Vanui Writes

"...What?" she questions. "What?" she says again, scratching at the side of her head.

Alisha watches her reactions and laughs lightly behind her hand, shaking her head and walking past Rose's stunned form. Her green eyes sparkle mischievously under the afternoon sun as she passes, and only when she continues walking down the path and makes it a good distance away does Rose realize she's seriously about to be left behind.

"Hey, you can't just say that and walk away," Rose shouts, running after her. Quickly, she comes up next to the princess and finds that Alisha is staring at her thoughtfully, probably has been since she started running. The whole thing is making Rose feel slightly unnerved, so she asks again, "Okay, seriously, what are you doing?"

Alisha makes a sort of humming noise, resting her chin in her hand for a moment, before she responds, "Well, I wanted to make sure my observations were accurate one final time."

"...Hah?"

"You tend to move almost noiselessly whenever you are around me," Alisha states, dropping her hand and tilting her head. "Even when you run, your steps don't make much noise at all. Your feet are very light and fast."

Rose frowns at her and crosses her arms over her chest. "Uh, did you forget what I do for a living, Princess?" she reminds her incredulously. "Exactly what is so amazing about an assassin being silent, light and fast?"

Hearing this, the princess makes a displeased sort of noise and quickly shushes her companion. "Rose! We're in the open!"

"Yeah, and nobody's nearby," Rose nonchalantly waves her off. "Trust me. No normal human gets past these senses."

"...I suppose that brings me back to my original point," Alisha sighs, relaxing once more. She still looks a bit upset at Rose's nonchalance, but she moves on nonetheless. "Assassin you may be, silent and with honed senses, but you make an effort to be very noisy when you are around other people, especially when you are doing business as leader of the Sparrowfeathers."

"Oh, that?" Rose makes a dismissive waving motion and crosses her hands behind her head. She's smirking as she says, "You gotta be loud and proud to get noticed, and getting noticed means getting business. So of course I make noise when I'm doing Sparrowfeathers business."

The princess shakes her head. "That's not what I meant," she declares, taking a second to glance at the ground. "When you walk amongst people, you almost force yourself to take heavier steps. Your gait is almost unnaturally firm, and you stand a little straighter."

Rose blinks at her, slowly dropping her hands back down to her sides. She purses her lips in thought, then brings a hand up to the back of her neck and sighs. "Yeah," she finally says and glances away, looking at something off in the distance.

"Yeah?" Alisha echoes, pressing her for an answer.

"Okay, you got me. I gotta actively try and take 'normal' steps around other people, otherwise I slip into sneaking around," comes the answer, brisk and forced. Rose sighs again, running her fingers through the back of her head and flinging her hair up from behind. Her hands fall to her hips, and she looks down at the ground, unwilling to meet Alisha's eyes. "Natural for me is being quiet. Helps to have that as your default response when you get into trouble during missions and such. Why bother asking anyways? Does my sneaking around bother the steadfast knight who faces her opponent head on?"

Realizing her mistake, Alisha softly gasps, hurriedly running forward and grabbing Rose's arm. "I meant no harm by the question! I'm sorry to have made you uncomfortable," she apologizes frantically. Rose tries to shake her head, brush it off, but Alisha will have none of it. Grabbing her gently by the chin, she tilts Rose's head until their gazes meet. Rose doesn't resist her touch. "Honestly, I figured something like that was the case, and I... well..." she trails off, losing her nerve as she stares at Rose's blue eyes and suddenly feels her stomach flutter at their closeness.

Now confused, Rose stares at her, waiting silently. Alisha notes this, swallows thickly and continues.

"I just wanted to thank you, Rose. For being comfortable enough in my presence to let yourself act natural," she tells her, pushing through her own discomfort and putting on a small smile. Clearly Rose hadn't been expecting such a response, if the way her eyes widen is any indication. To her relief (and slight disappointment?), her friend pulls away from her touch and takes a couple steps back, her expression surprisingly blank of any emotion except surprise.

They stare at one another again, eyes locked in some sort of strange search, as if the words they need to say lie in the irises of the other girl.  

Then, in typical Rose fashion, Rose opens her mouth and blurts out, "It's only fair, right? Considering how much you cry in front of me, I figure I should be allowed to relax in front of you too," she grins, puffing her chest up with confidence. The whole thing is topped off with a wink, and Alisha's mouth drops against her will.

Out of all the reactions she could have given, Alisha thinks. But she closes her slack jaw and shakes her head, donning a small smile again as she walks toward Rose's confident pose. "I suppose you're right," she admits fondly, and her words knock Rose off balance. She finishes it off with a light punch to Rose's shoulder that sends her waving her arms wildly to keep her balance.

"Whoah, hey!" Rose shouts.

"Jerk," she sticks her tongue out.

"Why you little–"

Laughing, Alisha dodges out of Rose's lunge and winks back at her. "Catch me if you can!" she giggles, and then takes off.

She'd forgotten to close them in her rush to slip through the window and pounce on the waiting princess, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of her lover's skin as fast as possible. Of course, once the pouncing started, it didn't end until well after they were both exhausted and ready to pass out. So the curtains had been the last thing on her mind when she'd finally fallen asleep.

That was a mistake if she'd ever made one. She groans loudly into her pillow, turns her face into it, realizes she can't breathe, then tries turning away from the sun and face the other side of the room.

It doesn't work. The room is too bright.

"Rose," she hears, but her mind is so sleep fogged that she registers her name being called, convinces herself she's just imaging it, and snuggles into the sheets. The next thing she knows, she's being shaken by the shoulder, and only when the shaking doesn't stop does she wake up enough to swat at whoever is trying to so rudely rouse her back to the world of the living.

"Stoooooop," she whines, pawing at the hands on her shoulder. "Let me... rest..."

She hears a sigh then, and while the other person's guard is down, sneaks an eye open to peer at the person standing beside the bed. Who else could it be but Alisha, fully dressed in everything but her armor, standing tall and bright in the morning sun, her hair practically glowing in the sunlight and giving her the look of an ancient and powerful seraphim? She snorts at the thought.

"Rose?" the princess blinks, alarmed at the sudden sound. Before she has time to react, Rose grabs her by the hand and pulls, yanking her down onto the bed even as she yelps in surprise and tries to remain upright. She topples forward into Rose's waiting arms, arms which snap the sheets around her as soon as she lands, effectively trapping her inside a cocoon of warmth. Squirming, the princess tries to move, but with the way Rose has her trapped, she has no way of escaping.

Grinning, Rose faces Alisha's pout and pulls her closer. "There," she mumbles, snuggling into the crook of the princess's neck. "That's better."

She feels rather than hears Alisha's tired but fond sigh tickle past her ear. "Rose, I have a meeting this morning," she chastises softly, but even as she says this, her fingers come up and curl into the bare skin of Rose's hip. Just a little more, Rose thinks, and Alisha will give in.

"Mmm, five more minutes. Just stay with me for five more minutes," she breathes into the princess's skin, running a hand lightly down where she knows is the sensitive part of Alisha's back, and when she feels a slight tremor go through her princess's body, she knows she's won.

There's no point sleeping when there's this much sunlight filtering into the room, but there's always other fun activities to do in bed besides sleep.

Needless to say, Princess Alisha Diphda does not make it to any meetings that day, much to her chagrin. Rose gets scolded for an hour at the end of the day when they're finally both way too tired to keep going, but it's all worth it, especially when the princess forgets to put on clothes before she goes off on her.

When they go to bed that night, Rose remembers to close the curtains this time. Not that it'll stop her from attempting the same shenanigans tomorrow, of course, but at least this time she doesn't have to be blinded every time she wants to take a look at Alisha's naked body. She'll have to figure out a different way to make her stay though, because Alisha's not going to fall for the same thing two days in a row, and Rose would hate to be known as a one-trick pony.

