Chapter Text
It’s been five months.
Five months since Harua’s life ended tragically– in the figurative sense, of course. Five months ago, Harua was still able to lay in bed curled into her beloved girlfriend, Yuma’s, side; held protectively by Yuma’s slightly muscular arms, able to bury her face into Yuma’s every nook and cranny whenever she wanted. Yuma was her everything, her other half – they’d met in week zero of Harua’s first year at university, during the club fair on the first day after her move-in.
Harua had been strolling the huge park in the middle of campus, overwhelmed with all the booths crammed next to each other with club officers calling out for people to come check them out, dehydrated from the sun’s heat beating down her neck and the lack of water in her system. Yuma, a club officer for one of the dance clubs, noticed Harua seeming faint, pulling her out of the hot late-September sun and bringing her under the club’s tent – which didn’t go unnoticed by her other teammates there.
“Are you alright?” Yuma had asked, her hand braced on Harua’s elbow, steadying her. She searched Harua’s face for signs of response.
Harua blinked several times, as if coming back from a daze. She felt lightheaded not just because of the heat, but also because of the busyness of the club fair and now the girl’s hand on her arm. There was a random girl’s hand on Harua’s arm and she was losing her mind because of it. The girl’s words rang in Harua’s ears, and Harua hadn’t realized that she hadn’t answered the girl’s question until she sat Harua down in a chair underneath the tent, grabbing a sweat cloth– unused, thankfully; Harua would have recoiled otherwise– and dabbing at Harua’s face gently. She grabbed a water bottle from the dance club’s ice chest and held it up to Harua, offering her a drink. Harua was compliant with the girl’s actions, sipping wordlessly as she felt herself come back to the world. Her vision began to clear up, being less spotty and blurred at the edges, and she began to hear more clearly, and–
And wow. The girl was so pretty. She had a facial structure that looked like it was sculptured by a Greek goddess herself – a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, dyed blonde hair that framed her face perfectly, deep dark brown eyes that looked like Harua could drown herself in them and die happily– she was not just pretty. She was utterly drop-dead gorgeous, so beautiful Harua had forgotten how to breathe. And she had a tooth sticking out of the right side of her mouth that wasn’t supposed to be so cute, but Harua had always found imperfections cute– a snaggletooth just so happened to fall into that category.
“Are you alright?” The girl asked Harua again, watching her eyes coming back into focus as she continued to make sure she was as comfortable as possible.
Harua could hardly form enough breath to respond with a, “yes”, just above a whisper and barely there. She was too breathless– whether by the overbearing heat taking a toll on her body or the absolutely divine woman right in front of her tending to her right now; she didn’t know– but she was too breathless to even consider saying anything else. The other girl’s shoulders appeared to deflate slightly at the sound of Harua’s meek voice coming out of her throat.
“Oh good,” she said, grabbing another cold water bottle from the ice chest as if Harua had finished the initial bottle she’d been given– she was not finished. “You scared me there. I’m relieved that you answered.” Harua’s hearing starts to come back to her, sounds coming less in rings that give her headaches; more clear, resonant, easier to follow.
She totally means to thank the girl for her concern, assure her that she’s alright now, and that she appreciated her help. But what Harua says instead is, “You’re so pretty,” quickly followed up by “Can i get your number?”
She wants to smack herself for letting such words slip out of her mouth. She wants to blame the overbearing heat for making her feel confused and disoriented, causing her mouth to work faster than her brain. For a second, the girl looks surprised that Harua asked something so straightforward without shame – her eyes slightly wide, her mouth open just a bit – and then her mouth grew from a small oval shape into the most beautiful smile Harua had ever seen. Pearly white teeth – imperfect and sharp – unveiled themselves, the snaggletooth on full display; the girl’s eyes crinkled up slightly with her smile. She looked a little like a shark and a cat mixed together – a shark-cat.
“I’m flattered,” The girl said with a small giggle tailing her words. “My name’s Yuma. I’m a second year here, a chemical engineering major and minoring in dance. I’m also one of the communication chairs for this club.” She holds her phone out for Harua to take, which Harua doesn’t realize until Yuma damn near places the unlocked phone into her hands. “You?”
“Oh!” Harua buffers, her brain working slower than usual (again, the heat), as she realizes what Yuma’s expecting of her. “Harua. Shigeta Harua.” She introduces herself, wanting to smack her face with how stupid she sounds. She takes Yuma’s phone and enters her contact information so she has somewhere else to look and something else to focus on rather the girl that’s stealing her breath right now. “I’m a first year. Um, biological sciences major.” She has no idea what else to say, so she returns Yuma’s phone.
