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TOKYO HIGH COURT OVERTURNS RULING ON SAME-SEX MARRIAGE
Same-sex marriage in Japan—both its legality and the lack of protections provided for those who wish to engage in it—has been a topic of heated discussion for over 30 years. Ever since the Tokyo High Court ruled the ban on same-sex marriage constitutional in a 2025 ruling, an uphill battle has raged to get the ruling re-examined, and hopefully overturned.
Multiple attempts to bring the topic back in front of the court succeeded, once in 2032 and another in 2036, but neither yielded tangible results for the affected communities. Both public and political sentiment, however, continued to trend towards acceptance, even despite repeated failures to overturn the ruling. Public figures, ranging from influencers to actors to CEOs, rallied behind the movement doggedly for years, the result of such fervent support being announced only hours earlier, when the Tokyo High Court decided to name the ban on same-sex marriage unconstitutional.
Parliamentary procedures meant to provide same-sex couples with the tools for and protections of marriage are already underway. Nothing concrete has been released to the public yet, but hopes are high that the relevant laws will pass within three months, barring any delays brought on by the Diet.
Of the many high-profile protestors that came together in support of the ruling, Sakayori Iroha (CEO and Projects Director of Otogibanashi Technologies) stands at the forefront. An up-and-comer in the world of prosthetics development and transhumanist studies, she seemed eager to position herself at the forefront of yet another leap forward in Japanese history.
“It’s a subject of personal importance,” she once said in response to an interview by NHK, but elaborated no further. Her contributions to and organization of grassroots movements kept a much-needed fire burning under proponents of same-sex marriage after the heartbreaking failure of 2036’s protests to result in tangible change. We have reached out in hopes of getting word back from the reclusive trailblazer, but have received no word back from either her or her office.
For further updates as the situation develops, please sign up for our newsletter at—
Iroha has a headache.
“No, I swear to you I–”
“Don’t you dare say you didn’t mean to do this,” her mother hisses, panic mixing into the acid dripping from her voice. “I don’t think that’d make it any better.”
Iroha groans. “I didn’t, though. The entire rest of the interview was actually about my–my job, you know? How was I supposed to know they’d focus on the one part where I talk about the gay marriage thing?”
“Because you are a public figure now, Iroha. A public figure who had already made public appearances related to ‘the gay marriage thing’ in the past.” Her mother, thoroughly and audibly fed up with her by now, sighs. “Your actions have consequences. Your words mean things to people.”
“I mean, I’ve been banking on my actions having consequences and my words meaning things to people,” Iroha argues, her brow pulling into a frown. “That’s the whole point of protesting. I just… didn’t expect them to be consequences that threatened my privacy quite so much?”
“Lord above give me strength.”
Iroha idly bites at her nails. She’s pretty sure this isn’t the case, but she can’t help her curiosity. Cautiously, she asks, “Is it really that bad that people… suspect I’m gay?”
“‘Suspect’, she says.”
“Mom.”
“It’s… not. I don’t think it’s bad, atleast,” her mother clarifies, picking up on the unspoken question. “I don’t mind people knowing. It doesn’t shame me or anything. It’s just…”
“The other thing?”
“…Yes, the other thing.”
Iroha taps her fingers against the back of her phone. She knows it makes a weird sound that her mom can hear through the speakers, but all the nervous energy coursing through her needs to go somewhere. “Polyamory isn’t… that strange to most people? I think?” A pulsing headache builds between Iroha’s eyes. She shoves a knuckle into her brow, trying to massage the ache away. “I think people have an easier time relating to loving multiple people than to loving one person of the same gender. I find that kind of strange, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“That’s still not the same thing I was talking about.” Her mother’s voice has shifted from tired to exasperated. Iroha bristles, simultaneously chastened and incensed, but doesn’t voice her discontent. “What I’m concerned about is the fact that you being a public figure with ties to the gay marriage movement will naturally bring attention to your relationships as a whole. Specifically your relationship with two other public figures. Your relationship with two other public figures that you’ve been trying to keep secret.”
Iroha feels the color drain from her face. “Ah.”
“There you go.”
Iroha ignores her mother’s tone. “You think they’ll start… badgering me? Trying to find out who I’m dating?”
“I don’t think they’ll try to find out,” her mother says, a little gravely. “I think the moment you get linked to your online activities they’ll surely find out.”
“That doesn’t seem… the likeliest thing to happen,” Iroha hedges, but it sounds as weak as she knows it to be. “No one actually knows the details of the body we built, or who it’s for. I know my name isn’t exactly private, but there should be enough people with the same name in Japan that it wouldn’t be that strange to hear it twice without immediately assuming they’re referring to the same person.”
“Yes, yes, all current evidence that could link your public persona to your online one is mostly circumstantial.” Her mother’s voice sounds hollow and muffled. She’s probably placed her hand over her mouth, in that way the two of them always do when they’re a little too deep in thought. “But something tells me you’re not going to get much of a choice in whether or not more definitive evidence crops up.”
“That’s not ominous at all.”
“You’re too obvious,” her mother continues, ignoring Iroha’s mumbled complaint. “The three of you go out in public often, and with barely any precautions to boot. The moment someone that knows either of your personas sees you three on the street—with all the associated flagrant displays of affection—it’s over.”