But it won't be too hard. Alisha wants to stay with her as much as she does with Alisha, after all, and Rose can't ask for much more than that. She doesn't need to either. This is more than enough for her.

Besides, how many other people can say they got Alisha Diphda out of doing work for a day?

She gives a watery laugh at that, sniffling between her breaths, and shakes her head, holding onto Rose tightly and taking in her familiar scent. "They're pretty bad," she admits, staring up at the garish assortment of balloons and streamers hanging off the entryway's main staircase. Compared to the deep earthy color of the rest of the manor's railings and floors, the decorations look a bit like a jungle of mismatched flowers sprouting from every corner.

"Oh."

"But I love them," she finishes, laughing again. Rose huffs in offense.

"You don't need to humor me if they're really that bad," she grumbles, and when Alisha pulls away to peer at her expression, she finds Rose's face contorted into a pout. The sight is adorable.

Poking at her lover's cheek, Alisha blinks away her tears as best as she can and smiles when Rose glances over. "Really, I do like them. Thank you," she says, and her smile grows wider when Rose begins to sport a light blush.

She honestly didn't think the Shepherd would be back in time for her birthday, not that she blamed her for it of course. Rose had set off a few days earlier to deal with a rise in malevolence somewhere in Rolance, and so they'd said their goodbyes and promised to celebrate whenever Rose returned.

That's why, despite the clashing colors decorating her entryway, she is genuinely moved at Rose's efforts, because the sheer amount of decoration in the room combined with how tired Rose must be from traveling truly speaks volumes about exactly how much effort was involved. So she started crying.

(Although, if she's being completely honest, a little bit of the reason she started crying is because the neon streamers hurt her eyes a bit. But Rose doesn't need to know that.)

"I'm glad you liked them, but you didn't have to cry over it," Rose mumbles, rubbing the back of her neck and turning away. Despite the strange half smile, half frown she's trying to hide, Alisha knows Rose is too embarrassed to admit she's relieved. Her Shepherd really is too cute.

"I can't help it. I truly am happy and thankful for your efforts."

At this, Rose's head perks up. "Yeah?" she turns back around, face lighting up.

"Besides, making me cry is just another daily occurrence for you, isn't it?" she teases, and the look on Rose's face afterward has her laughing so hard she's in tears once again. "I'm sorry, Rose. I couldn't resist."

"Do a nice thing for a pretty girl and this is where it gets me," she sniffs, glaring at the still crying and still laughing princess. She pulls away from their embrace and folds her arms over her chest.

"A pretty girl, am I? Well," Alisha starts, grabbing Rose by the shoulders and leaning in close. "I appreciate the compliment," she finishes and presses a quick kiss to her lips that leaves Rose blushing but smiling too.

"A-Anytime. Just for you, princess."

"By the way," she says nonchalantly, adjusting the bandana on Rose's neck and smoothing it out. "You spelled 'birthday' wrong." Finishing with the bandana, she points at the banner hanging against the back wall of the staircase, and Rose quirks an eyebrow and follows her hand. Her eyes immediately widen once she sees what's written there.

"...Zaveid! Where the hell are you?" Rose starts shouting into the mansion, looking around left and right. From somewhere down the hall, probably near the kitchen if Alisha is hearing right, a loud laugh erupts and echoes. "I swear, if he's eating the cake too..."

"You got me a cake?" she blinks, surprised. Rose snorts.

"It's your birthday, of course I got you a cake. And a present, but that's for later. Now come on, everybody else is waiting," Rose beams, pulls her by the hand and drags her forward. "Oh, wait a second." She stops, brings her hands up, and begins to wipe away the wetness still shining on Alisha's cheeks. "There."

Alisha feels like her cheeks are threatening to break from how much she's been smiling in the past few minutes. Leaning forward, she kisses her again. "Thank you," she says when she steps back.

Rose, coughing away the blush, just waves her off and continues dragging her to where she can now hear the seraphim talking amongst themselves. "Don't thank me yet. Let's see if you still have a cake to eat."

She giggles and squeezes Rose's hand in response. "Hey, Rose?"

"Hm?" Still walking, she looks over her shoulder and meets Alisha's gaze.

"You know, 'Happy Babeday' kind of has a nice ring to it."

Rose's steady steps falter for a second.

"...Don't you dare say that to him. He'll never stop using it."

Grinning, Alisha decides she's probably right. But now she knows what she's doing for Rose's birthday when it comes. For now, though, she prepares herself for what is surely going to be a rowdy, yet entertaining evening. After all, with Rose around, it's never a dull day.

Especially when there's alcohol involved. She hopes there's no alcohol involved.

...

"Just keep a lookout outside, okay?" she tells them, and with much reluctance they agree but not before staring her down one last time.

It helps that she's wearing her mask, even though she knows they know what she's feeling without seeing her face. They've been with her too long to not know, but that doesn't stop her from keeping the mask on. The cool metal touching her face is a safety net of sorts, an object serving a purpose beyond simply hiding her identity, and honestly, the fact that it helps her with the assassination business is merely a plus and not the other way around.

When the mask is off, she is Rose, the leader of the Sparrowfeathers to the masses and the Shepherd to a select few. When the mask is on, she is a servant of the defenseless and the wronged, a being without a name. She feels powerful in the anonymity, of being able to slip into the shadows and vanish without a trace, of showing nothing but the dark leather of her Scattered Bones garb and the glint of her eyes through the slits of her mask.

This false sense of power is the only reason why she is able to muster the courage to climb through a familiar window of the Diphda estate tonight.

Stepping in and closing the window behind herself, she soundlessly stalks her way forward in the dark, confident in her steps despite the near complete lack of light in the room. Even the moon and the stars have abandoned her today, although that worked to her advantage earlier while she completed her job.

Her foot slips at the thought of her job. Tumbling suddenly forward, she catches herself on the edge of the nearby bed and avoids any loud noises, but the impact of her weight sends the bed's occupant scrambling awake. By the time she looks up, there's a knife at her throat, and she stares wide eyed at the steady hand poised to strike, though she knows the other person would only knock her out with the weapon.

Neither of them move for what seems like hours, before eventually the knife lowers and the bed's occupant sits back in confusion. "Rose?" Alisha asks, putting the knife aside on the bedside table. "Is that you?"

She swallows thickly, nervous, and pushes herself off the bed slowly. "The one and only," comes her attempt at seeming normal and at ease, but the words only come off hollow and forced.

The princess is barely visible in the lack of lighting, but Rose can see enough of her form to feel nervous. Alisha Diphda may be known to the masses as beautiful with her hair up, but Rose is the only one with the privilege to see her beautiful locks flowing freely down her shoulders, slightly bedraggled from her sudden awakening but no less alluring. The sight should be comforting, but the worry she can see in the furrows of Alisha's brow only makes her sick to her stomach.

Coming here was a mistake, she realizes.

"I just... I needed to let you know that... Well, tomorrow is going to be a pretty awful day for politics is all," she tries explaining as vaguely as possible, ignoring the tightness forming in her chest. There's a false energy in her voice, and it's frustratingly obvious. When Alisha says nothing in response, only patiently wait for her to continue, does she force the rest out. "You know that one noble that's been giving you a lot of problems lately? Yeah, I had to get rid of him."

Understanding dawns in the princess's eyes. "...I see. So people will think I ordered the assassination then."

"Probably," she nods stiffly. "So I thought I should warn you ahead of time," she finishes with a half lie.