Yuma glances down at her phone, liking the way Harua’s name fits into it, before she pockets it. She grabs a small flyer for her dance club and hands it to Harua. “Here,” she says. “You should come to one of our meetings sometime. They’re in the arts school’s dance studios, typically on the first floor.” Though Yuma’s only about an inch taller than Harua, she leans down to Harua’s ear. Harua feels her skin prickle with goosebumps making themselves apparent on her skin. “And I’ll text you later. Not supposed to be flirting with potential club members when I’m on the job.” She whispers.
Harua nods like she understands. “Got it.” She says, grabbing her tote bag and the two water bottles Yuma had given her. “Thank you… Yuma.” Her heart’s rattling in her chest, faster than it ever has before. She leaves without letting Yuma see the rising blush on her cheeks. Gosh, Harua doesn’t think she’d ever fallen this hard for somebody so quickly.
And even though Harua wasn’t particularly a dancer… she wouldn’t mind going to Yuma’s club meetings just to see her.
Harua thought about Yuma on her way back to her dorm room, which she shared with Taki – her best friend since seventh grade, the girl who was always trying to cause mischief and yet also the one who was always watching out for Harua. When she noticed Harua looking uncharacteristically giddy when she returned to the dorm that afternoon, Taki declared Harua obligated to spill everything – Harua refused, Taki wouldn’t stop pushing, and suddenly they were both lying on their stomachs on blankets on their dorm floor like it was one of their sleepovers again. Harua cracked and told Taki everything, and Taki was convinced Yuma was into her.
But a week had gone by and there was no text from Yuma.
Harua was crushed, but she wouldn’t show it. She dove headfirst into her schoolwork– it was week one of the quarter, and she was a biological sciences major anyway, so she had to be on top of things. She distracted herself from everything social, only going to the dining hall for meals with Taki and studying in the library after classes.
Then, as she was lying on her dorm bed, relaxing after a long day of classes and studying, a text caught her eye.
+81-xxx-xxxx
hiiii Harua! I missed you last night at the club meeting :(
where were you?
Harua did not recognize this number. She was so ready to block it, protect her peace, and move on, when the unknown number texted again.
+81-xxx-xxxx
oh my god i’m so sorry.
i just realized i never texted you last week after the club fair.
i’m sooo sorry!!! this is Yuma 😸
She audibly gasped at the series of texts. She thanked everything above that Taki was not in the room right now– she’d gone out to a cooking class she’d booked for fun– because if Taki saw her writhing and squealing in her twin XL then she’d never hear the end of it. Harua was going crazy like this over a simple woman, whom she’d only known for a week; she needed to get a grip.
She responded anyway.
Harua 🌸
hiii Yuma!
i was worried you forgot about me LMAO
no worries though i get you were prob busy with school and dance
And so began Yuma and Harua’s intertwinement. Harua began attending Yuma’s club meetings, which were almost always dance practices with a social afterwards, and learned to love dancing as much as Yuma. Yuma began to show up at Harua’s dorm early in the mornings to bring Harua breakfast, even though she lived in an off-campus apartment with her fashion design friend Nicole – who Harua bonded with over a love of fashion. They began talking, which quickly progressed to making out in dance studios once everyone was gone; because Yuma learned very quickly how to push Harua’s buttons to get her hot and bothered, and Harua knew how to trail Yuma on the edge before giving her sweet relief. About eight weeks into Harua’s first quarter at university, she had her very first girlfriend – not someone who used her as experimentation; nor someone who constantly wanted to keep her a secret, but someone who truly loved her for who she was. With her messy anxiety issues and imposter syndrome and breakdowns; all of it, Yuma loved her for all of herself.
Which is why it was so confusing when Yuma had asked to go on a break.
It had occurred five months ago. Yuma and Harua had been serious for a year and a half, and Yuma was just about to end her third year of university; with Harua a year behind her. Harua had come back home to their off-campus apartment together– they’d decided they wanted to live together the previous year– and noticed that Yuma was preparing dinner for the two of them. Though she was looking quite pensive while doing so.
Harua had come up behind her and wrapped her arms around Yuma’s waist. “What’s wrong?” She had asked, leaning her head against Yuma’s shoulder, trying to peer at her face.
