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Mireille likes to hum when she’s focused. I’m not sure if she knows, so I don’t say anything. I’m afraid that she might stop doing it if she knew. I don’t want that. I like the sound. It’s peaceful. Like the waves breaking on the beach in Ulgia.
I wonder if she thinks about that morning before the party. The way she dressed me and placed a flower crown on my head before smiling at her handiwork. The way she applied my makeup and chastised me for touching my face after she had finished. I don’t like the way makeup feels on my skin. But I like the feeling of her putting it on me.
“Well, well,” she’d said, pleased with herself. “You clean up surprisingly well, Kirika.”
I had just nodded and looked away, but I managed to smile a little bit. It was the second time she had complimented my appearance, and it had felt much warmer than the first.
She’s taken me shopping a few times since then. Some were just because she insisted that I needed more clothes, but most of them were for disguises. I can tell that she has fun picking out matching outfits by the way she hums and mumbles thoughts to herself.
“Purple? Hmmm…I wonder if a lighter or darker shade would fit your skin tone…”
We’re at a fancy boutique I’ve never been to before. I don’t think we’ve ever been to the same place twice. Maybe different stores suit her mood? I don’t ask. As long as she brings me with her, I’m happy. Although it would be nice if I could figure out how to give her my opinion on these things when she asked for it.
“What do you think?” she asks, turning to me and holding up two…shirts? No, they must be jackets. Part of a suit. It makes sense for a courthouse. “Do you like the light purple or the dark purple more?”
“I think they both look good.”
She sighs and puts them back on the rack. “Maybe I’ll go with purple myself. Why don’t we get you something in blue?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Well now, don’t get too excited about it.”
She picks the purples back up and looks them over again, humming to herself. “Now, which one of these would suit me…”
I don’t try to help. Both of them would look good on her. But that’s because everything looks good on her. She makes it seem so easy. I have such a hard time with types of clothes I don’t normally wear, like these complicated outfits or more feminine dresses. With enough practice, it wouldn’t be too difficult to adjust to them. But a part of me doesn’t want to. Because then I wouldn’t be able to ask her for help.
“Kirika? Hello?”
Mireille is staring at me, annoyed. I must have gotten lost in my thoughts again. It doesn’t happen as often as it did when we first met, but it’s still hard sometimes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just come over here and take a look at these.”
As always, I obey without question. She’s taught me so much in our time together that I know I would be a fool to ignore her instructions. Besides…I trust her. And for some reason, I like doing what she tells me. Even if it’s just the little things.
“What do you think about the dark blue?” she asks. “We could try the light blue if you want, but I’m not sure if it would suit you as much.”
I look at her and nod. “It looks good.”
“Kirika, you didn’t even look at the light blue.”
I glance over at the other jacket. They both look fine, but I know I can’t say that again.
“I like the dark blue better.”
“Are you just saying that, or do you mean it?”
“I mean it.”
Mireille sighs and hands me the jacket. “That’s probably the best I’m going to get out of you. Why don’t you go try it on?”
I nod and take it from her. Heading for the changing room, I’m interrupted by a quiet “oh!” from behind me.
“Come back here for a second and grab a dress shirt. We might as well get both of them out of the way.”
“Mm.”
I take the shirt, noticing with mild frustration how many tiny buttons it has. I always fumble with those. It’s strange how picking a lock is easier for me than putting on a shirt. Why can’t they just have zippers?
Stepping into the changing room, I shrug off my hoodie and toss my tank top to the side. A glance in the mirror leaves me feeling slightly melancholy; I’m still not quite used to recognizing that the face looking back at me is mine. Maybe that will change when I find out who I really am. It would be nice to see myself for real before Mireille kills me.
As expected, I find myself struggling with the buttons. I’m not sure if it would be easier if I started from the bottom or the top. Aren’t you supposed to leave some of the buttons undone, too? Which ones?
“Kirika?” Mireille calls from outside. “Are you having trouble getting it to fit? We can always pick out another one?”
I shake my head before remembering that she can’t see me. “No, I just…um…”
“Oh, that’s right. I completely forgot,” Mireille says quietly. It’s strange how gentle her voice suddenly became. “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
A knock on the door makes me freeze in place. I still haven’t buttoned the shirt, and it hangs loose around my shoulders.