Hearing this, Alisha brings a hand up to her chin, adopting her typical thinking pose with such seriousness that Rose almost forgets that the princess is in her nightwear and sitting in her bed. "So who actually did pay for the job?" she finally asks.

She really doesn't want to talk about this topic in any more detail, but if she doesn't answer then Alisha will definitely pick up on her discomfort and start relentlessly questioning her further. Either way, she's probably lost this battle before it's begun.

A mistake, she thinks to herself again.

"One of the servants had a sister who tipped us off." And the poor girl was almost hysterical by the time she finally wound up in front of the Scattered Bones, she remembers.

Alisha takes this information in and closes her eyes, lowering her head into her hand and shifting slightly beneath her sheets. Eventually, quietly, she murmurs, "The servant...'had' a sister?"

Shit. Rose nearly swears out loud. She hadn't meant to let that slip. Her palms begin to sweat as she figures out how to answer this inquiry with enough information to satisfy the thorough princess and also allow her to leave this manor immediately afterward without raising suspicion.

The silence between them stretches as she scrambles for a solution, but finally the timer on princess's suspicion meter runs out and Rose realizes she's fighting a lost cause.

Alisha shifts closer to the edge of the bed, reaching out and taking one of the assassin's gloved hands into her own bare ones. A strange sight if she ever saw one, Rose thinks, considering how it's usually the opposite sensation of hand-on-glove that she feels.

"Rose..." she calls softly, and her sincere gaze pierces right into Rose's gut. "Why don't you sit down and take that off?"

Alisha is staring right at her mask, she realizes. Unconsciously, her shoulders stiffen up and her body jerks back, but the princess's hold is firm, almost as if she had predicted such a response.

"I-I..." She winces when her voice cracks, leaving her even more vulnerable to Alisha's scrutiny. This situation is spiraling further and further away from her control, and no amount of false bravery and metal plating can conceal her increasing panic. She should have listened to Mikleo and come in the morning once she'd calmed down, but it's too little too late.

Regret does not suit her, she decides. Neither does the lump lodged in her throat preventing her from speaking.

"What happened?" comes the question she's been dreading.

She says nothing, just breathes.

Alisha's eyes fall for a moment, but when they regain focus, there's a gentle determination bursting from within her green irises. "You don't have to tell me about it now, but please, at least take the mask off and sit," she tries entreating.

You're not really giving me much of a choice, Rose wants to say, wants to joke about it and laugh it off, wants to shake off her hand and run. But then the princess is finally dragging her in and pulling her close, until her knees hit the edge of the bed and she sinks slightly into their cushioning.

"Oh, Rose..." Alisha whispers, then raises one hand gradually up. "Please..."

She flinches away from the princess's reaching hand, covers the mask with her own hand in an effort to keep it in place.

It can't come off. Not right now. Not when she's supposed to be strong.

The seconds pass by, their gazes locked into place, neither willing to give up to the other, before the fingers gently slip off the metal of her mask, and she breathes a sigh of relief, of disappointment, of anticipation and of despair.

Then a warm hand reaches up underneath her mask and slides onto her cheek, and she knows she's lost. She can't help but lean into the comforting touch, and that's all the permission Alisha needs before the hood is coming off her head and the mask is lifted off her face.

She's so weak, she realizes. When it comes to this princess, she is neither the leader of the Sparrowfeathers nor the Shepherd, nor the defender of the defenseless. She is simply Rose, all other facets of her identity stripped away and leaving her naked to Alisha's searching stare.

"It's okay, Rose," Alisha whispers without judgment, pressing her forehead against hers, and Rose closes her eyes and shakes in the warmth of her skin. "It's alright."

And she wants to tell her no, it's not okay, that the things she saw today in that noble's house, that what he did to his poor servants, she thinks about how close this man has been in contact with Alisha, how they'd been meeting in the same councilroom for days, how underneath his lying, conniving exterior there's an even deeper layer of darkness, thinks about Alisha coming so close to his taint, Alisha lying where those servants are lying dead, disfigured, too late to save, she...

"I'm here for you."

And she is, Rose tries to convince herself. The princess is alive, in her own bed, talking with an assassin and a Shepherd and a friend, safe and sound. But words aren't enough for her.

Letting the last pieces of her mask fall away, she falls forward and wraps her arms around the princess's warmth, holds her close and breaths in her familiar scent and listens to the steady beating of her heart. Alisha says nothing, doesn't reject her, just returns the embrace and keeps her close too.

"...Yeah," she eventually speaks, fingers gripping the back of Alisha's nightwear and head burrowed in her shoulder. "...Thanks."

She feels Alisha shake her head, then start trailing her fingers soothingly through Rose's hair. The stress of the day begins falling away with each stroke of her head, and before long, she's sound asleep in the princess's arms.

The whole thing starts like this: the hellions they're fighting aren't particularly tough, but there are a lot of them, and the sheer numbers are almost overwhelming. She and Lailah are armatized and throwing flames everywhere, Mikleo is trying to keep everybody healed up, and Edna is shielding her and Lailah from attacks in the rear. Zaveid's somewhere in the crowd of hellions trying to figure out where they're all spawning from, but there's no way any of them can see him from where they stand. They swarmed around his body as soon as he went in, and the only indication that he's still alive are his yells and the occasional arte that blows a few of them up into the air.

It's not even like there's that much malevolence in the air. Well, okay, that's not necessarily true, but she feels like her judgment for what's a lot of malevolence has been skewed ever since fighting the Lord of Calamity himself. In any case, the hellions are themselves are definitely weak, going down with one or two hits each, but the problem is that they don't stop coming. Rose has gotten powerful since she first started her role as the Shepherd, but even she can only hit so many things at once.

Panting, she jumps back from the horde with a big swipe of her sword and wipes a bit of dried blood off her cheek. "God, it's like they're breeding in the back and popping out kids left and right," she complains, jumping back in and purifying four or five with one swing. Unfortunately, another handful replaces them immediately after and force her on the defensive. "Seriously? It's like one big nasty family over here."

"You're not far off, actually," Zaveid shouts, appearing in front of her and skidding to a halt. He swings his weapon around and eliminates another handful, his hair flying wildly around his body and revealing a few injuries on his shirtless torso.

"I'm not?" Rose asks, mouth contorting into disgust at the mental image of hellions actually breeding. "Oh that's gross."

"Zaveid!" Mikleo calls out. In a second, the wind seraph's body is encased in a flash of white light, and the shallow cuts and bruises are gone.

"Thanks, Mikky boy!" he grins back at the water seraph. Ignoring the other's protests at the nickname, he turns to Rose and Lailah's armatized form and jerks his thumb at the crowd of hellions. "Turns out the source are two hellions in the back doing some weird sort of fusion thing. I tried to get close but a whole bunch of these small fry swarmed me."

"How pleasant," she hears Edna comment.

"Well, at least we know what to do now," Rose grins. She separates from Lailah who immediately brings up a whole bunch of paper and incinerates it in the faces of a few approaching hellions. Rose herself sidesteps another group of hellions and cleaves them through cleanly in two. Nodding at her friends, she twirls her knives in her hands and bounces on the balls of her feet. "Everybody ready?"

Everybody nods back at her. Zaveid, however, also decides to shout, "We'll show 'em who the superior family is!"

Everybody collectively pauses their movement and turns to stare at him. Even the hellions also seem to cease attacking at the declaration, up until a new presence breaks into the clearing and turns all heads their way. Rose doesn't even have time to blink before a familiar spear is piercing through the thick horde of hellions, and the owner of said spear charges right into the fray, yelling, "It's over! This is my time! Light Blast!"