She felt Yuma’s diaphragm contract and relax under her arms as she breathed deeply. It seemed as though she had something to say– something serious that she wasn’t sure how to break it to Harua. It made Harua’s skin crawl with goosebumps, not unlike the first time they met, though in this moment the goosebumps felt less pleasant and more anxiety-inducing. She just wanted Yuma to say it, whatever’s been weighing on her mind; just break it to her instead of building up anxious tension. That would make her feel worse than just being blunt and honest.
“Tell me.” Harua said, releasing her waist to turn Yuma around so she could look her in the eyes.
Yuma looked wrecked – her eyes watery, her lip caught between her sharp teeth (no snaggletooth anymore, she’d had it removed a year back because it was hurting her. Harua mourns it daily.), cheeks sticky with dried up tears.
“I think we should take a break.”
Harua’s world cracks in half. Her stomach drops out of her body and onto the kitchenette floor. She feels like she stops breathing. “What?” She hears her voice come out sharper than she means to – out of pure shock, she isn’t angry (yet, unless Yuma’s been sneaky behind her back, which she hopes isn’t the case) – and consequently sees Yuma’s face break in half. Her hand comes up to cup Harua’s jaw, and suddenly there’s tears slipping from Yuma’s eyes again.
“I know, I know,” She says aimlessly, like it means something. “I spent hours thinking about this and this is the only solution I could come to. I got the summer internship in Australia that I applied to a few months back–”
“And the only solution you could think of was breaking up with me?” Harua hates how her voice cracks in half as she asks the question, cutting Yuma’s apologies off. It makes her sound vulnerable as hell and she reminds herself this is why she doesn’t get involved with people as deeply as she did with Yuma – because this is how it always ends. “It’s great that you got the internship, really, but you don’t have any other options? We can’t even try long-distance?”
“I don’t–” Yuma starts, but she nearly hiccups on a sob. “I don’t want you tied down to me while I’m away.”
Harua hears it the other way around – she thinks Yuma’s trying to get out of this relationship so that she can frolick off with another Australian woman and never look back. “You’re breaking up with me,” is all she says. “You’re breaking up with me because you don’t want to be tied down to me while you’re away.” A tear slips down Harua’s cheek, and she doesn’t want to give Yuma the satisfaction of seeing it – but Yuma is quicker at wiping it away than she is; she always has been. Harua hates that Yuma knows her so well – her every tell, her every emotion – she’s so vulnerable and Yuma is exploiting it.
“That’s not it, Harua.” Yuma says, still cupping Harua’s cheek ever so gently.
Harua takes her hand and wraps it around Yuma’s wrist, removing it from the side of her face, watching Yuma’s face drop in horror. “Don’t bother,” she says, turning away from Yuma. “I’m packing my things and leaving tonight.”
“Where will you go?” Yuma’s eyes follow Harua’s movements as she moves towards their bedroom, hearing the sound of Harua yanking the closet door open, the clatter of her luggage hitting the floor, the sounds of clothes quickly dropping into it. She’s serious. Yuma doesn’t think, in her two years of loving this girl, that she’s ever seen Harua so upset. She follows Harua over to their bedroom, seeing her crouched on the floor packing everything she has into her one luggage, one hand wiping the endless tears that keep flowing down her face.
“Taki’s.” Harua forces out of her mouth. “She’s available, I’m sure. And I don’t think Maki would mind my presence either.” She zips up her suitcase, grabbing a backpack and filling her numerous skincare products and toiletries into the bag, along with her other basic needs. Once she’s deemed she’s fully packed up, she makes her way to the front door of their apartment.
Yuma stands there like she’s a cat begging her human not to leave for work; big, watery eyes pleading Harua not to go. Harua refuses to look at her as she slips her shoes on and grabs her keys, keeping her eyes trained on what she’s doing.
“Harua, please.” Yuma tries once more to grab Harua’s wrist, to convince her into staying.
Evidently, it does not work. Harua opens the door to their apartment, easily avoiding Yuma’s grasping fingers. She takes one step out of the door, briefly considering stepping back inside and collapsing back into the person that makes her feel safe.
But this day had to come sooner or later.
“Goodbye, Yuma.”
And so, just as quick as their relationship lit up, it fizzled out – like a firework whose sparks died in being doused with water.