“We’re…” Iroha pauses. She tries to lie, and it gets stuck at the base of her throat. “We are that bad.”
“It is a genuine marvel you have not been found out yet.”
Iroha, again, sighs. Something settles across her shoulders, familiar and unpleasant in equal measure. She quickly identifies it as the looming threat of a deadline. The kind that’s far away enough to convince yourself it’s okay not to think about it, but near enough that you end up thinking about it anyways. She hates it like she has rarely hated anything. It reminds her of university, and university had been horrible—at least, that’s how she feels about it now, when she observes the experience through the corrective lenses of hindsight.
Her mother breaks the silence first. “Would it be that bad?” she asks haltingly. “If everyone knew?”
“I…” Iroha thinks about it. Really thinks about it. How much would have to change? How much would stay the same? Her thoughts pull in a dozen different directions, all differing degrees of good or bad. “I’m not sure.”
“…You should–”
“Ask them, I know.” Iroha’s thoughts pull in two very specific directions, now. Twilight blue and ruby red. Gleaming silver and brilliant gold. “They’d just tell me to go with whatever stresses me out less, but I want… I want to be fair to them, too. They’ve had enough choices made on their behalfs.”
“That they have,” her mother murmurs, a little sad and a little glad. Iroha understands the former, but puzzles over the latter.
The conversation hits a brick wall. They trade meaningless small talk, say their goodbyes, and start going on their ways.
“I love you,” her mother blurts out right before they hang up, a little panicked and a little hasty and horribly, terrifyingly honest.
Iroha’s heart swells painfully. A much younger part of her feels fit to burst. “I love you too,” she answers, and then it’s over. The article she’d been reading before the call stares back at her from her phone screen. It’s so strange, seeing her name there, big and bold and important.
‘Would it be that bad? If everyone knew?’
Iroha thinks, and thinks, and thinks.
Iroha wakes up cold.
Wakefulness comes in laggard, uneven waves. She feels the sun coming in through the window first, a thin patch of fire branded across her eyes. Her eyelids crackle open slowly, heavy with the leaden dregs of a good night’s sleep. Her arms feel empty, and she’s cold. The two are probably related.
Her neck creaks as she twists to the side. She finds the bed barren, save for her and the bundle of blankets around her. A curl of wry amusement lifts her lips into a smile when she notices she has been wrapped up into quite the tight blanket burrito. She takes her time freeing herself, stretching sleep-sore muscles and popping the cricks in her neck. Possessed of all the languid leisure of a woman with absolutely nothing to do today, she settles at the edge of the bed, a satisfied sigh escaping her as she bathes in the warmth of a sunbeam. The tension riding along her shoulders melts away, momentarily forgotten. She closes her eyes.
The sound of clattering cookware and muted laughter jolts Iroha awake. She hates when that happens.
She smacks her cheeks, skin tingling as she forces herself up and out of the bed. The floor is just nippy enough that it sends another jolt of wakefulness traveling up her legs with every step she takes. A quick trip to the dresser fixes the issue, a fluffy pair of socks and bunny-eared slippers proving very effective at warming her back up. More laughter sounds out in the distance, filtering through the walls of the apartment. It, too, proves incredibly effective at warming her back up.
She opens the door to the bedroom and is assaulted by quite possibly the best thing she has ever smelled. She can’t even tell what everything is, a dozen different aromas fighting for her attention, but all of it smells good. Her stomach rumbles insistently, and Iroha grumbles back at it, taking a reluctant detour to the bathroom first. She shuts the door behind her, hoping to ward off some of the temptation while she washes her face and brushes her teeth.
It works for a while. She rinses her face, wiping the gunk from her eyes with a grimace. She combs down her bedhead, noting idly that she should probably give her hair a wash today. She squeezes a glob of toothpaste from a tube that they probably should have already replaced a few days ago, and closes her eyes as she brushes her teeth. The repetitive action lulls her back into a sleepy sort of fugue state. She sways, back and forth and back and forth, mind clear of anything but the swish-swish of the bristles against her teeth. She is not thinking about the smell of fresh rice, or miso soup, or eggs in a pan. Her stomach growls. The haze in her mind is punctured by another stab of hunger.
She opens her eyes, and one of the culprits stares back.
Kaguya’s smile is blindingly bright. She’s peeking through a crack in the doorway, eyes shining. “Good morning, I-ro-ha!” she says, thinly-disguised excitement packed into every word. “You’ll never guess what we did.”
Muffled by the toothbrush still in her mouth, Iroha says, “Did you make breakf–”
“We made breakfast!” Kaguya sticks her tongue out. “You weren’t supposed to be up yet, though. Stay in there for a bit.”
Iroha snorts, rolling her eyes and shooing Kaguya off. Kaguya darts inside, plants a kiss on Iroha’s cheek, and then runs off, closing the door behind her with a click. Something bubbles up from her stomach to her chest, elated and electric. She finishes brushing her teeth, rinses her mouth out, flosses, and decides to wait in the bathroom until someone gets her. Might as well play along. She passes the time counting tiles, Kaguya and Yachiyo’s voices filtering pleasantly through her ears. They’re talking a lot, she realizes.
They’re talking a lot, and it doesn’t sound like they’re only talking to each other, either.