A good portion of the hellions vanish into nothingness as the spear cuts through them all in rapid thrusts, and once the dust from the mystic arte clears, the form of the Hyland royal crest stares Rose down, clear as day on the back of one notable presence. Her mouth falls open. "A... Alisha?!" she squawks out.

She's so shocked that she half expects the person to turn around and be somebody else, but no, those green eyes and that bright smile can only belong to one person that she knows. "Hello Rose," Alisha inclines her head, hefting her spear up. She looks strong and healthy as ever, no trace of malevolence on her person, and Rose does her best to concentrate on that fact and not on the fact that her heart is beating heavily inside her chest at the mere sight of her girlfriend.

"Whoa, don't I get a hello from the cute babe too?" Zaveid cuts in, serving as a reminder to Rose that this is not the time to be distracted.

"Oh, excuse me. I didn't mean to be rude. Hello, Zaveid," Alisha greets. "Hello to you as well, Lailah. Mikleo too! And Edna of course. Hello to both of you."

"Alisha, what a pleasant surprise!" Lailah beams back at her, clapping her hands together. Mikleo agrees, and Edna kind of hums in agreement as well. Zaveid's about to open his mouth and say something else when Mikleo thankfully cuts him off.

"Zaveid, can we save it for later?" Mikleo sighs. He blasts an approaching hellion with a gush of water and eliminates it. "We should really take care of this first."

"Heh, alright. That's our little bro for you! Always on top of things!" The wind seraph leaps forward and starts blasting at the hellions once more. "I'll lead you right to the source, boss."

Rose pries her eyes away from Alisha long enough to nod back at him and follow his lead. "Alright, then lead the way. You coming, princess?"

"Of course!" Alisha salutes and charges right after. "This is an awful lot of hellions though. What happened?"

As Rose begins to explain the situation to the newcomer, Mikleo trails after Lailah and Edna, his expression bewildered as he goes, "Did he just call me 'little bro'?"

"Oh, boy. Here we go," Edna deadpans.

"It's quite accurate though, isn't it?" Lailah excitedly begins, even as she wields her flames with vicious force. The hellions shy away from the flames, almost as if they're terrified of the fire seraph. "Just like Zaveid said, I'd like to think we're all one big family, and you certainly seem like the responsible little brother type."

He flushes in response to that, unsure of whether or not it's a compliment. He decides to take it as one. "If I'm the little brother, then the only one here smaller than me should be the youngest, right? So Edna would be our-"

"Don't."

"Ow! Hey, swing that thing at the hellions, not me!"

Edna lowers her umbrella, stares at him, then launches herself forward into the battle with one push of the earth and sails straight into a group of hellions. "I guess this makes Zaveid the uncle that none of us wanted to have around but still shows up to every family gathering uninvited and causes a scene," she dryly says right next to the wind seraphim. She mercilessly crushes the hellions he's fighting aside and clears a pathway by putting up two walls around the group. "Hurry and go, these walls won't last."

Cackling, Zaveid darts forward with a wicked grin. "I'm glad you think of me so fondly, you little squirt! Thanks for the help!"

"Call me little squirt one more time and I will drop these walls on top of you."

"Please don't! You'll mess up my beautiful bangs," he cracks back. Dashing past the safety of the walls, he finds the two humans of the group far ahead of them, back to back, methodically cutting their way steadily forward through the black crowd. The sight is as impressive as it is scary, and he's almost tempted to just step back and let them handle the rest.

"Zaveid?" he hears, and Lailah steps next to him, her form shimmering after having just finished casting an arte. "What are you doing?"

"Why hello there, beautiful," he winks. Her face remains impassive. Oh well, Lailah's always been a tough customer, he remembers. "Just wondering which one of those two is the sister and which one is the sister in law."

Lailah makes a noise that's somewhere between a gasp of surprise and a small laugh. "Oh dear. I hope they didn't hear that."

By the way both of the humans in question stiffen up, however, it's evident that they did. Alisha's ears have even gone a little red. Instead of acknowledging the conversation though, the both of them firmly continue clearing out hellions and refuse to look back at the seraphim.

Lailah giggles a bit. "Considering they're not married yet, why not just have both of them be the young sisters of the group?"

"Ugh, then wouldn't that make the whole thing between them incest?" Edna speaks up from behind. The scandalized gasps of everybody save for Zaveid and Edna leaves a small smirk on the earth seraph's face. "What? I'm not the one who declared the both of them to be related."

Zaveid practically roars with laughter at that. Rose finally chooses this moment to stop the conversation from deteriorating any further, summoning Edna to her body with one shout of "Hephsin Yulind" and charging to where she can now see the abomination spewing out the hellions. "Alright, cut the comedy routine people. Focus and cover me, everybody!"

And that was the end of that.

Later, once everything is purified and they're all settled around a campfire, Alisha explains that she'd been investigating attacks in the area when she received a report of the Shepherd fighting what appeared to be dust clouds by herself in the forest. She'd come running after that.

Rose pulls Alisha into her lap while she tells the story, much to Alisha's embarrassment and Zaveid's hooting, but the knight doesn't make an effort to leave either. Once she finishes, Rose hugs her even closer and beckons the seraphim over, even telling Mikleo to "stop cooking for one second and come over, it's important".

"Okay, guys, listen," she starts, staring into the eyes of each seraphim seriously. "I know we usually kind of joke around like that when we fight, but today you all went a little too far."

Alisha makes a little sound of surprise at that and squirms in Rose's lap to face her. "Wait, Rose, there's really no need to admonish them for earlier. I must admit, I found the whole thing somewhat amusing as well, despite the embarrassment, so really, there's no need to..." She trails off when she sees that familiar glint of mischief in Rose's eyes, and a sense of uneasiness settles into the pit of her stomach. "...Rose, where are you going with this?"

Rose's lips curl into a wide grin, the widest Alisha has ever seen on her face before. "I just wanted to say that you're all wrong. I'm the one housing this family in my body, so I'm the head honcho of the house, got it?" she states as seriously as she can in tone, even though her facial expression cannot control the amount of amusement she currently feels. "So forget all that sister and sister in law stuff, and make sure you pay Mommy Alisha here the right amount of respect as well."

...

"Phew, I'm beat!" Rose suddenly says, stretching her arms above her head and leaning back with a satisfied groan. Alisha is impressed that Rose manages to do that while walking and not fall over. She really shouldn't be all that surprised though, considering Rose has had plenty of chances to demonstrate her balance and flexibility during their journey to Camlann. "Though I guess I'm probably not as sore as you, Alisha."

She blinks in confusion at that. "What do you mean?" she asks, looking over herself as if the answer would somehow be visible on her body. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for a few tears here and there in the fabric, a detail that certainly took away from the regal look of the fancy outfit, but certainly no indication of any soreness on her part.

Rose sighs in exaggerated exasperation and gestures toward her legs. "I know those boots don't weigh nearly as much as your regular armor, but I've put them on before and they are killer on your feet."

She blinks again. "Now that you mention it..." The soles of her feet do ache more than usual, but she had been so focused on trying to see that she hadn't noticed. "Well, we're almost there, so it's nothing to worry about."

Rose abruptly ceases walking after that. Alisha doesn't even notice that she does so until she takes a few more steps forward and hears a deafening lack of crunching leaves and soft footfalls beside her. Turning to squint at Rose's still form, she calls out, "Rose?"

Instead of answering, however, Rose tilts her head at her as if in thought. Then in the moonlight that filters through the canopy of trees, Alisha watches her lips curl into a smirk. Or a grin. Or... something. It's really hard to tell.

"Hey, Princess," she finally says, taking a step toward her. Except much to her surprise, that step turns into a kneel, and then Rose has one hand extended upwards while the other folds behind her back. "Allow me the honor of carrying you back to your lodgings, your Highness."