~
Five months had passed since that day when Harua’s life ended. She’d watched Yuma succeed in her international internship from miles away; through stories on her social media, of course, because they hadn’t had the heart to block each other’s contact information. Maybe a small part of Harua still held out hope that Yuma would reach out again, forgive her for what she did, and ask if they could have coffee at their old favorite shop again, like old times. Harua never expected her to, what with the way she left being absolutely unforgivable.
Yet, though she was the one who broke things off with Yuma– not answering any of her calls or texts for the days after, which propelled Yuma to give up on ever contacting her again– Harua missed her like crazy. She wishes she didn’t break things off with her. She wishes things hadn’t fallen out like they did; that they could still talk like they used to. But she was too much of a pussy to ever reach out and–
And now it looks like she’d lost her chances of ever getting back with Yuma.
Harua had been sitting at her favorite coffee shop with her study materials for her classes this quarter. Physics, Upper-Division Scientific Writing, Human Physiology, Physiology Lab. It was the third week of the quarter and naturally she had midterms quickly approaching, so she had come here to get some work done. Never mind that she had spent many study days here with Yuma – with less studying and more feeding each other the sweet pastries the shop baked – she filed that to the back of her mind as she focused on her work. She was absorbed in a problem set for physics, soft music flowing in her ears from her wired earbuds, the sounds of the coffee shop bustling and baristas making drinks underneath it. The whirr of the espresso machine as it ground beans, the barista calling customers’ names as their drink was prepared, the chatter coming from tables over – it all would have been irritating to the normal person, but Harua found the underlying sounds layered with her quiet music to be soothing, helping her focus.
That was, until the bell above the door jingled as it opened and closed, and Harua looked up to see who came in.
She made a mistake looking up from her work – she should have kept her eyes focused solely on her work, because now she would be too distracted by the churning in her stomach to even think about reviewing for physics.
It was Yuma who had walked into the cafe, but she wasn’t alone. She had an absolute beanstalk standing next to her, though she seemed tense– the beanstalk looked as though she didn’t have the gall to even stand an inch next to Yuma, eyes darting to Yuma every few seconds like she was checking her over but didn’t want it to be obvious. Yuma, as if sensing the other’s gaze on her, looked up– she was so tall that Yuma had to look up to her, Harua’s traitorous brain reminds her– and she looked at the beanstalk with the softest eyes ever. Harua’s stomach churned violently as she tried to refocus on her work, but seeing Yuma like this with another woman– the reminder that Harua would never ever be this for Yuma again, the notion that she would never be enough for her– filled her with jealousy. The jealousy quickly turned into something else, making her feel sick to her stomach; and then Harua was rushing to the coffee shop’s bathroom before she lost her lunch on her physics work.
She hated this. She hated how whenever she would get worked up it would usually end like this, crouched in a restroom waiting for the nausea to go away. Yuma had always been there for her in moments like this, which she did not want to remember right now. In the past few months Harua had often cried herself to sleep nightly or even cried herself into throwing up with how badly she missed Yuma. She missed feeling safe, she missed the comfort, she missed feeling whole instead of ripped violently in half.
The door to the bathroom opens, and Harua feels a jolt of fear rip through her as her stomach turns again. She fails to hold back a gasp, wishing that for once, she could just be quiet, make herself smaller, minimized, unnoticable. A knock resounds on the door of the stall she’s in, followed by someone’s voice – not Yuma’s – calling to her, “Are you alright?”
This better not be another meet-cute, she thinks to herself. “I’m fine,” Her voice is strained, sounding as if it’s coming from far away as she tries to breathe her way through this. She shuts her eyes, her ears ringing, her head spinning, as she tries to get a grip on things. She doesn’t like the direction this is going in; it feels all too familiar to her. Harua grabs the railing to steady herself, unlatching the door of the stall to tell the person on the other side that she’s fine and there's nothing to worry about.
Only she’s met with a pair of tits held very nicely in a basic lace bra, which was peeking out of the girl’s white wrap sweater. Harua doesn’t think she’s ever met someone so tall in her life – until she looks up and recognizes the face. She’s Yuma’s new girlfriend – the beanstalk. Harua doesn’t even know her name so she’ll note this girl in her mind as the beanstalk. She has her hair very nicely braided, curtain bangs framing her face, silver studs dotting her earlobes, a very light makeup look on. Her ears have flushed very red as she looks at Harua, almost surprised at the proximity of them; and then Harua pushes past her so that she can wash her face, rid any evidence that she was in distress enough that she was close to being sick.
