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Yuri nudged the door open hesitantly. It creaked and groaned, and Sayori shuddered at the breeze that it issued forth. Yuri lingered, for a moment, a ghost in the doorframe.
This bathroom was haunted, Sayori decided.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Yuri had towels draped over her arm. Fluffy white towels, like clouds through a taffy puller. They swayed just above the ground, flirting with the tiles. Floating.
Fluffy like Sayori's socks-- With little puppies on them, a gift from Natsuki, naturally-- dangling as she kicked her legs, brushing the floor ever so slightly with her toes. Sayori, from her spot on the toilet lid, who'd been sitting there for the past twenty minutes because of Yuri's precise yet passionate manner of setting the atmosphere of the room, nodded. She felt the fog that stuck to her brain jingling around. She felt uneasy, mostly.
This was the first time she'd be showering in a week, the first time she'd gone this long without showering in months.
Sayori didn't really know what to think. She thought, it felt shameful, and she was ashamed. And Yuri, in a strange tizzy of mushyness and feeling, offered a helping hand. Sayori was a little cornered, a little walled off behind candles and diffusers and fluffy white towels. A lot sick, but it was Yuri. So Sayori agreed, and she sat on the toilet lid, observing an expertly crafted bathroom.
And it was goodbye, grime, from here.
Yuri was silent, her eyes fixated on the spot in front of her. Sayori appreciated Yuri's quiet understanding. She felt constricted under her gaze, sometimes, but she knew Yuri. And Yuri was not judgemental in silence. That's something Sayori had to learn. That Yuri was quiet, like Sayori was not. Except now, Sayori felt she could say nothing forever, and it wouldn't matter. The world wasn't listening. The atmosphere could do with a few less words breathed into it.
Sayori was depressed and she had a hard time mattering. At this moment, however, she knew at least Yuri was listening.
When the two girls locked eyes, for a couple uneven seconds, Yuri sprung back to life. "Um, okay. Sayori," she tried, tugging on her hair. The mannerisms that confirmed it was Yuri, in the flesh, still haunting Sayori's bathroom. "Please, uuh, undress ."
That one knocked Sayori's consciousness around a bit, and the fog tickled her skull.
"Jeez, Yuri, at least take me out to dinner first," She snickered, playfully dull. Hoisting herself up was like raising the dead, but she did it anyway, because Yuri was waiting. And Yuri was listening.
And so, Sayori ditched her clothing, of course.
Yuri's expressions were so readable. So plainly there, nothing hiding them. Sayori wondered about that, sometimes. How Yuri lets her face tell her story. She wanted to see Yuri's face light up like fireworks, like it'd never get old.
When Yuri was determined to do something, you'd have to move mountains to get her to consider otherwise. Burning suns, bright as can be, spiralled round her eyes. Fractals, expanding infinitely, never to be stopped. Powered by the pull of the stars. That's Yuri. It was nearly twice as hard to get her out of her comfort zone, go figure, which Sayori was fine with. But when Yuri had asked to bathe Sayori-- Like, by hand, really pamper her-- the stars collided. Supernova.
And Sayori felt awful.
But it was Yuri.
She lifted Sayori just high enough out of the hideous pit in her stomach that she could say, okay, you can help , and not slip back in and dissolve. She had days where her friends cared about her and it was nauseating. Dizzy at the thought that it could be rewarding to love her. It was tricky, but she's learned that it's worth it.
Most of all, she figured this was challenging for Yuri, too. That they could get through it together. It helped.
So she stepped into the tub and let Yuri climb in after her.
Click went the cap of the body wash. Yuri moved, though sopping wet and with mortified eyes, elegantly as always. The dinky tub + shower combo was definitely awkward-fitting for two young adults, one tall, both chubby. But nothing about this wasn't awkward, so it made sense. She instructed Sayori that she didn't need to do anything, if she didn't want to. And though Sayori felt on the dangerous edge of a sentence, nothing came out, and the downpour washed over.
Sayori closed her eyes. She let the pitter patter of the water against the tub envelope her, cradling her, cleaning her.
The fog in her brain seemed to leak out, intermingling with the steam that filled the room, until it all just became Sayori, and Yuri, and the sound of the water sputtering. She was the ghost. Time moved around her, and it didn't feel like much of anything. But she stood there anyway, and she let the sound of Yuri tutting mix with "1 hour of relaxing white noise nature sounds - rainforest" and fade away.
Yuri reached around Sayori to grab a cloth, squirting milk and honey scented body wash into the centre. She hesitated for a moment, right above Sayori's shoulder blade. Sayori wondered about that, about how many seconds must have passed before she relaxed her muscles and nodded. She flinched at the touch of the cloth on her shoulder. Then, Yuri began to hum as she lathered Sayori's back in soap.
And it was trembling, heaving, awestruck under her hands, under the showerhead.
Sayori cried in the shower, and she wasn't sure how it made her feel. She liked to think that the water on her face, her cheeks, her eyes would all make merry, and that it liked to end up in the drain, where all water eventually went. But it felt like lying. Like, letting the steam puff up your eyelids before you even realise you had tears to give? Sayori hated lying. Because it made her a bad person. But bad people lie, so maybe she was like the worm Yuri mentioned finding "fascinating" . The one that ate itself by the tail, or something like that. Like she could never give up one because she'd always be the other, and she'd just keep folding into herself until she ended up in the drain, too.
