#chenmiya

But last night she was stuck inside, getting ahead on homework she wouldn’t be able to do on next week’s trip, and she didn’t have a chance to step out at night and get something to eat. And her emergency backup option, the NEET at the corner house by the train station who always sleeps late, had chosen this day, of all days, to get up early and venture outside.

The nurse is out today too. Her teacher asks for some help during lunch, so she doesn’t have time to sneak over to the other section where that scary flashy girl always takes naps for a snack.

And when school lets out, she has an appointment to talk about her college recommendation.

But it’s fine. It’s fine. She’s made it through the day. She just has to finish watering the last of the flowers and go home.

But she’s so, so hungry.

She wipes her forehead clean of sweat and adjusts her straw hat.

“—Amiya.”

Oh no.

Ch’en’s low voice, normally stoic—even chilly—is so warm, curling with fondness at the edges.

A shiver, a pit of dread and tension settles low in her belly.

“Oh, Ch’en!” She pushes herself to her feet and turns. “How—“

Her eye twitches. The way her track uniform compliments her—the exposed belly, the strong arms, the bead of sweat tracing the line of her handsome jaw. The casual potency of her posture. The way her hair is tied up, exposing the line of her neck.

The way she smells.

“…was your meet today?”

“Hmm. I’m proud enough of my performance, but there’s always room for improvement. But the freshmen really put in their best effort this time.” She smiles, then, subtly proud and caring in that thin, hard-won way that torments Amiya’s nights. “It seems like you’re working hard as well. Can I help you with anything?”

Amiya’s stomach growls.

“Oh! No, thank you, that’s very sweet of you to offer, but I’m almost done, and I’m sure you’re pretty tired anyway.” She turns away to hide her irises narrowing like a cat’s.

“Are you sure?” Ch’en asks, stepping forward. The cloud of her scent envelops Amiya, all active sweat and cool assurance and stoic virility, and she feels herself twitch. “I don’t want to push you, but I promise it wouldn’t be a burden. Anything you need, you know you can ask me.”

Ch’en steadying her with a hand on her waist, and smiling down at her with her eyes from so close up. Ch’en sternly scolding the first years, but smiling proudly as soon as they turn around, resolved to give it their best renewed again. Ch’en demolishing the opposition in a kendo match, and stoically, graciously accepting her medal. Ch’en gathering Amiya’s hand in both of hers, murmuring soft words of reassurance and then wiping her tears with her fingertips. Ch’en grabbing a book from a high shelf, and handing it to her with a smirk. Ch’en, warmth in her voice, calling her name.

Amiya grips her watering can, white-knuckled. Her gut flares with hunger. Ch’en, Ch’en is always like this. She’s so cool, but so gentle, considerate. So bold, so unguarded… she’s so good, she makes it hard for Amiya not to be bad.

“… Ch’en, you really—”

“Ahaha! Chenchen, don’t be so needy! Give the little bunny some space.”

“—oof!”

Amiya puts the can down and turns just in time to see Ch’en struggle her way out of the crook of Blaze’s elbow, her top rucking up all the way to the bottom of her sports bra as pushes out of her teammate’s sweaty embrace. She glares at her like an affronted cat, but Blaze has already changed targets.

“Waaahh!”

“Ehe, gotcha!” Blaze’s big arms trap Amiya in their hold, her face pushed up into her bicep and the corner of a boob pressed into her eye.

“Blaze, you’re all sweaty!” she whines, cheeks burning as she stops up her breath so she doesn’t breathe in her scent, doesn’t make a lunge at her own childhood friend.

“Awww, you’re sweaty too, y’know, working so hard out here in all this heat!” She pulls Amiya’s hat off, and ruffles her fingers in her hair. “I guess you’re right, though, I’m probably pretty rank.” She laughs, loud as ever, releasing Amiya from her prison to stumble back a step. “I did run my heart out, after all.” She taps her pacemaker scar where it peeks out from under her running top and winks at Amiya, who rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

Her arms are so strong and heavy, she’s so warm, so generous, surely…

“You know,” Blaze says, turning her gaze back to Ch’en, “this one here smoked everybody in four different events. Pretty impressive, right?” There’s a straightness to her spine, all of a sudden, a firmness—challenge. Ch’en gazes straight back at her, unflinching. “If you’re so humble like that, you’ll make the rest of us busting our asses to catch you feel bad. I dunno, maybe you should take some more pride in your accomplishments.”