“I’m fine.” She repeats a second time as she dabs at her face with water. This girl doesn’t get to worry about her – she stole the love of Harua’s life. She pushes past her and storms out of the restroom, letting the door slam into the other girl’s face.
She’s so wrapped up in getting back to her table and shoving her books, laptop, and study materials into her bag and getting the hell out of here that she doesn’t realize she’s not looking where she’s going. She accidentally bumps shoulders with somebody– rather harshly, because their coffee is jolted and a bit splatters onto Harua’s light grey jacket.
Great.
Harua rolls her eyes, ready to retreat to the counter to grab napkins, when a familiar voice is uttering countless apologies; and an all-too-familiar hand is dabbing at her jacket with napkins.
“I’m so sorry, ‘Rua.” Yuma says as she helps clean her up, so instinctive it’s like muscle memory. “I know how much you love this jacket.”
Even greater!
“Don’t touch me.” Harua manages, though her throat is clogged with a lump that she can’t swallow that almost prevents her from mustering up the words. “I can handle this myself.” With that, Harua leaves her hanging, retreating back to her table to pack and grab her things before leaving. The ice in her coffee has melted and made it watery, which she dislikes, but she drinks it anyway because she’d be wasting seven dollars on a drink if she didn’t. And she doesn’t let tears leak from her eyes until she’s nearly halfway back to the apartment she shared with Taki and Maki. She doesn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart.
Harua feels sick with distress. The love of her life– likely the only woman she will ever love– has a new girlfriend. She feels as though she needs to do something about it. She can’t go on like this; she feels like she’s being slowly ripped into pieces by the minute, like every day there will be a constant reminder that she ruined her own relationship and happiness when she broke up with the love of her life. Harua is upset all the time, and no one can get her out of it; and it is entirely her own fault. Maybe if she hadn’t freaked out that night when Yuma proposed they go on a break, if she’d just agreed to do so, maybe they’d still be together right now. But she didn’t; she let fear and anxiety get to her and now look at the mess she’d dug herself into. She destroyed her own life, and now she has to fix it.
And the only way to fix her life is to get Yuma back.
~
“You’re crazy.” is what Taki tells her when Harua tells her the plan as she’s cooking dinner that night.
Harua leans across the kitchen’s counter. “I’m not crazy. I’m propelled by heartbreak.”
Maki’s studying at the dining table, but she gets up and comes over to steal some of Harua’s tangerine slices. Harua glares at her, though there’s no heat behind it. “If it makes you feel better, ‘Rua, I don’t think you’re crazy,” she says.
That doesn’t really make Harua feel much better, but it’s better than nothing. She’s grown to like Maki a little bit– although at first she was iffy about the girl because she was a little too energetic and touchy for her taste; and then when they were drunk one night Maki tried to kiss her. Harua established boundaries that, no, she wasn’t looking for a relationship right now and that she probably wouldn’t ever be looking for a relationship again. Maki understood that and they went about life never speaking of that night again. Maki resigned her yearning for Harua and has actually become a good friend in the past five months.
“I just feel like it’s so recent, though.” Harua says, eating another tangerine slice. “I mean, five months? How is that enough time to get over someone you were with for almost two years?”
“I think five months is a reasonable time, actually.” Taki responds, not looking up from where she’s chopping up vegetables. “You broke up with her, she did a summer internship and moved on– she didn’t think you’d still be pining for her five months later.” She dumps the vegetables into the pan to saute; she’s probably making omurice. She finally looks up at her best friend. “Face it, ‘Rua – Yuma’s not coming back.”
Harua clicks her tongue irritatedly. “Whatever.” She scowls, her nose scrunching like a bunny rabbit’s, as she enters the kitchen to grab a glass of water. “I’m still going to hook up with Jo, when I find her again. She’s too pretty not to be messed with.”
Harua had found out many things about Jo through stalking her Instagram account through Yuma’s. First, she found out that her name was Asakura Jo, that she was the same age as Yuma–though younger by a few months– that she majored in fine arts and political science, that she played on the university’s basketball team, and that she had been dating Yuma for not that long. About six weeks or so. Harua had made a good use of her time when she wasn’t studying or crying at night.
She also had the gall to request Jo’s private Instagram account– and, surprisingly, Jo accepted her request and followed her back. Probably only because Yuma told her to, which makes Harua seem pathetic.
This was going to be so much fun.