Iroha scrambles around for her phone, breathing a sigh of relief when she realizes she’d slipped it in her pocket before leaving the room, and looks for Yachiyo’s channel. Nothing. She swipes back to the search bar, then searches for Kaguya’s.
The ‘Live’ border flashes around her channel icon, bright red.
“Kaguya!” she yells, slamming the door open. Her face feels hot. “You’re not allowed to record me right now!”
The voices coming from the kitchen quiet down. Yachiyo giggles, just barely loud enough that Iroha can still hear it.
“But we made this just for you!” Kaguya calls back in a pleading tone that Iroha knows far too well. “Please? Why can’t we record you?”
“Because I–”
‘Just woke up’ might draw unwelcome speculation from the viewers. Damnit, damnit–
“–I’m not… presentable,” Iroha finishes lamely.
Another beat of silence. Iroha’s face burns.
“But you looked–”
Yachiyo cuts in, a teasing lilt to her voice, “Can Yaccho see?”
“What–no! What?” Iroha sputters, dragging a hand down her face. So much for not inciting unwelcome speculation. “No, I’m not–I didn’t mean that kind of not presentable!”
More silence. From the corner of her eye, Iroha can see the live chat going ballistic on her phone. She hadn’t even realized she’d opened the stream.
Yachiyo snorts. Kaguya joins her. Their barely-suppressed laughter sends heat crawling down Iroha’s neck.
“…Please?” Iroha murmurs morosely. Her tone feels more fit for the gallows than for a livestream.
Kaguya and Yachiyo laugh, uproarious and entirely unrestrained.
“We’re gonna go take care of Iro-P now!” Kaguya says between giggles.
“We’ll make sure we get her thoughts on the food once she’s presentable,” Yachiyo tacks on brightly.
In sync, “Bye-bye everyone!”
A click. The beep of the camera turning off. The laughter in the air turns softer. Fonder.
Iroha is so done.
“You two are going to kill me,” she whines, a groan appending itself to the end of her death throes. Her heart is hammering away at a mile a minute, thrashing wildly against her ribs. “Didn’t we talk about making sure we all always knew when there was a stream happening?”
Kaguya grins, skipping over to Iroha and draping herself over one of her arms. “The whole point of the stream was to surprise you with breakfast in bed, though!” Her hands link together around Iroha’s waist. She sways in place, both of them teetering back and forth. “We can’t really do that if you know you’re getting breakfast in bed.”
“And besides, everyone already knows you two live together,” Yachiyo adds. She mirrors Kaguya, slotting easily against Iroha’s other side. Whatever cold had clung to her is swept away by the bundles of searing warmth flanking her. “As long as they just assume I’m visiting, it really shouldn’t have been that big a deal, no?”
“I… guess not,” Iroha acquiesces. Her brow pulls into a frown. “I probably just made it worse by panicking, didn’t I?”
“A little.” Yachiyo gives her a peck on the cheek.
“Mhm!” Kaguya follows, a chaste kiss placed at the corner of Iroha’s mouth.
“You made it even worse than I did, though.” Iroha frowns and lightly tugs one of Yachiyo’s cheeks, eliciting a pitiful, keening whine. She silences it with a kiss, a firm press of their lips that lasts all of an instant. “You’re feeding the viewers too many ideas.”
“Ideas of what, exactly?” Yachiyo waggles her eyebrows.
“They’re going to think we’re dating,” Iroha answers like it’s obvious. Because it is.
“But we are.” Kaguya huffs indignantly against Iroha’s neck, lips pursing against the bit of collarbone peeking from the neckline of Iroha’s shirt.
“They’re going to think we’re all dating.”
Yachiyo this time, mirth writ across every word, “But we are!”
Iroha closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, ignoring Kaguya’s pout and Yachiyo’s giggles for the duration of her three-count in. She lets it out slowly, finally fulfilling Kaguya’s silent request for a kiss on the two-count out. Her hand finds the curve of Kaguya’s jaw and tilts it just so, that their lips slot together that little bit easier. Something in Iroha’s stomach unspools, smoky and lazy. Her panic filters to a gentler worry, settling behind her chest with a pang instead of a stab. They pull apart, and Iroha fights not to lose herself to the simple pleasure of two women who love her like it’s obvious that they should.
“I just worry,” she whispers. Kaguya’s eyes are clear and bright, and just the slightest bit sad. “The two of you deserve better than to be hounded over… anything, really?”
A pair of laughs ring at her sides, bell chimes and a breeze. Yachiyo detaches herself from Iroha, hands closing gently along her wrist and pulling her along to the dining table. The full-course meal they’d made is there, and it still smells far, far too good.
“No big thoughts for now,” Yachiyo chides, light and easy. “You’re hungry, no?”
“I am.” Iroha sits down, Kaguya and Yachiyo settling in the seats across from her. “But I don’t think I can quite stop having big thoughts about you two. I love you a great deal, you know?”
“Ah, what a charmer.”
“A dreamboat!”
“Our knight in shining armor.”
“Our very own fairy tale prince!”
“Nevermind,” Iroha deadpans, blowing on a spoonful of steaming rice. “I think I hate you both.”
Kaguya snaps her fingers. “Drat!”
“Maybe our cooking can still win her back,” Yachiyo intones gravely, hands clasped together in front of her. Her gaze is steely and sharp. Her lips twitch.