“If you don’t like it,” Ch’en replies, “then beat me.”

Ah. She can feel it in the air. Tension, desire. She’s hungry.

“Oh, you can count on it,” Blaze growls, smiling slowly. “I better not catch you resting on your laurels, or I’ll knock you off your feet.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“I guess we will.”

They stare each other down.

Amiya’s stomach growls. If she pushed them together, here, into each others’ space, she could fill her belly. It would be so so tasty.

She needs to get home.

“Anyway!” Blaze claps her hands together. “I gotta get out of here. I’ve got a meeting I’m gonna be late to. Oh yeah!” she exclaims, stiltedly, and turns to Amiya with a big shit-eating grin. “I totally forgot, I was supposed to wheel the equipment cart back to the storage room. Could you two please get it for me?” She winks at Amiya, with the smug pride of an expert wingman.

Amiya’s stomach drops. She makes frantic eyes at Blaze, who mimes a fistbump and then spins away.

“Okey dokey, that’s all the time I have! See ya see ya!”

Before Amiya can say anything, she dashes off, leaving her and Ch’en alone again.

Ch’en’s eyes are already back on her. Amiya can hear her heart beating in her ears. “Sorry about her,” she says. “She’s always been like that, but she means well.”

Ch’en nods, smiling gently at her in that way she has, just for Amiya. “You’re a good friend. And she’s a good teammate.”

Amiya turns away from her, cheeks warm, insides a mess. It’s not fair, for Ch’en to smile like that, to talk to her so softly, when she’s trying so hard to keep her hands to herself. “Alright! Let me just finish up here, and then I’ll go take care of that cart.”

“We’ll take care of it. Please, Amiya, at least let me help you with that.”

She doesn’t have the heart to say no.

She’s so doomed.

—

Amiya puts her glasses back on, and grips the handle of the cart with sweaty hands. Next to her, Ch’en’s left hand almost touches her right, and she patiently waits for Amiya to brace herself before she starts pushing, together with her.

Amiya’s stomach is full of butterflies and gnawing emptiness. Ch’en smells good. So good. Just a little taste, a little bit—she knows she’d be so satisfying, and then—

She shakes her head.

“Amiya, are you alright?”

Guileless concern. Tenderness. It’s so much.

“I’m fine, don’t worry!”

“You always say that. You’re so strong. But if you ever need to lean on someone, I’m here for you.”

She pulses.

It’s not fair, Ch’en, it’s not fair.

She licks her teeth, inside her mouth.

And together, they push.

She knows she’s cute. People say she’s pretty. And her gently teasing sense of humor, the contrast with her primness, is honed and effective. Amiya is confident in her abilities.

But Ch’en never responds to any of it. Not even a little bit of want to tide her over during the schoolday. She knows Ch’en likes girls, from the low hum of desire that leaks from her in the changing room, even as she graciously and inconspicuously turns her head aside aside. But that desire has never been turned towards Amiya, no matter how hard she’s tried.

Instead, she always gets that smile, that soft smile—polite, respectful, restrained, yet warm and unguarded. It drives her crazy, has driven her crazy. It’s that smile she sees after she falls asleep on Ch’en’s shoulder, when she presses her chest into her arm, when Amiya lets their eye contact linger a moment too long and then smiles, when she laughs at something and then gives her a single glimpse of something mischievous: when she leans in close and brushes hair out of her face, and smiles at her; when she traces her muscles with a little laugh, and then goes quiet breathing just a little harder; when she laces her fingers into Ch’en’s, and smiles up at her.

And always, always, she gets that same smile back. Because Amiya’s been crazy about her since before she used to leave little letters of encouragement in her locker, since before she came of age and started hunting on her own, since before they met again in highschool and before the years they were separated by fate and circumstance.

Ch’en smiled at her that same way during those months in the hospital waiting room back when they were in fifth grade, going through tragedies beyond what anyone their age should have to hold.

And Amiya’s feelings have changed with the seasons, with the years.