Alisha's first response is a blank stare. Then as soon as she remembers she needs to blink, her face heats up and her hands flail in front of her frantically. "W-W-What?!" she squeaks, beyond confused and at a complete loss for words.

As quick as she had gone down, Rose stands up and grabs one of her flailing hands, holding it still while she beams at her. "It's the least I can do for stuffing you into that outfit," she explains. "Relax, will ya?"

"I-I..." A part of her desperately wants to shake Rose off, but another part of her kind of wishes there wasn't a glove shielding the skin of her hand right now. "I am perfectly capable of walking by myself!"

"I know you are, but that's not the point." And, well, Rose is right, but still, she really doesn't think this is necessary, and she tries to tell her as much, but Rose waves her off.

"I put you in that outfit, so the honorable thing to do is make sure you don't get any more blisters because of it, yeah?"

She sputters, but Rose doesn't give her a chance to respond. In one swift motion, her feet are swept out from underneath and she lands, yelping, into a pair of surprisingly steady arms.

Even as she begins to protest, all Rose says in response is, "Aren't knights all about honor? Just let me do it."

After that, all Alisha does is pull the brim of that ridiculous hat over her face and hope it shields her reddening cheeks from Rose's vision. She's sure if she struggles, Rose will just drop her and leave her there, and well, this is kind of nice in its own way if she's being honest with herself.

"Fine then..." she mutters, trying not to concentrate on the warmth and smells coming from Rose this close up. "Please at least let me down before we go through the gates?"

"Psh, nope! All the way until the room in the inn or bust!"

"Rose! Don't you dare!"

"Nope! Gotta take you back right where you left all your clothes so you can change back. Besides, nobody will be awake by the time we get back."

"There are always people drinking at the inn at night! Rose!"

"Oh... I guess so huh. Oh well. Too bad!"

Raising the brim of her hat, Alisha's about to give her a piece of her mind when she catches the bright smile and light blush covering Rose's cheeks, visible even in this darkness, and she finds her irritation fading fast, quickly being replaced by an uneasy sense of embarrassment that she doesn't quite understand.

"...Why are you like this? You idiot," she mutters softly, but not softly enough.

"Is that really how you thank somebody who's helping you out?" Rose quips back, her lips twitching into a smirk.

"This is all your doing in the first place!" Alisha shoots heatedly back.

As the pair walk off down the path bickering and bantering, they completely fail to notice the presence of two individuals who had left Rose's body at the beginning of the exchange and stood, ignored, off to the side. The shorter one twirls the umbrella on her shoulder and sighs while she stares at the pair with dead, unamused eyes. "Honestly? I thought she was going to drop her. I wish she did."

"Edna!" Lailah gasps. She genuinely looks shocked at Edna's frosty reaction, but really, she should be used to such a reaction by now.

"What? It would have been funny. And not gross. Because this was gross." She stops twirling her umbrella. "Or they could have both fallen over. That would've been better."

"Really? I thought the whole exchange was quite sweet. Oh, to be young again!" Lailah croons, clapping her hands together and leaning her cheek into them. "Do you think we should leave them alone tonight?"

Edna just squints at her with a look of utter disgust on her face, scoffs, and walks away, trailing after the pair.

It starts like an itch at first. The skin of her left shoulder blade burns a little, but the sensation isn't really painful so much as annoying and distracting. She scratches at it hoping for relief. It doesn't help.

"Anya, are you ready to go?" Papa calls from downstairs.

Turning towards the bathroom door, she replies, "Yes, I'll be down in a second!" He says something else to her, but she doesn't hear his words. Instead, her eyes are caught on the reflection of her shoulder blade in the mirror, her heart stopping in her throat.

There, written clear as day in thin, neat black characters on her pale skin are the words: "It's nice to meet you."

"Hajimemashite," her lips mouth, and she marvels at the way the language feels on her tongue, still so foreign despite her many years of speaking it while she's at home. Growing up in Russia means learning and speaking Russian, but she made the effort to learn Mama's native tongue too. She can't speak as nicely or as quickly as Mama, and living in Russia hasn't helped her fix her accent, and she's not sure if she ever will, but at least she knows she can speak good enough Japanese to get by.

It makes sense too, that the words on her back are in Japanese and not the Russian that she's familiar with. Today is the day she leaves the home she's spent the last ten years living in, after all. The thought of heading to a country where she'll probably never hear her native tongue again makes her sad, but so long as she's with her Papa and Mama, she'll be okay. She knows it.

Still...

"Hajimemashite," she says again, staring at the handwriting and marveling at the crisp forms of the words.

"Anya? Are you alright?" Mama this time calls, voice echoing in the empty house. For as much as she struggles with Japanese, Mama has never lost the lilt to her voice that reveals Russian isn't her preferred choice of language. But that never stopped her from making friends in Russia, did it? Maybe she would be okay making friends in Japan then.

That thought shakes her back into motion. "Coming!" she answers and quickly puts her cardigan back on. Not wanting to bother her parents with it now, she decides she'll tell them later once they're settled in and rested from the journey.

She wonders how many questions of hers they'll be able to answer.

...

Hokkaido is cold. But not as cold as Russia.

Her Japanese is improving day by day, and none of her classmates have ever directly made fun of how slow she speaks and how careful she is to make sure she makes no mistakes, but while her back is turned she can hear them whisper and laugh the cruel truths amongst themselves. It hurts at first, but after she volunteers to collect everybody's papers after every quiz and confirms that none of their handwriting matches the one carved into her back, all their comments start to hurt a little less. Eventually, the hurt goes away completely. They're not important enough to hurt for.

Besides, the stars in the night sky remain the same as they were in Russia, and she knows that they'll never betray her. That's plenty enough to keep her happy, especially with Papa's warm hand holding onto hers when they stargaze together. On those nights she can feel how much he misses Russia too, but this far north in Japan, they get enough snow to almost make it feel like home. That's probably why he chose to live here of all places.

As the days go on, she can feel herself slowly warming up to Japan.

...

According to the book she bought the other day, thinking in a second language means progress in fluency and general improvement in said language. Learning this is a slight blow to her confidence. Five years of living in the country and speaking the language every day hasn't changed the Russian that flows through her mind and that escapes through her mouth when she pauses to find the equivalent phrase in Japanese.

Even so, she's getting better. At the very least, she's probably surpassed Papa's level of Japanese, but he's never been amazing at the language either. That hasn't stopped him from making quick friends with the neighbors and drinking with his coworkers though, and she wonders if maybe friends are easier to make when you're older.

It's already been five years. Five whole years. She wonders how much longer she needs to wait before she's old enough.

In the meantime, amongst the few people she's met, none of them have the handwriting she's looking for, so she busies herself with studying as much as she can.

...

"An idol?" She blinks, confused. Yet the man with the tall stature and imposing face does not change his expression, his back bent over while his arms offer a small white card.

"Yes," he says, voice deep and serious. "Are you interested in becoming one?" comes the question again.

Hesitantly, she takes the business card. Her eyes scan over the information. It looks very professional. Real. Not at all a scam. And judging by his neatly pressed business suit and resolute eyes, he's not kidding. This is a very real offer.

"I," she starts, then stammers out some Russian. He isn't phased by her slip of language, however, just waits patiently for her to continue. "I've seen idols on television before. But I've never thought about becoming one."

He stares back at her, waiting for more.

Uncomfortably, she tries to ignore the people pointing and whispering at them, standing awkwardly as they are in the middle of the sidewalk where the man had suddenly stopped her. "They always seemed so bright and out of reach," she stammers again, more Russian slipping out as she struggles to remember what the words are in Japanese. "Like stars."