Iroha laughs a little, playing along by taking dramatic pauses between every bite of food she takes.
Her spectators lean in, rapt with attention. A drum roll of stamping feet fills the air.
Iroha eats. Rice, soup, eggs. A sharp, floral tea. She eats, and drinks, and once she is done she leans back, unbothered and imperious despite her full stomach.
The tension builds to a fever pitch. Yachiyo’s lips are trembling. Kaguya’s smile widens to an impossible degree. Their eyes shine with excitement.
Iroha raises a hand, and everything stops.
“…It was delicious.” She smiles, canting her head to the side. “I think I’ll let you stick around a little longer.”
The apartment fills with cheers. Kaguya picks Yachiyo up in a twirling embrace, and Yachiyo returns the favor once she has been put down. They twist and twine around each other, silver and gold coiling in waves, and stare at Iroha like she is worth more than both.
There’ll be time for big thoughts later.
She thinks she’ll just enjoy this for now.
—announce that examination of the bill by the Cabinet has concluded just earlier today. The Prime Minister, in a public address, stated his intention to submit the bill to the Diet in short order, a notion corroborated by the Cabinet Secretariat.
Deliberation by the appropriate committees is expected to commence around mid-July, with formal enactment and promulgation predicted to take place around late September—
Kaguya is never sure what to say to Yachiyo when they’re alone.
A balmy breeze blows across the balcony. Yachiyo’s hair swells in waves of frosted silver. Kaguya’s hair behaves far less primly, instead seeming intent on always ending up in her mouth. She sputters a little bit, pulling her hair back until it’s bunched into a ponytail. She deftly moves the hair tie around her wrist into place, twisting in and over a couple times. The pull on her scalp feels familiar. Comforting, almost.
What are you supposed to say to the person you used to be?
She leans her head against Yachiyo’s shoulder. Everything sounds wrong, from this high up, the city shifting and changing as it makes its way to them. Car horns turn tinny and flat. A thousand voices build into a solid buzz. The crowded streets sing in the rumbling-purr voice of sputtering car engines. Drunkards join the song, slurred words catching in the wind along with their good sense.
“Is it wrong of me,” Kaguya murmurs, voice light. “To be jealous of you still?”
Yachiyo tenses a little, shoulders hunching up. Kaguya’s hand drifts between them and finds Yachiyo’s. She laces their fingers together, thumb brushing across porcelain skin. Yachiyo squeezes, and Kaguya squeezes back.
A stab of guilt lances through her. She whispers, “I’m sorry.”
Yachiyo shakes her head. “Don’t be.”
“It’s just…” Kaguya fumbles her words. Everything sounds wrong, this high up. She’s no exception. “Does it make sense, if I say that it always seems to end with you?”
A weight settles on the crown of Kaguya’s head. Yachiyo’s voice rumbles against her skull, “I think it does. Explain it anyways?”
Kaguya’s breath catches in her throat. She’s not sure she’ll ever get used to this. To them, whatever they are when they’re together like this. “I spent those three months with Iroha, but she still ended up with you at the end of it all. She worked ten years to make a body for me, but the work didn’t stop until she’d found a solution for you, too.” The words burn like bile. She feels worse for saying them. “I’m a part of every story but… it’s always you, in the end. Every happy ending ends with you.”
Silence wraps around them. The wind roars in their ears, howling and biting, a wolf with its teeth bared at Kaguya’s throat. Yachiyo stays quiet, and Kaguya understands. Better than she understands most anything.
What are you supposed to say to the person you used to be, after all?
“Is it wrong of me?” Yachiyo’s whisper cuts through the wind. “To be jealous of you too?”
The world stops. Kaguya’s blood freezes in her veins, leaving her stock-still. Yachiyo’s hand remains warm.
“I’m sorry,” Yachiyo says. Her thumb brushes along the back of Kaguya’s hand.
“…Don’t be.”
The smile in Yachiyo’s voice is clear as a bell and bright as the moon, beating down on them in pallets of milky white. She says, “Does it make sense, if I say that it always seems to start with you?”
Kaguya’s skin feels like it flays off of her. Like every inch of her that she could possibly use to hide the ugliness in her heart has been sloughed off. The words ring in her ears like a memory. “I think it does,” she murmurs through the lump in her throat. “Explain it anyways?”
Yachiyo presses harder against Kaguya’s side. “I spent eight thousand years waiting for her, but it was you who spurred her towards me.” They turn to face each other on some unspoken cue. Yachiyo’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears. “She loves me, but the one she fell in love with was you.”
Kaguya untangles their hands, reaching up almost desperately to cup Yachiyo’s cheeks. She brushes her thumbs under those twinkling orbs of twilit blue, wiping away tears. Yachiyo leans into the touch, hungry as ever for warmth.
“Don’t you see?” Yachiyo whispers, eyes fluttering closed. Her forehead comes to rest on Kaguya’s. Their noses brush together, light as the flap of a butterfly’s wings. “It’s always been you. All our happy endings start with you.”
Kaguya’s heart soars. She searches for words that won’t sound wrong, no matter how high it takes her.
The distance between them shrinks like it was never there.
