#umiyo

“You are terribly unsubtle, you know,” Sakurai says matter-of-factly, rubbing his hair vigorously. It's a weekend and Gorou-san's pool has been their favourite hangout since before they could walk, so of course they've been swimming. Umiko's mouth draws in a sour line as she watches delicate fingers tuck rich purple hair behind a perfect ear.

“God, I'm such a filthy lesbian,” she says, biting the mouth of her bottle while trying to keep down this wave of sheer need that shudders through her when the girl of her dreams shifts her stance, moving her weight from one slender foot to the other, drawing attention to the lithe curves of long, pale legs.

It should be illegal for someone to be as beautiful as Hazuki Tomoyo.

Nanase Umiko is not like the other girls. She uses boku even when her teachers beg her to be more ladylike. She wears long leggings under her uniform, annoyed by skirts in general. She diets for her training regimen rather than to fit into cute clothes. Her hair is always a mess, bleached by chlorine and the sun, and her clothes are always comfortable. The closest thing she owns to make up is lip balm, and she uses male deodorant because it works better. She laughs too loud, talks too much, swears by accident in front of old ladies and she actually called someone temee to their face (in her defence, you don't bully her little brother and get away with it).

She is the antithesis of the object of her affections, and sometimes this frightens her. If they hadn't been friends since they were practically born, she's sure Tomoyo would want nothing to do with her.

Unlike Umiko, Tomoyo is quiet and soft-spoken. She's serious and diligent in everything. She wears a skirt like she belongs in it, and Umiko is grateful because Tomoyo's legs are a gift from the gods. Her hair is always perfect, velvet dark, so soft and thick Umiko wants to spend hours running her fingers through it. Her lips are glossy and sweet-looking, and Umiko's never wanted to kiss anyone as much. She's slender, fawn-like, and skittish like one too: no one blushes quite as wonderfully or trips over her own feet quite as adorably as Tomoyo. When not in uniform, her style is cute and refined and everything about her is ladylike, pretty, dainty... all adjectives that could never apply to Umiko, and Umiko loves her for it. Tomoyo's hands are always cold, so Umiko wants to warm them in her own.

Sometimes, when they were little, Tomoyo seemed like a princess, and Umiko felt like an ugly oni who didn't deserve her. Umiko's come to be more comfortable in her own skin thanks to swimming, but sometimes, when boys confess to Tomoyo, she still feels that old pain, like a fresh papercut.

She envies her brother, sometimes. He and Sakurai have it so easy, it seems, just falling into being together like it was preordained. And while everything else is a delicious challenge, something to be taken head-on with a slightly manic grin, these feelings for Tomoyo are overwhelmingly terrifying. Umiko tries to drop hints, subtle at first, but then heavier and heavier, but Tomoyo...

Umiko loves her, but damn, the girl is dense.

“You should just tell her,” Takumi suggests. Umiko glares at him. It's easy to preach when you've currently got your boyfriend's arms around you. She mimics him, her mockery harsh in her annoyance.

“Play nice, kiddies, or I'm telling Uncle Makoto,” Sakurai says, grabbing another handful of popcorn and shoving it in his mouth. Umiko props her socked foot on his head – his own fault for sitting on the floor.

“It's not easy, you know,” she grumbles. She's not even paying attention to the movie.

“Like hell it's easy,” Sakurai admits, tilting his head back so her foot slips off. Takumi twists slightly to look at him.

“Are you saying you found confessing to me difficult?” he asks, incredulous. Sakurai looks sheepish. “So much for the smooth operator.”

That makes Umiko laugh. “Oh my God, Taku, don't you know? That took Uncle Sousuke two weeks of hard tutoring to get right! You've known this idiot your entire life, do you really think he's anything other than a huge fucking dork?”

Takumi turns fully, scowling. Sakurai looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up.

“This entire relationship is founded upon lies,” Takumi hisses. He tries to wriggle away, but Sakurai just holds him tighter, makes him giggle with lips pressed to his neck. Umiko's gaze wanders back to the movie, having no interest in watching her best friend and her brother make out, but there's a sharp pang in her chest. She wants to be able to do that with Tomoyo, cuddle with Tomoyo, press laughter and kisses to soft skin and joke about their first date.

She presses a cushion to her face and groans into it.

Something pokes her leg. She tugs down the cushion, eyes narrowed.

“Maybe you could do like Dad did,” Takumi says, grinning. “Go to Uncle Rei and Uncle Nagisa and ask for permission to court her!”