But do bad people have friends who bathed them?
Yuri might have said something, but her words were lost to the world, and the world was not listening. Maybe Sayori's sobs were too loud, or the pitter patter grew deafening. She didn't know. She cried in the shower.
And then, before Sayori noticed that Yuri had even stopped cleaning the weeks off of Sayori's skin, something magic happened.
Yuri's arms wrapped tightly at the small of Sayori's back, and maybe the hug energy shocked her out of her own body because she was watching two girls embracing in the shower, felt twice as much water on her face. And the stars collided.
And Sayori cried in the shower, because Yuri must love her, and how horrifying that was to realise. She felt Yuri's skin where her own should be. And maybe this was the closest she would ever get to another person. Sayori wondered about that.
Eventually, the tears stopped flowing, but the water didn't. And Yuri pulled away with this look in her eye that for once Sayori couldn't decipher. So she smiled, and Yuri smiled back. Sayori's smiles were made of lies stitched right onto her face in an awkward curve, but this one was made of wonder. About Yuri, and why she loved Sayori, and why she looked at her that way. And why, ever, in a billion years , she hugged her so tight like Sayori was the last thing she'd ever hold, and Sayori didn't even hug her back. But oh, she leaned in. Held on in whatever way she could. And she could feel the shape of Yuri's scars bleed into her body, and how beautiful that was, and how beautiful Yuri must have looked in that moment, how beautiful she must look now.
But Yuri directed Sayori away and soon she was blobbing shampoo into Sayori's hair.
Sayori wanted to feel that moment again. To feel terrible, and to feel loved, and how hideous that all was. She was hideous. She was naked in the shower, and so was Yuri, and still, she was held.
Feeling hideous was one thing. Feeling human was stranger.
When Yuri had begun rinsing Sayori's hair, Sayori wasn't crying anymore. But she didn't smile, either. She didn't lie this time. She wished she could be like Yuri, and give away a little tender piece of herself with every smile. All of Yuri was so tender, and true. And she wished Yuri knew that.
Yuri didn't really say anything, not that Sayori heard. When she twisted the water off and Sayori's old tears swirled down into the drain. She was quiet. She stepped out tentatively, onto the tile, and collected her fluffy white towels. She wrapped one around Sayori. And Sayori frowned when the fabric felt like fabric and not Yuri's skin pressing into her's, Yuri's ghost merging in with her's.
They just sat on Sayori's bed, for a while.
"How do you feel?"
Sayori didn't want to lie.
"Horrible."
Yuri's face twitched, and her eyes became readable again. She seemed scared.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought-"
"The shower was nice. Really nice. I loved it. Thank you," Sayori searched Yuri's eyes for that look she couldn't understand. She wanted to understand it.
Yuri looked down at her lap. "Oh! Um, well. I'm glad I could help."
"You didn't do anything wrong."
"But you still feel horrible,"
"Yeah... But, I think I feel good too. I feel better,"
"Oh," Yuri smiled, very slightly, but it lit up her whole face, so Sayori smiled too.
"I feel... Like I'll keep feeling better." Her face felt wet, and clean, and it had been the home of so many tears and so many smiles before. "I feel like the horribleness will go away."
"...When will it go away?"
Sayori wondered about that.
"I don't know,” she said, “Tomorrow."
Yuri's smile dimpled her cheeks, now. Yuri didn't really smile as much as Sayori, but it was beautiful, she thought. Like the world needed to open its eyes if only to see these fleeting treasures Yuri would sometimes give away.
"Tomorrow?"
"Maybe,"
"I'm happy you feel that way. I'm happy for you, Sayori," and Yuri placed a hand on her's, like somehow it was meant to be there. Weird.
"Remember when you talked about the worm? That ate itself?"
"Worm?"
"Yeah, that ate its tail."
Yuri had this thoughtful look that reached down into the 'o' shape her mouth made, and she tapped her finger on her chin. " Oh , the ouroboros? It's a serpent, or dragon, depending on the depiction."
"Ouroboros..." Sayori's mouth formed a similar 'o' as she spoke. "It's fun to say."
"Did you want to know about it?"
"Yeah. I forgot what you said last time," Sayori thought about eating her own tail. She wondered what Yuri was thinking.
"The ouroboros typically symbolises a cycle of life, death, and rebirth. It continually eats itself, continually rebirthing itself in the process. The cycle is endless. I find it fascinating." Fascinating .
"Rebirth..." Sayori echoed. Maybe she could be a worm, then. Maybe being like the ouroboros was okay.
Yuri's eyes looked like they wept knowledge. "Yes, it's such an interesting concept. Very beautiful; the recreation of oneself."
"I think I was rebirthed, when you hugged me in the shower," Sayori almost whispered, and she felt less horrible. She smiled again, bigger, and it crinkled her eyes. She shimmied up to the head of the bed and burrowed into the covers. Yuri followed her, but just with her gaze. She stared inquisitively.
"I'm glad, Sayori," Her eyes flitted back down to her lap, "I will always be there when you need something like this."
Sayori felt weird. She felt naked, still, despite the silly pyjamas she donned. But Sayori felt weird next to Yuri, with damp, clumpy hair and movies on her laptop.
She felt rebirthed. She felt like she could be okay, someday.