They don’t kiss often. It was so hard, at first, to see each other like Iroha did. To feel as two, and live as two, and love as two. They are, after all, a pair of branches sprouted from the same trunk; it's a hard one, the task of separating themselves from their origins. But every day they get a little better at it. Every day they find themselves growing further apart, and every day their fingers seem to stretch further and further ahead, reaching for a version of themselves only the future knows. For a version of themselves that is nothing like the other.
It was so easy, in the end, to grow into people who could love each other like Iroha did.
They stay like that for a while, lips slanting lazily against each other in uneven intervals. They steal the air from each other’s lungs, and the sorrow from each other’s hearts, and the cold from each other’s skin. They grow together, after all their growing apart.
“I love you,” Kaguya finally says, feeling out of breath and out of time. The words burst from her like geysers in the deep. “I love you, Yachiyo.”
Yachiyo’s hair billows and curtains them both, a shield against the night. Drunkards sing, and engines purr, and the wind howls, a wolf now at both their throats. “I love you, Kaguya,” she answers, simply and clearly. A star lances across the night sky like an arrow loosed at the dark.
The wind won’t steal their words tonight.
Stebahn 2:32 PM
@Iro-P Worshippers did anyone manage to clip the gay rant
Local Punching Bag #17 2:32 PM
??
feebee 2:32 PM
?????
SolarBaka 2:32 PM
The wyhat.
Certified Irokagu Lorekeeper 2:33 PM
https://www.youtube.com/clip/9dZƐIgf58K3H7D3x_Kk6BVLiBeSbdEkZHet3Z
The Gay Rant
SolarBaka 2:33 PM
THE WHAT
HSR 23.2 Stole My Wife 2:33 PM
LMAOOOO
Lee 2:33 PM
oh my god shes HEATED
Local Punching Bag #137 2:33 PM
she should get more heated in my general vicinity. name unrelated
feebee 2:33 PM
you’d find a way to thirst after her while shes going on a sermon about gay marriage wouldn’t you
Local Punching Bag #137 2:33 PM
its called window shopping
GobblyGlizzyer 2:34 PM
why does shet alk about this better than the actual factual Cabinet members that get interviewed about this ever day
Certified Irokagu Lorekeeper 2:34 PM
Cause She’s Gay (For Kaguya)
Stebahn 2:34 PM
true
Local Punching Bag #17 2:34 PM
true
feebee 2:34 PM
True
SolarBaka 2:34 PM
trvke
I like causing problems 2:34 PM
No for Yachiyo
Certified Irokagu Lorekeeper 2:35 PM
Not this shit again
Lee 2:35 PM
Lowkey isn’t it probably because she’s like. The Sakayori Iroha. yknow that one, the one no one can ever get interviews with but who has a weirdly similar name to Iro-P and connections in both relevant spaces
Local Punching Bag #17 2:35 PM
off to #conspiracy-theories with thee
Yachiyo loves the lab. It’s a strange place to love, she readily acknowledges, but she loves it nonetheless.
She stalks the halls with long, lazy steps, scuffing her shoes along bumps in the old linoleum floors. Her arms flare out, fingertips grazing the walls. Her nails catch on the orange peel texture, scratching at the concrete with a hollow, chattering sound that she can’t help but find satisfying. The smell of oil and antiseptic and lemon-scented surface cleaner burns in her nose, acrid and sterile and squeaky, sparkling clean. The static buzz of ozone burrs against her tongue, the closest thing she has ever felt to the garbled nothing-taste sensation of the moon.
So much time, she has spent in these halls. Sunrise to sunset, over and over again.
She has watched Iroha—beautiful, hardworking Iroha—burning herself down to the tattered scraps of her already-short wick. She has watched as more and more awards started lining the hallways from the office to the lab proper, certificates and newspaper clippings alike framed with unending pride and ceaseless care. She has seen every employee, and every assistant, and every intern, and every wonderful, fleeting life that has tended to the flames burning at the heart of these four-and-more walls.
She has also, it should be noted, been kissed against nearly every wall and table and shelf in the building. The thought is not exactly sentimental, but it sends a pleasant trickle of warmth racing down her back and along her fingertips regardless.
The main lab is dark.
Not entirely dark, she amends, but still dark enough. The only light in the room comes from the computer monitor at the other end of the lab. It sends everything into sharp relief, every corner and edge filigreed in blue light. Shadows flicker along the walls, bony and thin, cast from mechanical limbs and garbled masses of machinery and piles of old scrap. Yachiyo weaves through it all, movements quick and quiet and smooth, an eel darting between reef and rock.
Iroha is asleep at her desk.
The sight is not an unfamiliar one. Uncommon, thankfully, but ten-and-change years is a long time. Long enough to accrue a formidable amount of asleep-at-the-desk instances. Yachiyo’s eyes trace the line of her shoulders, the shadowed nape of her neck, the flickering backs of her hands. She drinks in the sight of the woman she loves, clad in monochrome and fitful slumber.
Iroha. Hardworking, beautiful Iroha.
She idly scans the papers scattered across the desk. Schematics, blueprints, patents, and a load of other forms of experiment documentation litter the space. Something about them is off, though. The product name, she realizes with a start. The subject name. Her gaze shoots up to the monitor, with its harsh blue light and the steady, even blink of the cursor on the screen. There is a search, at the top right of the document page. ‘Kaguya’ is in the search bar, and brings up over a thousand results.