“I’m coming in, okay?”
Mireille has seen me in my underwear before. She’s very casual about changing in front of each other in a way I still can’t understand. But something about this situation is making me feel strangely shy.
“Mmhmm.”
She slips inside and closes the door. I’m suddenly aware of just how small the room is. Especially with two people. Mireille’s face doesn’t show it, but somehow I have the feeling that she’s thinking the same thing. It’s strange.
“Goodness, Kirika. I assumed you’d at least started on them by now.”
“I’m sorry, Mireille.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just come here and hold still.”
I take a couple nervous steps toward her, unable to meet her gaze. She reaches out bit by bit to take hold of my shoulders. I can’t help flinching at the contact.
“Kirika. Hold still.”
I nod and do my best to keep my body from moving. That much should be second nature, but the feeling of her slender fingers through the fabric as she pulls the sleeves further up my shoulders leaves me with a tingling sensation that’s much harder to suppress than I expected.
“That fits well, at least. It’s not too snug, is it?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Good to know,” she says, her voice growing quieter. Even her words are gentle. It’s not like her.
“Now let’s get these done up. Pay attention to how I do it, okay? You need to be able to take care of this much on your own.”
“Mmhmm.”
She clicks her tongue and moves her hands to the collar of my shirt. I guess you’re supposed to start from the top. And it seems like you’re supposed to leave the top one undone, too.
As she sets to work on the rest of the buttons, her hand accidentally brushes against my neck. We both freeze. I want to look at her, but I can’t. It’s getting even harder not to shiver.
“...Sorry. My hand slipped.”
“It’s okay.”
We stand in silence for a moment. I focus on my breath. It’s harder to maintain than usual. Maybe the collar is too tight.
“Let’s get the rest of these taken care of.”
She moves with her usual grace and precision, doing each one up without an ounce of effort. My breathing returns to normal
Then her hand brushes my skin again.
It’s my chest this time. Mireille curses under her breath, redoing the button she missed. My skin burns where she touched me. I wonder if she could feel my heartbeat. I wonder if hers is beating faster too.
“These are awfully small,” she whispers, frustration creeping back into her voice. “I can actually understand why you had trouble with them.”
“Should I get a different one?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she replies. “Let me just…oh, damn it…”
She’s always stubborn. If she starts something, she finishes it. I’m sure some people might find that part of her frustrating, but I like it. I admire it.
It’s almost done when she fumbles another button. Another brush of her hand. Against my stomach this time. I can’t hold back my shivers anymore, trembling at her touch. But she doesn’t chastise me. In fact, she doesn’t move.
Her hand stays in place on my skin. Another shiver passes through me. If not for that, I’d think we were both frozen in place. As if time had stopped.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “Is my hand cold?”
“N-no. It’s, um…it’s fine.”
She doesn’t move her hand. It continues to press down lightly against my skin, and the tingling sensation only grows in intensity. When I finally manage to look up at her, I find her looking back at me. She looks…confused. Indecisive. Like she doesn’t know why her hand hasn’t moved. But when her eyes meet mine, I feel a sense of understanding. Even if it’s something neither of us want to say out loud.
“Mireille, I…” I whisper, my throat bone-dry. My mind goes blank and I can’t remember what I wanted to say.
My words seem to have an instant effect on Mireille. She yanks her hand away and looks off to the side before letting out an awkward laugh.
“Sorry about that,” she says pleasantly. “I spaced out for a second. Probably a side effect of a poor night’s sleep.”
“It’s okay,” I croak out, embarrassing myself by how hoarse my voice has become. I wish I could put on my hoodie again so I could cover my face. She’ll probably be mad if she sees how red it is.
She finishes the rest of the buttons in silence and tucks in the shirt as quickly as she can. Standing back up, she looks down at me and nods approvingly.
“Looks good to me. How does it feel?”
“It feels fine.”
“Are you sure? If it’s too stiff, it might make it harder for you to draw your weapon.”
I nod. “Mm-mm. It’s good.”
“Good! That’s good,” Mireille smiles. “Now let’s see how the jacket fits.”
