, with the right quantity of alcohol. But certain things just can’t wait for another day. 

The now is today, she thought. And to hell with it: they’d been dancing around each other for long enough. 

“What Kirari said,” she started. “The fact that… she was doing me a favor.”

Sayaka rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“And also… the fact that I always talk to her about you.”

The sudden seriousness in Sayaka’s face made Ririka waver. She was in the thick of it already: in for an inch, in for a mile. 

She fidgeted with her hands, mumbling.

“I’m not like her… I’m not her. And I don’t want to be a rebound. We’ve been friends for a while and I really, really don’t want to mess this up but… is it okay if I say that I like you?”

In the light of a nearby lamppost, the bottle opener fell from Sayaka’s fingers.

“Don’t misunderstand!” said Ririka at once. “I’m not joking, and this isn’t a prank. It’s got nothing to do with Kirari!”

“No,” said Sayaka. “It doesn’t.”

“Yeah, and— Wait, what?”

In two steps, Sayaka closed the distance between them. Her hands were warm on Rirka’s shoulders, leaning against her. She got on her tip-toes: as their lips met, Ririka closed her eyes. 

The taste of beer, the taste of Sayaka warmed her up from head to foot. It was soft, and unexpected. And bitter , also. Who in their right mind would drink beer before making out?

It didn’t matter: when they broke the kiss, Ririka could swear she was floating six inches above the sidewalk. 

In front of her, Sayaka was red and panting. “Why did it take you so long?” she asked. 

“ Huh?”

“You… didn’t think I liked you back?”

Ririka stammered, “I mean— no? Why would you—”

“Ririka, I even asked you to study together! I study Law and you’re in your second year of Nutrition!”

“I-I thought you were just getting burnt out and needed some help—!”

Without warning, Sayaka kissed her again. The six inches became twelve as Ririka started to think that maybe the taste of beer wasn’t so bad after all. 

“You are so dumb,” said Sayaka, catching her breath. 

“Uh, thank you…?”

Sayaka chuckled and it was the kind of laughter that’s genuine, through and through. The kind that comes from all the right places and becomes contagious. 

Watching her, Ririka tried not to smile. “I guess… I did keep you waiting, huh?”

Sayaka grinned as she laced her arms around her waist.

“You had me at ‘ you stupid bitch .’”