And right there, at the very center of the screen and still only halfway-done, Yachiyo can see where the latest instance of ‘Kaguya’ had been replaced with her name instead. With however much of it Iroha had managed to write before falling asleep, at least.
Yachiyo’s chest blooms. Like a flower. Like a flame. Her breath catches on an ugly sob, and her smile stretches so wide it hurts. She tries to keep quiet, but her efforts appear to be for naught: Iroha is already jolting awake, eyes wide and panicked. Her breath comes in quick gasps, and she looks around at nothing while her brain remembers that it’s awake. She lands her sights on Yachiyo and crumbles, just a little.
“Good evening,” Yachiyo whispers wetly, primly lowering herself onto her knees. She places her head in Iroha’s lap and grabs a flailing, fumbling hand between her own. Her lips press against the clammy skin of Iroha’s palm. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“I’m sorry,” Iroha parrots back, voice rough and husky. Her free hand searches blindly for one of Yachiyo’s, bringing it up to her lips. She plants a kiss on Yachiyo’s left ring finger, gentle as the night. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“It’s okay.”
“’S really not.”
Yachiyo giggles, breathy and weak. “At least you’re aware.”
Iroha’s fingers trail gently along Yachiyo’s cheeks. A thumb burns across her lips. A pinky trails static across the shell of her ear. Yachiyo leans into the touch, burying herself in the raw sensation of a precious thing examined under precious eyes. The cat’s-eye green of Iroha’s eyes arrests her, beautiful as it has ever been. The blinking cursor on the screen needles all the way to the back of Yachiyo’s skull.
“Why?”
Iroha’s eyes soften. Her hand trails a little higher, silver tresses slipping between her fingers. Yachiyo melts further into the gentle affections. A distant, bawdy part of her feels suddenly and horribly warm, with her head in Iroha’s lap, and Iroha’s hand in her hair, and that caring, loving look fixed so firmly on her. Shivers run down her spine. She feels a thing possessed. She feels a thing loved.
“We’re gonna need papers for you soon,” Iroha whispers vaguely. Her fingers twitch against the back of Yachiyo’s neck. “Kaguya had paperwork that proved her existence from ten years ago, but I… I wanted you to have something too. And since it was decided that whoever stepped out of the lab as a result of this whole experiment would be legally considered a person, I figured… why not use it as a loophole for your benefit now?”
Her smile turns bashful. Yachiyo wants to kiss it so badly it hurts.
The words bleed from her lips, “You’re making me real.”
Iroha frowns. “You’ve always been real,” she counters, steely and chiding and kind. Her thumb finds its way back to Yachiyo’s lips. “I’m just catching everyone else up.”
“You say that like it’s easy,” Yachiyo breathes through a laugh. There’s no one else here, but it feels wrong to speak any louder. She stands up, straddling Iroha’s lap once she settles back down. Their legs feel warm against each other. “Like it’s simple.”
Iroha’s hands wrap around the thin curve of Yachiyo’s waist. The feeling of being dragged closer is horribly, terribly intoxicating. The thrashing beat of Iroha’s heart pounds insistently against Yachiyo’s ribs. “Maybe it’s supposed to be,” Iroha presses the words against Yachiyo’s lips. “Maybe it is.”
They kiss.
These four-and-more walls witness a little more love.
—the law, having now passed through both the House of Representatives and House of Councilors, is ready for enactment.
The House of Representatives was the last to review the law, and so it falls onto the Speaker of the House to submit the new law to the Emperor via the Cabinet, though this part of the process is considered by many to be merely a formality. We could not get in touch with the Speaker to confirm the urgency with which he plans to perform said formality, but no significant delays are expected.
Activists, upon hearing the news, surged onto the streets in record numbers, elated to finally—
The apartment door bursts open, and the tangled mess of limbs they’ve become shambles through it with little fanfare.
Iroha’s lips feel swollen and rough, but she can’t bring herself to care. Kaguya is still pressing harder against her, arms locked in a vice around the back of her neck, and she meets the needy insistence with renewed fervor, bringing them back together in another heated kiss. One of them kicks the door closed, but Iroha wastes no time figuring out who. She’s too busy trailing her hand down the smooth arch of Kaguya’s back, too busy dropping the useless weight of her purse onto the ground, too busy guiding them towards the couch in a pathetic imitation of a three-legged race. Her back aches from bending down for so long. She yearns for comfort as well as kisses. Iroha’s just greedy like that.
They make it to the couch, and Iroha’s greed is thrown back in her face. It’s the back of Kaguya’s knees that find the couch first. They topple over in a heap, Iroha’s back groaning as she is forced to continue bending down to keep her lips on Kaguya’s. She ignores it. She’s decided kisses trump comfort. She props herself up with one hand and uses the other to angle Kaguya’s face more comfortably. Her lungs scream for air. She wishes so badly, for a moment, that she could feed off nothing more than the mingled breaths between them. She wants to run off exhaust fumes and the feeling of Kaguya’s lip held between her teeth. She forces herself to pull back, shackled by the cruel whims of reality, and stares.
Kaguya looks beautiful.
She’s far from put-together. Fly-away hairs jut from her head where Iroha has been running her fingers through it. Her skin is tinged a striking cardinal red, blood rushing up her neck and across her cheeks and to the tips of her ears. There’s a dazed look in her eyes, heady and half-lidded and filled with naked want. Iroha’s lipstick is smeared across her neck. Her clothes are wrinkled. She’s gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat.
