Chapter Text
It was when the dying December skies shone brightly through the fluttering windowsill of the apartment, shining down on the indented engravings which form the word Sakayori, I. on the mailbox. In the lazy limelight, the sly sips of cold coffee touch the homeowner’s mouth promptly.
It’s quiet, like it’s limbo again. The likely lifeless groaning of the serene skyline seems to welcome the amber hues that crept as the sun wears down and retreats below the skyline. I’m greeted by the steam of warmth from an artificial breath, one that signals the invasion of the nape of my neck.
The semi-translucent artificial skin of Kaguya reached her hand past my eyeline and caressed the falling petals of snow.
“Whoahhh!, Snowwww!” A sentence soon followed by the sound of fake skin plopping lazily onto the belt of white that was held on the apartment balcony, the sheer mass of (much more than a human’s weight) in titanium alloy and synthetic skin causing the snow around to scatter, spraying particles of frost into my cold pathetic excuse of coffee.
“God- Kaguya! My coffee.”
“It was cold anyway, next time just let me brew- I can do americano, and Yachiyo has all these weird tea variants she keeps talking about!”
I wonder, y’know. Who is Kaguya? She’s lived eight thousand and something years, she’s Yachiyo, yet she’s still the same girl I promised to marry back a decade ago, yet sometimes she has so much wisdom, yet sometimes she’s centuries of wealth, and yet sometimes she’s just so incredibly dumb, and naive, and scatterbrained. Which begs the question-
“Kaguya.”
Shutting up was my one option, I guess. I sat and watched Yachiyo tell me all about war, all about loneliness- all about civilisation- inequality- pain- suffering- disease- famine- yet how much she loved me. I’m scared. Because what if Kaguya is really gone? And this is just some different person acting as her. Some changed woman who was once Kaguya, but lost her somewhere along the way.
“Yes?”
It was that tone, that soft, sweet tone Yachiyo had.
“Kaguya, who are you?”
It was odd, the silence. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s somewhere in between thought and nothingness, imperceivable catharsis.
“What…Do you mean? Iroha”
She sounds more like Yachiyo now. I’m scared.
“I mean, we performed a concert with Yachiyo. Yet, you are Yachiyo, and I got you from Yachiyo, but.”
I can’t, I really can’t
I’m scared.
“I…get it well, yeah, I am Yachiyo and.”
I think she noticed from the reflections in her glistening eyes, how I stared like I was going to cry.
“You’re scared that I’m not me anymore, are you?”
A nod.
“Is this because Yachiyo and I seem so different?”
Another nod.
“Yes, I am Yachiyo”
I’m scared.
“But, at the same time, Yachiyo is only a part of me; it’s like when I speak a different language.”
“How so?”
“Well, you have to say that I have changed too, y’know.”
“Yes”
Why am I scared again?
“I think that Yachiyo is the part of me that knows too much, that’s seen a bit too much”
She pauses.
“She’s like my glasses, it’s always me inside, I just…”
I want to cry, I’m scared.
Please hug me, Kaguya.
“I just think, she’s my other side, I guess.”
Kaguya isn’t a coin. Don’t say these things, Kaguya. I’m scared.
“Please…” Is all I mutter. I don’t know what to do.
“Oh! Should I act more like her?”
No, please don’t.
“Well, she is me, but”
I’m scared.
Don’t
“Kaguya.”
“Yes?”
“I’m scared you aren’t you anymore.”
She smiles a bit sadly. I feel my paper-shredder of a gut destroy my entire heart.
“I know. Heh, I’m an old lady now, eh?”
That’s not what I mean. Don’t say that.
“Everything I’ve seen has convinced me to be Yachiyo; everything tells me that I should be her. That she’s the better one, not scatterbrained nor naive nor-”
Please
“But I’m not. I couldn’t let myself be. That old woman of a mindset.”
What?
“I let myself become Yachiyo because I needed to save all my memories and wishes for you.”
I could feel the tight squeeze, the warmth of her subdermal heaters kicking in; she’s warm like before. Maybe warmer.
I’m scared.
“Yachiyo is a character! I play her so I can save Kaguya for you!”
This is wrong.
“Is this really you?”
I’m scared.
“Yes.”
I think she knows that’s a half-ass answer to me. But the hug seems tighter now.
“Iroha. Do you want to sleep on the futon with me tonight?”
Yes, I do.
Of course, I want to sleep with her.
All I wanted was Kaguya back.
“And I’m the Cosmic Princess Kaguya, in the fake-ish flesh and blood!”
As if she could read my mind. She pushes the snow off her shoulders as she backs off the hug.
The sun is gone now, we’re in the dark.
“Hope it’s okay, I appear as Yachiyo and me,”
It scares me
“But remember, even if it’s Yachiyo or me. I.”
It’s funny, eighty centuries, still too scared.
“I want! I want to marry you!”
Then, it was day.
The glistening streams of sun touch my face, now it’s advancing up to its place on the horizon, invading the small crack of my blinds, illuminating the decade-degraded avant-garde living room decor. It’s warm, I’m blanketless, and the air conditioning is on full blast, but I’m warm. The futon’s soft, but thin, floor feels cold and welcoming through the thin bareness.
She’s breathing on my neck- What?
It’s a bit wet, almost steam, but it’s warm. I kind of messed up that part-
But I realise, yes, she’s next to me. On the futon again, on the floor like we were seventeen. Now I’m about to be twenty-seven- and she’s eight thousand something, it’s kind of sad.
She’s hugging me so tightly I want to stop breathing, and I miss this. I miss when I was sure we could grow old together and not have to worry about synthetic skin degrading every few years- and.
“Iroha…” It’s that naive sharpness again, like she isn’t eight thousand.
Then I feel myself awake again at noon. The futon is empty. I’m scared she’s gone again.
But then it’s the wafting smell of pancakes again.
And it feels like that cramped apartment all over.
Because she’s sitting on the counter smiling at me, scrunching down pancakes like she never left.
Like it hasn’t been eight thousand years.
I love you, Kaguya.
Thank you for saving this for me.