Blinking, he takes her words into account. "Then," he says, "would you like to try becoming one?"

...

"An idol?" Papa asks, his eyebrows shooting off his forehead.

Mama, on the other hand, only looks amused. "Why not?" she says to Papa. "It's a good chance for her to move to Tokyo and go to a better school."

"That's not the problem!" he shrieks, tears welling up in his eyes. "Just thinking about other men looking at my Anya..."

Mama rolls her eyes. Turning to Anya, she smiles and pats her on the head. "That production company is very famous, so I know you'll be in good hands if you do decide to go. You have my blessing."

"But Anya will be so far away from her Papa..."

"Oh, stop crying. You can't keep her forever, you know."

As Papa keeps crying while Mama shakes her head fondly at him, she feels a pang of sadness shoot through her heart. If she goes, they'll have to stay here. Even when she moved to Japan, she'd always had them with her, but now...

Not having Papa and Mama will be hard. But staying the way she is right now will be even harder to bear.

She wants to change. She wants to shine bright like a star.

...

The rush, the excitement, overwhelms her the first month. Flying to Tokyo, moving into the production company's dormitory, unpacking her belongings, meeting fellow idols and beginning her training, it's nearly too much to deal with. But it's fun. Very fun. It's the first time she's felt so alive in years. Maybe ever.

Of course, she misses Papa and Mama. In fact, she'd cried the first week after calling them the second or third time. But with each passing day the pangs of loneliness are filled with the bright smiles of her friends and coworkers and the comforting presences of her trainers and the Producer. It's the first time she's really gotten along with people outside of her family.

It's tough, of course. Sometimes her dorm room feels too empty without the sounds of Papa laughing and Mama bustling around the kitchen. But all she has to do is walk out of her room and plop herself onto a couch in the lounge to be wrapped up in the sounds of Miku ranting, Miho and Sae giggling, Ranko shrieking while Koume tells horror stories, and the chatting of whoever else decides to hang out that day.

There are a lot of idols working in their company. It's a little intimidating at times, but it keeps every day interesting. It also gives her a good number of people to speak "Hajimemashite" to, and she makes a point to ask nearly everybody for help with Japanese at one point or another, but she finds that none of them possess the handwriting she's looking for.

The search is a fun enough distraction between dance and vocal training, so she doesn't take the failures to heart. There's still plenty of people to meet.

...

The Producer suddenly takes her out of practice one day. Miku complains that she gets to leave early, but a sarcastic comment from Riina immediately has the two of them at each other's throats. Right before the door to the dance room closes, she can hear the trainer's intimidating voice breaking them apart and into subdued obedience. The woman is scary when angered.

"Did you need something, Producer?" she asks, unintentionally rolling her r's. That habit of hers will probably never be fixed. She trails behind his tall stature as they head for the elevator.

"There are some people I want you to meet," he states, pressing the up button for the elevator. "Due to scheduling conflicts, you haven't met some of the other girls yet."

She frowns. "Miku and Riina are in this project too, yes? Why aren't they coming?"

"They've already met the rest of the girls we've gathered so far," he answers simply, and they step into the elevator.

The ride up is spent in bated breath and tense silence on her end. It's just a regular meeting, exchanging names and getting to know new people, but something about today, about this moment, gives her anxiety. She's not sure why. There's no reason to feel this way.

Soon enough, they reach their floor and step out. Her palms are sweaty. Actually, all of her is sweaty. She remembers she was just pulled out of practice and wonders if the Producer even realized that. She wants to ask if she can go wipe herself off and change out of her tracksuit, but then they reach the office door and he twists the doorknob and pushes without hesitation.

There is an explosion of noise. The girls in the room vary drastically in height and age, and she barely has time to collect herself before they're all over her, excitedly calling her foreign features pretty and poking her in various regions. Their reactions are cute, in a way, although she's kind of terrified as well.

Eventually, the Producer settles them down and then she's barraged with names and introductions, her head spinning to match names with faces she's only seen for a few minutes at most. A few of the girls who hadn't jumped onto her move closer, and it's only then that she catches the figure hovering furthest from the group.

Her eyes widen in shock. Almost entirely out of her own control, the Russian slips out of her mouth before she can stop herself. "Beautiful," she breaths, and abruptly she slaps a hand over mouth and tries to ignore the heat spreading up her cheeks.

To her surprise, however, the other girl turns red as well, and she can only blink dumbly as the other girls clamber to ask what language she'd just used. She can't bring herself to answer them, only vaguely register that they're there. Her attention is focused solely on the other girl.

She watches as the girl slowly exhales the red from her face and forms her expression into a gentle smile.

"It's nice to meet you," she greets, and her voice is just as gentle, kind and bright.

Her mouth goes dry. She can't stop staring. The other girls probably think she's crazy, and maybe she feels a little crazy right now, but she can't bring herself to move.

She's heard these words countless times over the years, but this time, this time she just knows, she feels...

"I'm Minami Nitta. I look forward to working with you."

...

They spend a lot of time together.

It doesn't take much effort on her part. It just sort of naturally happens. At first, it's just a few minutes here and there between practices and lessons. Then they have lunch together one day and everything spirals off from there.

She learns that Minami is a first year college student in Tokyo, that she plays lacrosse and is great at it no matter how much she insists she's not, that she gives her all into whatever she does and that she's willing to try anything once and that's how she ended up becoming an idol. That she is good at a lot of the things she's tried, but being good isn't necessarily being the best, and that neither being good at nor being the best at something guarantees having fun.

Being an idol, she tells her, is the most fun she's had in a long time.

The next best thing, she tells her, has been learning Russian.

That's why Minami had known the word she'd said when they met. They have a good laugh about the whole incident, but deep down inside, Anya wonders what Minami's handwriting looks like. She can't bring herself to check.

Instead, she asks why Minami started learning Russian, but the girl refuses to tell her. It's a secret, she says, and she smiles that gentle smile so Anya lets it go.

...

Somewhere down the line, they form a unit together. The Producer puts them together without consulting them, but neither of them are particularly upset about the decision. They're both rather happy, actually.

Soon, the time for their CD debut arrives, and the recordings and the practices go as smoothly as they can for a couple of beginners in the industry. The problems only begin when their first live show approaches.

Everyone's nervous, of course. They're not the only unit performing their debut tonight, but they're the first ones on stage and that's more pressure than she really wants. But as nervous as she feels, she knows Minami can only be worse. The girl has never challenged herself so far out of her comfort zone before, and the fear of failure for somebody who usually succeeds can be crippling.

Anya herself has had too many years of struggling to fit into a foreign country to be afraid of failing and being gawked at by strangers.

As they stand behind the curtains waiting in their white outfits, she watches Minami stare intensely at the floor. She wonders how she should approach this, because staring or not Minami is the older one out of the two of them, and how would she feel being comforted by a junior four years younger than her?

Doing nothing is probably worse than doing something, she eventually decides, so she opens her mouth and calls, "Minami."

Minami turns to her, cheeks flushed, a light sheen of sweat on her skin.

She struggles with trying to remember the Japanese, then smiles and holds out her hand. "Let's shake hands," she tells her in Russian first, followed by the Japanese as soon as she remembers. It's a force of habit to clarify her slip ups by now, even though she knows Minami knows what she's saying.

Minami gapes at her for a moment, eyes wide, before her lips turn upwards in relief. "Okay," she agrees, but Anya doesn't let go of her hand once the shake is over.

She holds on up until they run onstage and have no choice but to separate and start the performance.

...

It's a success. She feels a little bit closer to the stars that she wants to become, but most of all, she's grateful she doesn't have to make the journey alone.

...