Umiko has to laugh at that, at the whole ridiculousness of it. She stares at the screen, at the random explosions and the woman with the steely glare walking away from them in slow motion. She has no idea how Uncle Rei and Uncle Nagisa would even begin to react. She shakes her head, disgusted with herself. Is she really contemplating this crap?

It seems she is. She's at the Hazuki household, somewhere she's been countless times before, but all she can see right now is some sort of foreboding castle, its guardians a pair of dragons, the princess up in her tower. And Umiko thinks she's one of the many, nameless knights that's doomed to fail. She rings the bell, swallowing to try and keep her heart from crawling up her throat. It's not Uncle Rei or Uncle Nagisa that opens the door, however.

It's Tomoyo.

Alarm bells go off in Umiko's brain. She's got these cute clips holding her bangs back and her eyes are wide and surprised and her lips slightly parted... Umiko can feel her face start to burn.

“Oh, Umi-chan! I wasn't expecting you.” She sounds happy to see her, even if she is surprised. Small blessings.

“No, I, uh.. I decided to come round, you know... Are Uncle Rei and Uncle Nagisa here?”

Tomoyo frowns slightly. God, even her frown is cute. “No, they're still at the university. Did you need to speak to them?”

Umiko laughs, waving a hand. “Nah, just wondered! So, uh...”

“Come in, then,” Tomoyo offers, standing away from the door and ushering her in. Umiko can feel the internal panic rising.

Normally, Nanase Umiko is a girl who runs from nothing. Right now, she wants to run very, very far away, and possibly sever all connections with the outside world once she becomes a hermit in Outer Mongolia.

She can't do anything but accept the invitation, gulping as she steps inside and toes off her trainers. She's so self-conscious she actually arranges them tidily, and that's when she realises there are two other pairs of shoes beyond hers and Tomoyo's.

She hears giggling from up the stairs, probably Tomoyo's bedroom. Umiko winces.

“Um, so, who've you got visiting?” Umiko asks. Tomoyo's gone to the kitchen, so Umiko follows, unwilling to go upstairs. Normally, she would. Normally, she'd just take the stairs two at a time, like she always does, introduce herself to whoever is there and be the centre of attention, as usual, but... given the state she's in, she doesn't want to at all.

“Oh, just two classmates,” Tomoyo says absently, setting four glasses on a tray and pulling out a biscuit tin, which Umiko already knows contains some of Uncle Rei's creations.

Umiko has never been... overly popular with some girls. Girls like Tomoyo, girls who like girly things and boys and make-up. And that's fine, all girls are fine, but that's not the kind of girl Umiko is and sometimes those kinds of girls don't like that. It's hard to be different. These are Tomoyo's friends though, they must be nice. Tomoyo wouldn't like nasty people.

She follows Tomoyo up the stairs, holding the biscuit tin. She's been in Tomoyo's room before, multiple times, but now it's... it's different. It means something different. That's Tomoyo's bed, the bed she sleeps in, the pillow she hugs and the sheets she cocoons herself in. It probably smells like her, fresh and flowery and delicious.

She shakes her head, offers a smile to the two staring girls.

“This is my childhood friend, Umiko,” Tomoyo says. “She's in the swim club with me.”

One girl waves nervously, says her name is Miki. The other girl looks Umiko up and down, smirks. Her name is Hoshiko.

Tomoyo settles down, and Umiko sits opposite her, cross-legged because kneeling is only for formalities.

“So... you're on the swim team?” Hoshiko asks.

“I'm the captain,” Umiko says, and she feels she can smirk comfortably at that. It's an achievement she's proud of. “I came second at nationals last year.” The thought of that chick from Tokyo beating her still pisses her off.

Hoshiko raises her eyebrows. “Wow, that's an achievement!” she says.

“Not a good enough achievement,” Umiko replies, honestly. Tomoyo's frown is back.

“You shouldn't put yourself down like that, Umi-chan,” she says.

The conversation veers off after that, the girls get some work done, Umiko munches on some biscuits and plays on her phone.

“So... is there anyone you like, Miki?” Hoshiko asks once they're taking another break. Umiko can't help but roll her eyes. Boys are... fine as friends, but there's nothing attractive about them. Why look at boys when there are girls?

Unfortunately, Hoshiko seems to have the eyes of an eagle. She turns sharply to Umiko. “What about you?”

Umiko raises an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Are there any boys that you like?”

“I'm not interested in boys,” Umiko replies honestly. She's not going to lie.

“Umiko has to concentrate on her swimming if she wants to make the Olympics,” Tomoyo reasons with a bright, proud smile.