She’s a mess. She’s beautiful.
“Marry me,” Iroha blurts out.
Both of them freeze. The world slams back into sharp, painful focus. The arm she’s using to prop herself up over Kaguya shakes. Her head feels light and woozy from a lack of oxygen. She’s sweating too, but she’s cold all of a sudden. She shrivels into herself, compacting and contracting into a ball of concentrated regret.
Iroha jolts back like she’s been burned, throwing herself against the arm of the couch and looking anywhere, everywhere but Kaguya. She cups a hand over her mouth like it’ll take the words back and trap them in place. She thinks about her purse by the door, and her father’s grave, and velvet-lined boxes, and the manila folder in her dresser with Yachiyo’s legal papers. She thinks of every plan she’s tried and failed to come up with for how to do this right. How to do it any way other than how she just did. The cushions shift beneath her, and her eyes dart back forward, catching on smooth skin and bruised lips before she forces them shut.
A weight settles gently against Iroha’s chest. Thin arms loop shakily around her. Every motion feels stilted and stuttery. “Did you mean it?” Kaguya whispers against Iroha’s chest.
The words carry all the weight of a sledgehammer as they cave through her ribs. Iroha’s eyes snap open. Her arms shoot forward, wrapping themselves around the sweltering warmth pressed against her. Kaguya’s face is hidden, but there were tears in her voice. There shouldn’t be.
“Yes,” Iroha whispers fervently. The hold they have on each other tightens. “More than anything.”
A question and a smile flower against Iroha’s skin. “Do you regret saying it?”
Rusty spigots and bold strokes and incense smoke. She feels herself undone. She feels herself unraveled. There’s poetry trapped beneath her skin.
“Only because it wasn’t perfect,” she answers at length. Her gaze falls onto the crown of Kaguya’s head. She places a kiss against it. “Only because I–because so often, I feel like I fall just short of doing right by you.”
Her world fills with red. Red like blood and roses and rubies. Every time Kaguya looks at her, Iroha can’t help but see beautiful things. There’s a smile on her face, beaming and bright. Iroha wonders how she could ever dare to look away from it.
“It was perfect,” Kaguya argues, a giggle woven in the words. “It was you, after all.”
And she supposes that’s right, isn’t it?
She can’t help the big thoughts, whenever it comes to them. She loves them too dearly for that. But she’s learned that maybe they don’t need them. Maybe things are just meant to work out. Maybe it doesn’t even matter if they do.
“Crap.” Iroha untangles herself from Kaguya’s grip, ignoring the whine that falls against her ears. She dashes over to her bag, digging around in it feverishly. “Crap, crap the–the ring! I have rings.”
“As in, multiple rings?”
“Yes, multiple rings, I was gonna–” Iroha cuts herself off with a groan. She finds the box and makes her way back to the couch, fiddling with it to disperse the nervous energy pumping through her veins. “Ugh. I was gonna propose to you both at the same time, but I still hadn’t managed to come up with a good enough way to do it, and–”
“Oh! How about we propose to Yachiyo together?”
Iroha pauses and looks at Kaguya. There’s a proud gleam in her eye. Her mouth lifts in a smug grin.
“…I love you,” Iroha says instead of admitting that that’s the best idea she’s ever heard.
Kaguya lifts her hand up in front of her. “Enough to put a ring on me?”
Iroha rolls her eyes, but carefully plucks one of the rings from the box anyways. It’s nothing extravagant—nothing more than a pale loop of polished silver with a small band of emeralds across the top—but she wants to think it’s beautiful anyways. She settles one hand under Kaguya’s outstretched one, and static travels between them where they touch. The ring slides gently onto Kaguya’s ring finger, sure and snug. They both stare at it like a miracle.
“Silver and green,” Kaguya murmurs, voice crackling with emotion. She brings the ring to her lips. “I love it.”
“Yachiyo’s is gold,” Iroha says, smiling at the sight in front of her. Always, always beautiful things. “She’d never let it go if I didn’t let her carry around a little part of you with her too. She loves you so much, you know.”
Kaguya’s beaming grin softens into something gentler. Her eyes flick to the veranda, city lights floating in her eyes like falling embers. Her thumb glides over the silver of her ring reverently. Lovingly. “I know,” she whispers. “She’s totally gonna cry when we propose, isn’t she?”
Iroha laughs, pressing her forehead against Kaguya’s. “She absolutely will.”
One of Kaguya’s hands curls lightly around the back of Iroha’s head. She answers the unspoken question by pressing their lips together, soft and slow. Kaguya lets herself fall onto her back, and Iroha follows. She laces their hands together and the ring digs into her skin, but she thinks she likes the feeling.
“Now then, my dear fiancée,” Kaguya says—and doesn’t that word cause a pleasant shock of heat to bloom low in Iroha’s gut? “Why don’t we continue where we left off?”
Yachiyo starts crying before they’ve even made it onto their knees.
She says yes.
—promulgation of the law is already underway, with it being officially posted on the Kanpō website.
At the prefectural level, ward and city offices have been preparing for months now to accommodate for same-sex marriage applications to be accepted as soon as the law was publicated in the official gazette. Most laws must wait until they are widely known before they can ‘generally and actually’ take effect and apply, but the amount of public attention hoisted upon this particular issue means that, as stipulated in the attached clauses, it will come into force effective immediately.
