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~*~
There’s just something about Tsukuyomi.
Tsukuyomi is many things to many people-- an online community, of course. A spiderweb connecting the world, no doubt. A hotbed of phishing scams in general chat, obviously. Even in the dead of night, Tsukuyomi was even brighter and busier than the packed crowds at Shinjuku Crossing. It was hard to escape the flood of announcements, of events, of streamers all clamoring for attention like rival chicks in a nest.
Quiet and calm wasn’t something most people would associate with Tsukuyomi, city of dreams. But here, at least, in her own private instance, Iroha could finally take a moment to breathe.
Starlight engulfed her, above and below. Lights in the water, rippling with every step, and the vast dark above beckoning like an ocean. Tsukuyomi was breathtaking, but also reverent, haunting. There was a sadness, a melancholy to its beauty, a yearning to its awe.
Or maybe Iroha was just totally overthinking things. Maybe the gorgeous view above her was nothing but a skybox, designed to be beautiful, and that anything else she saw in it, like yearning or grief, was something she brought here herself.
“Knock, knock,” Yachiyo announces, manifesting in a bloom of light. It’s a courtesy, of course; she made this world, and she could go where she pleased, including Iroha’s private DMs.
“Hey, you,” Yachiyo waves, gentle as the moon, floating on air.
“Hey, me,” Iroha murmurs, distracted. But as Yachiyo floats by, her hand darts out and closes around her wrist-- like a stray balloon that will float off into oblivion if you don’t hold on tight.
“Feeling like a makeover?” Yachiyo wonders.
Iroha glances down at the menu panels, minimized and floating around her wrists like bangles. She can’t help but smirk.
“...It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve spent an hour spacing out in character creation,” Iroha says dryly. “But no. I was just… thinking. About something a friend said.”
“Go on,” Yachiyo urges.
A memory: A friendly KASSEN match with Black Onyx. Mami fangirling so hard she almost passes out.
“He’s so cool!” she gushes, stars in her eyes.
“Mami, trust me, he really isn’t,” Iroha drawls. “He has rainbow LEDs on his chopsticks, for gods’ sake.”
Iroha snorts. That wasn’t the memory she had in mind, but it was a good one. She exhales, her mind wandering.
“Hi. Could I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if it’s, you know. Too personal.”
“Relax. Plenty of guys play girls in online games. It’s not a big deal.”
“Right. So, um. How do you feel about… gender?”
Noi looks up at her. Stares right through her, as if wondering if this is some kind of cruel prank. Eventually, they shrug.
“...I don’t,” Noi admits, with exactly the sort of aloof ambivalence that made them so popular.
Iroha can only stare at her shoes, embarrassed to have asked.
“...Right.”
“Hmm,” Yachiyo hums, thoughtful, her chin resting on her tented fingers. “Is that something you’d like to explore?”
“Huh?” Iroha blinks, her tail swishing. “O-Oh! No, I’m-- I’m pretty confident in who I am now. But… I wasn’t always that way. Not until I met you.” Iroha smiles wryly. “...Well. The other you.”
Yachiyo nods along to show that she’s still listening. Iroha takes a deep breath, and presses on.
“...I didn’t know who I was, at the time. I knew who my mom wanted me to be. Not really the same thing,” Iroha mutters. “She’d probably give me an earful if she knew how much time I was spending online. Or maybe not. Maybe after my brother became a pro gamer she’d figure it was a lost cause. Both her children were gonna be screen addicts for life.”
“Well, the internet is an amazing thing,” Yachiyo muses. “The world has become a smaller, more intimate place. You can reach out and make friends a continent away.”
“Is that real, though?” Iroha wonders. “I don’t really have any friends in Tsukuyomi who aren’t already my IRLs. Just the other day, Roka was tying herself in knots about making new friends outside of her, me, and Mami…”
Iroha shook her head, frowning.
“...I don’t know. I was just thinking about something I heard in an anime once. ‘The idol industry is a world built on lies’. You could say the same thing about Tsukuyomi.”
“Not lies. Dreams,” Yachiyo breathes, reverent and aching, like a prayer. “This is a world where anything is possible. You can be anyone you want. Even yourself.”
“Oh, so all the bots and Fuju farmers in shout chat are showing their true selves?” Iroha drawled, dubious.
“Some people wrap themselves in deceit,” Yachiyo admits. “But others use the illusions to touch something true.”
Iroha jumps, startled, at the sensation of hands on her hips. Yachiyo’s arms curl around her from behind, Yachiyo’s chin nestled into Iroha’s shoulder. Iroha shudders, her avatar’s ears twitching, her tail swishing in something dangerously close to a wag.
It’s just haptic feedback, she knows-- like the controller vibrating when you take damage in a game. But somehow, it feels so real.
“Not so long ago,” Yachiyo begins, with mythic gravitas, “a young genius moved heaven and earth to reunite with her love. She did something no one thought possible. Now, was that a lie? Or was it a dream?”
Iroha shivers. Her eyes are wet. “Y-Yachiyo…”
Yachiyo caresses her cheek, and tips Iroha’s chin up so she’s looking over her shoulder. She’s so close now, only three inches away. Two. And when Yachiyo’s close enough that Iroha can see eternity through her eyes, Yachiyo whispers, her breath ghosting across Iroha’s lips:
“...And if you fall asleep with your smart contacts in, you’ll wake up with a killer headache,” Yachiyo smiles, impish. “So it’s time for this dream to end.”
Iroha opens her eyes, Yachiyo’s laughter lingering on her lips. She takes a deep breath, lets it out slow, and when she opens her eyes the glow of her smart contacts makes her look like a cat in the dark.
Iroha groans, taking out her smart contacts and rubbing at her eyes. Yachiyo wasn’t kidding about that headache. But as she throws on her pajamas and shuffles off to bed, yawning into her fist, something stops her right in her tracks.
Kaguya. Her Kaguya, curled up in bed. Not the bombastic blonde that she was on stream, not the mysterious and elegant Yachiyo that captivated millions. Those were part of her, but only part; pieces of the mirror, one of many masks that only imitated her face.
Iroha reaches out and combs her fingers through silken locks. In the moonlight, Iroha can’t tell if her shining hair is white or gold, if the girl before her is Yachiyo or Kaguya, neither, or both.
What she knows is that no one else gets to see her like this.
This girl, this princess, is Iroha’s alone.
Iroha squawks in surprise as greedy, grabby hands yank her into bed, the girl in the moonlight gleefully trading her body pillow for the real thing. Iroha squirms in her grip, but those gangly limbs pin her to her pillow, in no hurry to let go.
Iroha sighs in sweet surrender, the moon shining down.
She tenderly smooths the girl’s hair against her scalp, and whispers an “I love you” both her princesses will hear in their dreams.
~*~