Self-destruction is already out of Umiko's mouth before she can stop it. “I'm also a lesbian,” she says, matter-of-factly, like she hasn't just outed herself to two perfect strangers. There's a clunk. Tomoyo's knocked over her glass. She's starting at Umiko like it's the first time she's ever seen her in her life, wondering what this person is doing in her house.

“Are you ok, Tomoyo?” Miki asks.

“Yes, fine!” Tomoyo says cheerfully. “Oh no, the carpet!” She rushes to get a cloth, Miki presses tissues to the spreading orange stain, demanding Hoshiko provide some as well; Umiko's impromptu coming out is forgotten, for now.

But Umiko knows Tomoyo, knows her almost too well. The bubbles and cheer is the facade of when she's panicked, worried, doesn't know quite what to do with herself. Umiko stands, follows her, finds her in the kitchen, cloth in hand, just... standing at the sink.

“Hey.”

Tomoyo jumps, whirls around, fumbling with the cloth and pushing her glasses up her nose. “Oh. Yes?”

Umiko drums her fingers on the doorframe, bites her lip. “I think... I think I'll head home. Sorry for disturbing your studying.”

Tomoyo blinks. Laughs, airy, breezy, fake as hell. “It's fine! Sorry for not being a proper host!”

In movies, Umiko thinks, this is where she'd stride across the room and kiss her. This would be a romantic scene, and the tension would be the taut strings of unrequited love and unresolved sexual urges. But it's not, this is real life, and the tension between them feels thick and oily, and altogether highly unpleasant. Someone must break it.

“See you Monday,” Umiko says, turning, breaking the tension.

She runs all the way home, nails digging welts in her palms as she cries for the first time in years.

Tomoyo's reaction is possibly the worst case scenario. Of course it had to happen. Umiko's always been lucky in everything, Takumi the one born under the wrong star, it only makes sense that the universe flip it for their love lives. Takumi and Sakurai are perfect, and Umiko is destined to the sad life of a lesbian spinster with eighteen cats, abandoned by her nieces and nephews to die alone and be found three weeks later, half-eaten.

She voices this concern to Takumi. Takumi is unimpressed.

“I think our parents have given you unrealistic relationship goals,” he says evenly. “Not everyone meets at birth and then ends up marrying, that's exceptionally rare. Just because Tomoyo's not 'The One' doesn't mean there is no 'One'.”

“That... is not helping,” she mumbles, rubbing furiously at her eyes. She hates crying, she stopped crying at six and now that's all she can do and it pisses her off. Anger does not mix well with sadness, especially because being angry at Tomoyo also makes her feel sick, her stomach weighted and heavy, dark with bad feelings. Umiko has never really been one for negativity, so she's not sure how to process it.

It's made even worse when she steps into school on Monday, because there's swimming practice. But... she can also hear whispers, rumours, stares chasing after her.

“I knew it,” she hears someone say, and she whips around before she can stop herself. The speaker doesn't emerge from the crowd, no one is looking.

Is this how Takumi feels? she wonders, fiddling with her split ends. That all-devouring anxiety and paranoia, the self-consciousness, the twitching at every laugh... is that the lens through which he sees the world? It's horrible. People's gazes cling to her skin, greasy and tangible, their voices follow her, taunting her. Not being able to walk tall with a spring in her step is a sensation she's never felt before, and she hates it. Confidence has been her armour and her weapon, one of the foundations of what is Umiko, and now it's been stripped away.

She's not sure she can handle it.

“Don't listen to them,” Takumi says when he comforts her at lunch, arm around her shoulders. She needs this closeness, this familiarity, feeding off his energy greedily in a way she hasn't done since she found she could make enough for the both of them.

“How do you do it? Every day?” she asks. It's exhausting. Takumi sighs.

“Some days I crawl, some I hobble, some I walk. The important thing is getting through them.”

She rests her forehead against his neck, their breathing in sync, like it has been since the first one they took. She can feel guilt mingling with the other sensations, another tick on the list of horrible feelings, guilty about not paying enough attention to him, so caught up in her swimming. If she lost this bond they have, the strange connection that's a twin thing, well...

They're on their way to the pool for practice when a girl comes up to them. Umiko's never seen her before, she's a first year, and completely unremarkable.

“Can we help?” Takumi asks. The girl blushes.

“I-I'm Koda Izumi! I'm in class 1-4!” she blurts. “M-may I talk to you in private, Umiko-senpai?”

“I'll go on ahead, then,” Takumi says, patting Umiko on the shoulder. Umiko watches him leave, confused, and then turns back to Koda.

“Uh... did you need something?”

Koda isn't looking at her, rather at her scuffed trainers. “I... I l-like you, Umiko-senpai! P-please go out with me!” Then, of all things, she bows.