It's only when they're in the dressing room and beginning to change that she accidentally catches a glimpse of Minami's bare left shoulder blade and forgets how to breathe. She doesn't even realize she's stopped moving until she feels eyes boring into her head, and she looks up into the wall of mirrors in front of them and catches Minami's surprised gaze in the reflection.

They don't say anything for a good long while. Just stare, shocked, into each other's eyes.

"Krasivaya," she blurts out, and even she is surprised at the fact that she's read the word out loud.

Minami swallows thickly and gives a weak smile. "After I figured out what language this is, I often wondered what kind of person would say that to me as their first sentence."

She feels herself turn red, probably even redder than the first time she'd said that word to Minami. "Is this why you started studying Russian?" she asks.

Minami nods, shyly lifting her gaze away. "I guessed that it might be helpful to learn the language. Especially if I'm spending the rest of my life with somebody who speaks it."

The rest of her life. The weight of such words sink heavily into Anya's mind. She tests the phrase on her tongue. "The rest of your life."

Minami's eyes suddenly go wide. "Not that," and she stammers, throwing her hands up and frantically waving them around, "not that it has to be you, of course! It could be somebody else, and, well, you know coincidences happen, and mistakes can be made, and oh, this is terribly embarrassing..."

She's struck, all of a sudden, with mischievous inspiration. Quickly, she reaches for her bag and rummages inside of it, ignoring Minami's confused look. It doesn't take long for her to find what she's searching for.

Picking it up, she hands it to Minami, enjoying the way her eyebrows furrow together.

"...What?"

"Will you sign my copy of our CD?" she requests, holding out a pen.

"...Why?"

"Write down the first words you ever said to me."

...

She holds it in her hands, doing her best not to give in to the nervous, hopeful look that Minami pins her down with.

Honestly, she doesn't even need to glance at the thin, neat black characters written on the plastic case to know what it says and how accurately it matches the markings on her own shoulder blade.

Hiding her smile, she sets the CD down and turns innocently to the other girl. "Minami, can you help me out of this dress?"

...

She bursts out laughing once the dress is off her shoulders and Minami is hugging her tightly from behind. They look like fools in the mirror, half dressed as they are, but even as foolish as they appear, she thinks Minami has never looked more beautiful, happy tears staining her eyes.

"Krasivaya," she says again, and Minami looks up at her through the mirror.

"Stop it."

"Krasivaya."

"Stop!"

"Krasivaya! Minami, your face is so red!"

"Geez, stop it already!"

"Okay."

"...Are you really going to stop that easily?"

"I have the rest of our lives to say it as much as I want, so there's no rush, right?"

Minami doesn't dignify her with a verbal response, just buries her face into her shoulder with the tips of her ears burning red. Eventually, however, she settles with, "I can't believe your marks are nowhere near as embarrassing as mine."

Anya smiles brightly. "These words were yours though, not mine."

Frantically, Nico turned from where she had been sitting on the couch and tried to look behind her to the kitchen, spouting, "Wait, Nozomi, hold on, I'll–"

Her words were sucked into the giant mufflers known as Nozomi's breasts and reduced to nothing but incoherent huffs of air. She groaned exasperatedly as two arms wrapped around her back and held her in place, even as her face began to turn red from Nozomi's body heat and the impending suffocation began to take hold.

Also, maybe it was a little embarrassing to be pressed into those monstrosities so closely and intimately, but she'd never say that out loud. Not that she could say anything out loud anyways, she thought with narrowed eyes. At least Nozomi smelled nice...

"Ah, is Nicocchi sniffing me? How embarrassing~" Nozomi sang out, and Nico could feel the vibrations of her voice through her chest.

Bending her arms at the elbows, she tried to push away by using the back of the couch as leverage, but Nozomi wasn't budging. Nico cursed her petite, cute super idol form for a second, but took it back a moment later. This was Nozomi's fault, not hers!

She tried to protest as much, but Nozomi's breasts swallowed her words.

"Ara, Nicocchi, is there something you want to say to me?" Nico heard from somewhere above her head. Then she felt hot air tickle the tip of her left ear. "I can't hear you. Why don't you try harder~?"

Ignoring the heat surging to her face, Nico promptly brought her hands up and shoved. Or rather, tried to shove, but instead her hands sank into soft cushions that were decidedly not Nozomi's stomach or hips where she'd been aiming for. Definitely, definitely not. Nope. Waaaaaay too soft to be either of those things.

Unconsciously, or maybe not, her fingers squeezed almost as if to test that thought.

The moan that breezed into her ear immediately after sent a bolt of lightning traveling down her body, and Nico couldn't decide if she was more mortified or turned on–

"N-Ni– Ah!"

Nico froze and realized she'd moved her fingers again.

"Nico, can... can you... um..." Nozomi murmured bashfully, doing a complete 180 of her earlier teasing attitude, her arms sliding regretfully loose off Nico's shoulders.

Could she?

Could she what, exactly?

Her brain had short-circuited, although in the span of time it took her to think that, she also remembered that super idols didn't freeze up no matter the unexpected situation. But super idols didn't exactly get into these types of situations in the first place, right? Because these types of situations usually led to scandals, and scandals led to disasters, but the media had never questioned her female roommate before and they'd been dating for a while anyways without any trouble so then there shouldn't be a problem but there was a problem here and what was it exactly?

"N-Nico...?"

Her eyes widened as she realized Nozomi had stopped using her nickname and was addressing her by name, and almost dumbly, she responded with "N-Nico?" in a pathetic echo back. And even though her words were, again, robbed from the air by the mufflers she currently gripped in her hands, the way Nozomi froze up after told her that she'd heard regardless.

It was at this point that Nico realized she should probably extract herself from the situation and remove her hands. Preferably from existence. And also her ears. And face.

So she slowly slid backwards off the couch. And gently, carefully, released her grip and lowered her arms.

Nozomi's eyes were wide as saucers, and her face was as red as the tomatoes that they were growing on the balcony. Idly, Nico wondered when Nozomi had removed her hair from the ponytail it had been in, because it was surely a sin for anybody to look that good with their hair down, and dare she say it, even better than Nico herself.

She swallowed thickly and tried to remember how they had even gotten here in the first place, and that was the moment her brain helpfully provided a smooth way out of the situation. "I," and Nico winced as her voice cracked quite heavily, and she silently cursed in her mind, "will, uh, g-go make that reservation..."

Nozomi's eyes, if it was even possible, grew wider, and their emerald color sparkled as her lips formed into a half smile, half gasp. "Really?!"

God, it was disgusting how cute she was. "Really," she grunted, turning away and glaring at the TV. "I don't want to keep hearing you begging to go."

"Nicocchi!" And Nozomi practically leapt at her from behind the couch in her haste to sweep the idol into a boisterous hug. "Oh, thank you! It'll be so much fun!"

Nico, whether for better or worse, tried to tell Nozomi that going to a special museum exhibit on meat was unsightly for an idol and the damage to her reputation if she were caught would be irreparable, but then her words were, once again, swallowed by two giant cushions.

The weather, as always, is unpredictable.

Except not really.

10% chance of rain, her phone app had said, but in a moment of carelessness, she hadn't noticed the last time the app updated was last week.

So really, the weather is predictable, but the fault lies with her for incorrectly predicting it.

She stares forlornly at the smiling sun displayed in the app, then fiddles with the wet screen of her phone and puts it into her pocket. Wiping sopping bangs from her eyes, she sighs up at the leafy canopy above their heads, feeling stray drops drip down from their cover and splash onto her face as she contemplates their predicament.

A cold breeze blows through the forest, and her companion shivers from where she's seated on a gnarled tree root. Soon after, she sneezes.