But Ch’en’s smile never changes.

Ch’en’s just really fond of her.

—

They reach the storage shed.

And of course, of course, Ch’en asks Amiya to hold the door while she pushes the cart inside—always trying to surreptitiously give her the lighter task, to take on more for herself, always framing it as a request for help because she knows how self-conscious Amiya can get.

If she knew, Amiya thinks, would she do the same thing? Would she feel obligated to…

They fit the cart in, and the doors swing shut behind them, and then they’re alone together in that dark, cramped space.

She feels hollow. Empty. Her hands are tingling, her head hurts. Ch’en smells so so good. She could just, a little bit…

“Amiya? Are you alright?”

“Oh. Yes, I’m… I’m fine, thank you.” She smiles weakly. Her head is spinning. Ch’en frowns at her, unconvinced, worried. “Please. Let’s just… get this done with?”

“… Alright. If you say so. But please, if you need anything…”

Amiya digs a fingernail into her hand.

“You’ll be the first to know.”

Together, they begin to unload the cart. Hurdles, warmup equipment, batons, stanchions… the space is cramped, and they keep brushing against each other. It’s not fair, she can’t take it. The whole room smells like Ch’en, it smells so good, and she has to…

She crouches down to grab a box of starting blocks from the lower rack, and when she stands up she feels a rush of numbness all of a sudden, her vision goes blank, and she stumbles sleepily.

As the blood slowly reaches her brain, she realizes… Ch’en, she’s touching her. She’s slumped against Ch’en’s chest, an arm slung under her own to hold her up. Her touch is so soothing, a slow trickle of the vital energy that spills from her, tantalizing Amiya’s yawning hunger. At some point, Ch’en deftly took the box from her hand. She looks up into those concerned eyes, and she wants so badly that it hurts, a dull sting through her whole body like slow fire.

“Please, Amiya. Please at least let me carry the heavy things.”

“…Okay. I’m sorry. Thank you, Ch’en.”

“Can you stand?”

She pushes herself to her feet, and they stand there, so close together, breathing onto each others’ faces.

She could just stand on her tiptoes, and…

Ch’en gently smooths out the collar of her uniform with her free hand, and smiles at her, all princely worry.

She pats Amiya’s shoulder, and then steps in against her to pass by her on the narrow shelves, heading for the place on the rack for starting blocks.

Absently, Amiya wanders back to the cart, fixing her glasses, and grabs something from it.

Too much. It’s all too much. All these years, and all these hours… she’s at her limit.

I can’t take it anymore, Ch’en. I can’t. I’m so hungry. I know you’ll never want me like that. So I’ll give you a little push, and we can have a pleasant dream together, and then go back to being friends. Help me with this one little thing, will you?

With a feeling of dread anticipation, she spills over.

There’s… no existing attraction there to amplify. So she’s really, really gotta let her have it.

She fills up the dark, cool space of the shed. The shadows stretch and lengthen, a half-dreamscape overtaking the waking world.

“Ch’en,” she says, voice sweet, breathy: stretching, reaching helplessly to place a stack of plastic cones on the top shelf. “Can you help me with this? I can’t reach high enough.”

“Of course,” she says, her voice aching, yearning. “Anything… anything. You know I would—”

Her voice. As she talks her voice sinks deeper and deeper into her chest, becomes something husky, fervid. “And I… you’re so… I don’t—“ Ch’en trails off, behind her. Amiya hears her swallow. Feels her gaze burning into her. She can feel that throb of desire finally, finally, pointed her way, the heat she’s yearned for.

She just wishes it didn’t have to happen like this.

“Ch’en?” She sounds shy, sweet. Ch’en’s always liked that type—bookish, kind, gentle. She’s always caught her eye on girls like that.

Except for…

“Ah. Ah… I’m sorry. Of course.”

Ch’en steps in, pressed right up against her from behind, and gently takes the plastic cones from her hands, pressing her into the shelves as she reaches up to put them away.

“There you go,” she says, husky and soothing.

But she doesn’t step away.

Amiya shivers.

“Ch’en…? Are you—“

Those rough, kind hands gently caress her forearms, up to her wrists. Then they seize her, and press her firmly to the equipment in front of her.