Umiko stares. She stares and stares and stares some more, but not at Koda.

Tomoyo is behind her, a few metres away, also heading to practice. She's stopped dead, watching the scene, her expression unreadable. The silence stretches on, awkward, the kind of silence that's crying for someone to say something.

“Senpai?” Koda asks, straightening. She follows Umiko's gaze, to Tomoyo, brow furrowed in confusion.

Tomoyo turns and leaves. Her pace is normal at first, but then it picks up, and soon she's flat out running. Something clicks in Umiko's mind, something that starts screaming at her to chase, and before she realises it, she's running too. She doesn't even register leaving Koda behind, the girl's declaration unanswered.

Tomoyo's more important.

Sprinting across the yard, Umiko catches a shock of purple hair disappearing around the corner of the main school building. She follows, feet pounding the compact earth, the concrete slabs, bag slapping against her side. She'd forgotten just how fast Tomoyo was, how easily running comes to her, but somehow, some deep instinct is telling Umiko that she needs to catch up to her.

She puts on a spurt, beginning to feel the burn in her calves. She snatches for Tomoyo's arm, misses, catches the strap of her bag. Tomoyo makes a strangled sound, a bit like 'GLARK!' and skids, her feet flying from underneath her. Umiko squawks, can't stop in time, crashes into Tomoyo's back, and Tomoyo's momentum sends them flying back.

Pain shoots up Umiko's back from where it collides with concrete, but that doesn't even matter: Tomoyo's on top of her. Umiko doesn't know what to do with herself, so she stays perfectly still, arms locked upright, heart pounding because Tomoyo's back is pressed against her boobs. This would be awkward if she could even begin to understand what is happening.

Tomoyo groans. That doesn't help. She seems to realise what exactly is going on and quickly scrambles to her feet with a yelp. Umiko still doesn't move. Her face is burning and all she can see is the sky and a little bit of a nearby tree. Her boobs kind of hurt from Tomoyo's weight, and her stomach too, but that doesn't even matter because until five seconds ago, Tomoyo's butt was way too close to her crotch. Oh God.

“Are... are you ok, Umi-chan?” Tomoyo asks, entering her field of vision. She looks concerned as she tucks her hair back from where it's falling in her face, and Umiko just wants to kiss her so badly. That really hasn't changed.

“No,” she whimpers. “No, I'm not ok.”

“Do you need help?”

Umiko makes a gurgling sound because the thought of touching Tomoyo's hand is too much right now. She really should get up.

She finally rolls onto her feet, her back throbbing, her shirt dusty, and Tomoyo laughs. She actually laughs.

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry!” Tomoyo says, shaking her head. “You just looked so pathetic, like a sad puppy!”

“Some friend you are,” Umiko mutters, and attempts to dust herself off, though moving is... kind of painful and stiff. She winces, hobbles forward, groans. “Everything is pain!”

Tomoyo sobers at that. “Is it your back?” she asks, going into no-nonsense manager mode. “You slammed into the ground pretty hard.”

Umiko yelps when Tomoyo's hands suddenly end up on her, easily felt through thin, dusty cotton. “Can you please not?” she croaks.

Tomoyo doesn't remove her hands. “Or else?”

Tomoyo takes after Uncle Rei. She even looks a lot like him, oddly enough. She is very smart and sometimes takes everything a bit too seriously, and also has a fixation with things that are aesthetically pleasing. But every so often she'll just come out with something that's completely and utterly Uncle Nagisa. This is one of those moments, and Umiko could swear that sounded flirtatious.

Did she hit her head as well? She didn't think so, but maybe she did.

“Uh, Tomoyo-chan...”

The hands are gone. Tomoyo steps away, stiff, as if the moment never happened. She busies herself with her skirt and jacket. Umiko narrows her eyes, studying her. Could she be...?

Umiko scoots around, peers at her face. “Are you blushing?” she asks, intrigued. Tomoyo looks away, hiding behind her bangs.

“No!”

“You totally are!” Umiko teases. Before she can think, she reaches forward and tucks Tomoyo's hair away. Tomoyo's cheeks are pink, bright pink, she's so cute.

She could kiss her. Umiko could actually kiss her, the urge is so strong it's painful, a bone-deep, agonising longing in her chest. She inhales, holds the breath.

She pulls away.

“Tomoyo, I-”

It's brief, the barest touch, fleeting and there-and-gone, but it happened. Tomoyo is close, so close, lashes low and expression halfway between coy and worried. Umiko can't deal with this, everything is happening so much right now.