Laymen, protestors, organizers and influencers alike find themselves ecstatic in the face of the momentous news. Many have stated their intention to make an event of their marriages, encouraging others to travel to local offices on specified days in a community-building effort. Local police have confirmed that as long as no public disturbances are caused as part of the unofficial event, no action will be taken to disperse crowds formed by it.
Other notable figures, however, have elected to take less public—but by no means less subtle—approaches.
Sakayori Iroha was, for the first time since news of the constitutional ruling broke, spotted and interviewed out in public. A news crew of small renown encountered her exiting a ward office late last night in curious company: Online idol superstars “Kaguya” and “Runami Yachiyo”.
When questioned, Miss Sakayori gave the interviewer but a single, short response:
“I just got married!” Iroha shouts behind them as they run, and it’s the most beautiful thing Kaguya has ever heard. Blood rushes in her ears, and her breath fogs in front of her, but she puts one foot in front of the other and just runs, runs, runs.
A crisp September wind nips at their heels as they tear through the city.
They’d not had much time to really think about what to do for their wedding. Eventually, of course, they’d do something with the whole family. Something grand, lavish, and beautiful. Something they’d put pictures of up above their fireplaces and on their social media platforms, with flower arrangements and coordinated dress codes and an extravagant reception. Something they’d share with others. With everyone. But first, they wanted something for themselves.
They’re all wearing white.
Nothing fancy, of course—they’re not trying to cause a scene. Nothing more than simple sundresses, hanging off their bodies like thin and flowy sheets of driven snow. It’s a little too cold for this particular getup, if they’re all being honest, but none of them can bring themselves to care. Clasped hands and pressed-together shoulders and kisses in back alleys ward off the chill. They trail gold and silver and blue behind them, a comet tail of their colors. She wishes upon a star, and finds that it has already come true.
The city holds so many memories.
They run past Iroha’s old school. It’s been remodeled by now, sleek and modern, all glass windows and sharp angles and monochrome color schemes. The old gate at the front is the same, though. Kaguya feels the ghost of something sliding between her palms. She swears she sees a black cat darting between the bushes. They duck behind a nearby building, and Yachiyo kisses Iroha kisses Kaguya kisses Yachiyo. They keep running.
They run past the cafe where she first met Roka and Mami. The air around it smells syrupy-sweet. Her ears ring with the memory of a name bestowed. Her mouth tingles with the taste of pancakes. “Thank you,” Kaguya tells Iroha tells Yachiyo tells Kaguya. They keep running.
They run past the old apartment. That old street pole is still there. It’s covered in ads and posters and stickers, and it doesn't glow. A crow flies overhead. A dog howls in the distance. Drunkards sing in the night. A single, solitary light shines from a window on the top floor. “I love you,” Iroha tells Kaguya tells Yachiyo tells Iroha. They keep running.
The convenience store where they’d done all their shopping. The family restaurant where they’d helped Kaguya plan for the Yachiyo cup. The ramen place she’d gone to with Mami. The cute little park where they’d all taken their pictures that one time. The makeup boutique where Roka had taught Kaguya all her juicy, beautifying secrets. She skims her fingers along the surface of every precious memory. Backwards through time, they keep running.
They get on a train. It’s the last one running for the night, but that’s all they’ll really need. They collapse onto the seats in a winded pile of white, and laugh. They lean against each other, wistful and quiet, and let the city whizz by. They haven’t let go of each other’s hands. Not even once. The train drops them off near the beach, and they take their time walking the rest of the way there.
There’s no one else here, this late at night. It’s perfect.
The full moon shines down on them, a spotlight. It stares up at them from the sea, a witness. They wade into the waters, waves lapping gently at their feet. They cry a little. They laugh a lot. Their dresses get soaked, and the wind tousles the hair on their heads, and there’s sand stuck between their toes, and none of it matters more than each other, here, now.
“Do you, Sakayori Kaguya, take Sakayori Yachiyo as your lawfully wedded wife?” Iroha intones seriously, voice pitched low and nose held high. She sounds like an officiant.
They laugh, and they answer, “I do.” The tree blooms. The branches sway, inevitably, towards each other. They kiss.
“Do you, Sakayori Iroha, take Sakayori Yachiyo as your lawfully wedded wife?” Kaguya grumbles nasally. She sounds like a politician.
They laugh, and they answer, “I do.” Water meets the shore. Their journeys end at each other’s feet. They kiss.
“Do you, Sakayori Iroha, take Sakayori Kaguya as your lawfully wedded wife?” Yachiyo whispers, voice fit to burst with adoration. She sounds like herself. There’s no one else she’d rather be, in this moment.
They smile, and they answer, “I do.” The moon shines, and witnesses, and guides them forth. Their journeys start in each other’s eyes. They kiss, and then they fall, together, into the ocean. Into tomorrow. Into each other.
Despite the cold, it feels horribly warm.
What are you supposed to say to the person you used to be?
“I can’t wait,” Kaguya whispers. “For you to be here, too.”
I like causing problems 6:32 AM
@IrokaguShippers @IroyachiShippers @IrokaguyachiShippers GUYS HOLY FUCK