She whines as Ch’en leans in, heavy breaths blowing hot against her ear, chest pressing into her back.

“Amiya, Amiya, I… I shouldn’t, but you—“

Amiya yields to her entirely, letting herself be pinned to the heavy box in front of her, sighing in satisfaction.

Ch’en makes a wounded noise behind her, panting heavily, sweating. “I can’t… you’re so…” she takes in a breath, a pull into her lungs of the scent of Amiya’s hair from just behind her ear, and sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Amiya I’m sorry, I can’t—“

It’s like ice water thrown over her whole body.

What… what is she doing?

She takes in a deep breath, and pulls her energy back up into herself.

Ch’en stumbles away from her and into the other shelves, throwing a hand up to catch herself as they shake with a clatter.

Amiya’s chest feels hollowed out. Crushed. She had shaped it to feel like just a simple, meaningless sexy dream, and idle fantasy, but Ch’en had fought so hard, and… and it had turned into a nightmare.

Oh. She really. Really doesn’t like me, like that, even if I…

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, Ch’en, I… it was my fault, I made you…”

“No,” Ch’en says, grave, dreadful, but still so gentle. “No, Amiya, please. Listen to me. This is—this is my fault. I didn’t have enough self-control, I—you can’t blame yourself, for things I did. You don’t control my actions, I do. I’m the one to blame. I need you to know that.”

She sounds like she’s gritting her teeth. Like she’s going to cry.

Oh, Ch’en. She’d been careless. She’d wounded her heart, through her own selfishness, and now proud, gentle Ch’en was tearing herself apart for sins that weren’t her own, falling on her own sword to spare Amiya the pain she thought she’d caused.

There’s no coming back from this. She has done something that can’t be taken back.

There’s only one thing she can do to make it right. One way to take back the blame that rightfully belongs with her, even if it destroys this life she’s built these last 18 years.

She pushes off the shelf, pulls away from Ch’en, stepping into the open center of the storage shed. She watches as Ch’en’s heart visibly breaks as she retreats, seeing in it the confirmation of her guilt.

“I’m sorry, Ch’en,” she says. She carves this last look at her into her heart, smiling wistfully.

It’s been so much fun.

“I’ve been keeping something from you.”

She closes her eyes. Her wings unfurl from her hips, her horns spiral from her head, and her long, thin tail fades into existence behind her.

She can’t bear to see the reaction.

“I pushed those feelings on you. Since you… weren’t interested in me, I used my powers to… give you a little push. Just because I was hungry. I’m sorry, Ch’en. I’m so sorry.”

“Amiya…” she breathes. “what…?”

She forces a watery smile. “I’m not human. I’ve been lying to you all this time. I… I’m sorry.”

“I had no idea.” Ch’en’s voice is so soft. She steps closer. Amiya feels the rough, kind brush of her hand, where her neck and shoulder meet. “All this time, you’ve been carrying this alone…”

Amiya trembles. She’s so kind, even to someone like—

“…I’m sorry too. There’s something I’ve been keeping from you, as well.” Her voice is so low, so rough, so heavy with emotion.

Amiya blinks open her eyes. Ch’en is right there in front of her, smiling ruefully.

She bends down, resting her forehead on Amiya’s shoulder, like she’s praying, like she’s in pain.

“You didn’t need any kind of magic. I…”

She takes a slow, painful breath, and lets it out as a shudder, a death rattle.

Her fingers ball in Amiya’s uniform, clutching, desperate.

And then it hits her—a wave of yearning, of hunger, so strong, so compressed, it makes her feel drunk, a head-high that leaves her feeling sluggish and ragged.

“Oh, Ch’en… you—hnnn!”

Ch’en bites her shoulder, possessed with passion, the dull clamp of a predator’s prey-like desperation.

Amiya latches onto her in turn, arms and wings and tail clutching her close, squeezing her tight.

Ch’en licks the mark she’s made on her shoulder, slow and fervent, breaths shuddering, like she’s moving in a dream, so far beyond thought and reason. She nips at Amiya’s ear, and a spark shoots through her.

“I’ve always told you,” Ch’en murmurs, voice hoarse, wrecked, “if you need anything, please, please… please, take it from me.”

Amiya sobs.