“Please do that again,” she says, hopeful. Tomoyo's blush deepens, but she acquiesces, and it's longer this time, altogether more fulfilling. Tomoyo's lips are soft, delicate, but there's a strange urgency in this chaste kiss. Umiko finds her hands drifting to Tomoyo's shoulders, holding her there, and Tomoyo's fall to her waist, cold as ever.

“Wow,” Umiko breathes when they part again. She's feeling a little dizzy, a little giddy, a little like the world is upside down, but also that it's working perfectly again. Bubbles of sunshine float up in her chest, popping into laughter. “Wow!”

Tomoyo giggles, nervously tucking her hair back. “I... I'm sorry. For Saturday.”

“Sorry for what? What even was Saturday?” Umiko waves a careless hand, her grin wide and bright and is the world suddenly so much more colourful or is that just her?

“Seriously,” Tomoyo says, bringing her back down from where she's a metre off the ground, “I was... I was just surprised. I never hoped... I thought Sakurai...”

Umiko makes a face, and she knows it's a bad one, but she's never exactly been one to half-ass facial expressions. “Saku? Ewwwwww.” It would be like dating her brother. Ew.

“I just assumed,” Tomoyo says, fidgeting. “I was surprised when you said you were, you know...”

“A lesbian?” Umiko replies, deadpan. Tomoyo huffs.

“I... I kind of didn't dare hope.”

This is so surreal. Someone thinking she could be straight is such a bizarre concept already, but having it be her crush? Surreal.

“Well, I am. So no worries.” She doesn't say she was afraid Tomoyo might be straight, because that would ruin the moment and she wants to savour it. She wants to enjoy this elation, this feeling of floating, of rainbow electricity. She holds her hand out by her side, fingers spread, hopeful. Tomoyo smiles, flushing slightly, and takes it.

Tomoyo's hands are always cold, but Umiko is going to warm them.

“Oh, impressive!” Sakurai remarks. He's come round to take Takumi out, but he couldn't resist stopping by to see the sideshow.

A rather nasty bruise has begun to blossom across Umiko's back. It impedes her swimming, which is fucking irritating, and she doesn't like falling behind. But she does also have a brand new girlfriend to show for it. A girlfriend who is currently blushing and very flustered.

“Y-you can't just take your shirt off and show him!” she splutters. Umiko gives her a confused look.

“Pretty sure he's seen me naked,” she says. Tomoyo makes a few disjointed noises of indignation.

“Granted, we were, what? Two?” Sakurai adds. “And you only stripped because the neighbour's kid couldn't keep her clothes on either.”

“Australia's hot, it seemed like she had the right idea.” The best way to deal with Uncle Sousuke's teasing is to embrace it. The stripping naked story lost any sort of power it might have had years ago. “Also he's always seeing me in my swimsuit.”

“Even so,” Tomoyo says, folding her arms and pursing her lips, “it's completely inappropriate!”

Umiko rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she says, pulling her t-shirt back on. “I've shown literally everyone already.”

Tomoyo's scowl deepens. Sakurai grins.

“Pretty sure she's jealous, Umiko,” he says. Tomoyo's gasp is nothing short of melodramatic.

“I am not jealous!”

Umiko feels an odd rush of pleasure at that. “Aw, sweetie, that's adorable!”

“Fine, continue with your erroneous hypothesis, see if I care.”

“That pout is so cute,” Umiko stage-whispers to Sakurai. He snorts behind his hand before straightening.

“Anyway, I have to go. That's an amazing bruise, good onya,” he says, poking at it for good measure just to hear her screech.

“Bastard,” she mutters as the pain recedes, but he's done the wise thing and made himself scarce before she can exact any revenge. Tomoyo is still pouting, though, so that has to be dealt with. Umiko props her chin up with her hand, a broad, lovestruck grin spreading across her face. Tomoyo is definitely cute with that expression. And the blush that comes with it when she realises Umiko is staring is even cuter.

“You're staring,” she mumbles, pushing her glasses up nervously and doing that thing where she uses her hair as a shield. Umiko shrugs, almost carelessly. She could never get tired of staring at Tomoyo like a creeper, not in a thousand years, just like she'll never get tired of that little frisson of mingled pleasure and disbelief when she remembers Tomoyo is actually her girlfriend. If she could swim right now, she's pretty sure she'd be breaking all her personal records.

“You're pretty, I have to stare,” she says, mentally high-fiving herself for how smooth that was. Tomoyo makes a noise like an embarrassed mouse.

Umiko takes that as a cue to crawl around the table and steal a kiss. Or two. Or three. Tomoyo melts into her arms with a soft sigh.