The jacket fits fine. The buttons on it are easy, but Mireille still helps me. I don’t say anything.
“I knew dark blue was the right choice,” she hums, satisfied. “You look very…professional.”
“Mm,” I mumble quietly. It was just her praising her handiwork, but I can’t help smiling slightly at the compliment.
“Alright. We’ll buy that for you then. Do you want to change back or wear it out?”
“Change back.”
Mireille nods and watches as I slide off the jacket. “Don’t forget to hang it up, okay?”
“Mm.”
I reach for the collar of my dress shirt…then stop. Mireille looks down at my frozen hands, her expression unreadable.
“Do you…need my help again?” she asks quietly. There’s a meaning behind her words that I can’t comprehend.
All I can do is nod.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she replies casually, looking away. “We’ll just have to make sure you’re used to it by next week.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I try the button again, but my hand slips. I’m not sure why, but grabbing anything right now seems impossible.
“Stop that. You’re going to pop the button off. Let me do it.”
She kneels back down and takes hold of the button. Her movements are as precise as they were before, but they feel…slower. My breathing feels slower too. It’s like everything is moving through water.
“Kirika. Please hold still.”
I try to obey her. I really do. But the shivers won’t stop. Every time her fingers put pressure on me through the shirt as she undoes another button, a tiny shudder passes through me. I try to keep my mind off one thought that keeps yelling to be heard.
The thought of how much I want her to touch my bare skin again.
But she doesn’t. Even when her hands slip halfway down, she avoids my skin and simply curses under her breath. I can’t tell if she looks nervous or if I’m nervous enough for the both of us.
“I swear, who are these made for?” Mireille mumbles to herself. “Do they expect me to have doll hands?”
She looks up at me and I shake my head, unsure if the question was meant to be rhetorical. Her eyes stay fixed on me, hands undoing the rest of the buttons with sudden ease. I’m struggling to breathe as I look into her eyes. It’s like I’m being hypnotized.
When she finishes the last button, Mireille lets out a sigh of relief and rises to her feet. But instead of turning to leave, she brings her hands to my shoulders once again. We both know I don’t need her help with this part. But I want it more than anything.
I can see Mireille swallow. She looks nervous. I’m sure I look it even more.
She slides the shirt off of my shoulders. Neither of us look at it as it falls to the floor. Her hands stay put. My skin feels like it’s on fire. I still can’t look away. She opens her mouth and then closes it again in silence. Nothing exists but the two of us.
And then, bit by bit, she leans forward. My mind screams at me, tells me this is impossible. That I must be dreaming. That there’s no way what I’ve wanted for so long is finally about to happen.
And then…she kisses me. Mireille really, actually, finally kisses me.
Her lips are impossibly soft as they brush lightly against mine, the faintest of touches still enough to make my heart stop beating. I close my eyes and kiss back as best I can; it’s clumsy, a clear sign that I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I’m afraid to do it too hard in case she doesn’t like it. But I need to let her know that I want this. That kissing me wasn’t a mistake. That nothing has ever made me happier.
But as soon as my hand moves of its own volition to brush against her side, she suddenly pulls away. She lets go of my shoulders and steps back, looking like she just touched a hot stove. I want to reach out and pull her back, to embrace her and beg for another kiss, but I don’t move. I can’t move.
Mireille looks away from me, then spins on her heels to face the door. I want to see her expression, to know how she feels, but she won’t show me. Because she’s her. She’s the woman that I…that I love. I love her. I love her so much.
“I’m going to go pick out a jacket,” she says curtly. “Finish getting dressed and bring those up to the register when you’re done.”
“Mm.”
She takes hold of the door handle but stops before opening it. Time freezes once again.
“Kirika…” she whispers.
“Y-yes?”
After another long moment of silence, she lets out a sigh. “Make sure you put everything back on the hangers before you bring them up.”
“Mm,” I mumble.
She jerks open the door and steps out of the room, practically slamming it behind her when it closes. I’m alone again.
I reach up and touch my lips, running a finger over them and feeling the lingering warmth of her kiss. Something changed here. We both felt it.
And now…all I want is to feel it again.