Umi turns to her, fully prepared to apologize and beg her forgiveness, but the sight that meets her eyes gives her shocked pause and erases any semblance of coherent thought. Her mouth runs dry.

In comparison, her friend is completely soaked to the bone. Not a strange fact considering they're both drenched from a torrent of water droplets, so her friend is, of course, extremely wet, but Umi had been too preoccupied with finding shelter to notice that her friend is not only wet, but also wearing a white t-shirt, completely normal for a hiking trip, but, well, that is, um–

"Red," she weakly exhales by accident. The second she does so, her face explodes in heat, then Maki turns to her with perplexed violet eyes and Umi feels the heat tickle the tips of her ears.

"What, my hair?" comes the confused retort. Almost as if to demonstrate her point, she brings a finger up and twirls the ends of her hair in a practiced gesture.

Umi scrambles for words, which is a much simpler task to do on paper than with her mouth. "Well, yes, your hair is red, well, not as red as usual, since it's so dark, but, that is, um, because you're w-wet," she blurts out, saying everything that travels through her mind and doing her best to not stare at the source of her panic. Which is a hard task considering her back has locked into place and her neck is rigidly refusing to move.

Maki squints at her, then glances down at the strands of hair around her fingers. Her eyes immediately widen once she catches a glimpse of her chest.

"Oh," is all she says in a quiet, quiet voice.

That's when her face blooms into a shade of red, redder than the red of...

...her bra.

Her very visible bra beneath the wet, wrinkly surface of her white shirt that clings to her body and reveals more than the skin underneath and the curves that wouldn't have been accentuated otherwise, because Umi certainly hadn't noticed them when they'd first met up and started this trip because well, they weren't wet at the start of it, and besides she had no reason to look in the first place, and she would never do something as indecent as oggle...

An extremely helpful part of her brain supplies the fact that she is oggling right now.

The noise that escapes her lips is reminiscent of a soul leaving one's body.

Immediately, Maki lets out a horrified shriek, slaps her arms over her chest and scoots away from Umi, futilely trying to cover up the problem and bringing herself closer to the rain waiting outside the edges of the tree's canopy.

Umi sees the potential disaster right before the situation plays out.

Almost in slow motion, the heel of Maki's shoe slips with a squelch in mud, and as the tree root is not so wide or long, Maki is left off balance from her sudden movement and careening dangerously backwards, heading towards what is certain freezing hell caked onto her back and hair if she falls into it.

Luckily, Umi's already in motion before she's halfway to the ground. Straining her shoulders and core, she throws an arm behind Maki's soaking back, carefully angling her kneeling stance so that she doesn't end up faceplanting into the mud herself, and tries to hold Maki upright, bringing her body close. Unfortunately, given the way they're positioned, Umi's face ends up pressed... right beneath the sopping wet bra, right on her friend's warm sternum. The red material makes her go cross-eyed, and as her brain malfunctions, her right knee slips, and then they're both tumbling for the ground when instincts kick in and Umi thrusts her free arm out.

Maki yelps.

Umi grimaces as her hand splats and sinks into slimy, cold mud.

Shoulders shaking from the strength required to hold them up at such an odd angle, Umi does her best not to look at or breathe into the warm, moist material of her friend's shirt and the pink skin beneath, instead focusing on keeping them afloat with only one arm firmly entrenched in muck, the viscous dirt sliding disgustingly between her fingers and underneath her nails, but hey, if there's one good thing to come from this, it's that mud is a surprisingly effective way to get turned off.

Almost as if fate wants to spite her, Maki takes a deep breath, pressing skin through shirt right into Umi's nose and cheeks, wet and warm and wayward — "U-Umi," her friend breathlessly moans, clutching at Umi's shoulder, the tips of her fingers digging into muscle.

Suddenly, the mud isn't as effective anymore.

"S-Stop breathing so heavily on my stomach!" Maki tries to protest, but it comes out as meek and weak, and her other hand clutches at Umi's bicep. "Get us upright, p-please!"

Umi's lips try to work to say, "I'm trying!", but what comes out is a strangled gasp as she does her best to push off the ground with one arm, digging her fingers even further into the mud to prevent them from slipping.

The action has her pressing her face even more firmly into Maki and leaves her friend gasping for air too, her abdominal muscles flexing visibly beneath her shirt.

Swallowing thickly, her heartbeat roars in her ears.

The adrenaline boost from such a sight finally gives her the strength to bring them upright, so she pushes, slowly, carefully, trembling from the effort, and once Maki is firmly seated back on the tree root does Umi untangle herself quickly and nearly slip and fall backwards in her haste.

They're both panting despite the fact it's Umi who strained all her muscles to save them.

They're also both tomato red, and when their eyes meet, the tomato pallors quickly turn to scarlet.

Umi's not sure which one of them looks away first, since they both turn away rapidly after the fact, but once they do, neither of them can muster up the courage to say anything or even attempt looking at the other for the slightest glimpse. She's terrified just seeing Maki again will bring up the unbearably pleasant sensations from her sopping wet–

"Thank you," she hears over the thundering of heartbeats in her ears, over the steady whooshing of rain outside the canopy. "For, um, yeah..."

Umi is unbearably, infuriatingly hot.

Hoarsely, she croaks, "You're... welcome..." back.

They don't speak another word to each other for the rest of the day.

Though the rain doesn't stop for hours after that, Umi can't help but bitterly think that no amount of rain in the world could cool the fire raging in her body while they sat in tense, muggy silence.

She decides then and there that she's never going anywhere without updating her weather app, and grabbing an umbrella, a rainproof jacket, and a spare shirt that isn't white, ever again.

Not that she believes Maki will go on another hiking trip with her after today.

Wiping her mudcaked hand off on her pants leg, she solemnly contemplates how she's even going to be able to bring Maki home at this rate without spontaneously combusting into a pile of nothingness.

...

I wonder where mother keeps the ceremonial sword, she thinks, then internally cries.

...

Unbeknownst to Umi, Maki is having just as much trouble cooling herself off despite the incessant rain and soaked clothing, but her thought process from there is a little less bleak than her friend's. Instead, she's actually contemplating the most effective way to sucker Umi into giving her a piggyback ride at some point, just so she can feel those shoulder muscles again.

Next time they go hiking, though, she's making sure she's not wearing a single article of bright clothing.

Not unless she's wearing something nice and maybe lacy, and not a red sports bra, despite the fact her brain is telling her it'll be uncomfortable and painful, but if Umi is this flustered by just a sports bra, well...

So she aims elsewhere and tries not to focus on the little soaring bird, flitting about wherever she desired to be, because to focus is to aim, and to aim is preparation to fire, and she refuses to be the one who will pin the little bird to the ground.

That's what she tells herself, anyways, when Kotori almost leaves for America.

In reality, she's a coward too, but a considerate one at least, and at the end of it all, she's just glad that Kotori decides to stay in Japan. That's why nothing changes between them, even though Umi very nearly loses the wings that keep her afloat. She also reminds herself that there is no time for change, not when they have to prepare for the next Love Live on top of their newly appointed student council duties, and in her case, there is also kyudo to take into account.

And people wonder why she's so hard on Honoka. She knows the girl isn't stupid and can actually be quite the hard worker, but it's frustrating to see someone with so much potential waste it all while Umi drowns in effort, when she knows that Honoka could be just as good as her if she applied herself a little more. If only she cared about her grades a little more.

But when Honoka does care about something, Umi has to give her credit for doing her best when it counts.

A more hidden, honest part of Umi, as well, admits that maybe, just maybe, she's a bit jealous of the natural charisma that Honoka emits, the ability to freely follow her whims and see them through to the end, culminating in the power she channeled to bring Kotori back to them.

Back to her.

And that's the kicker, really.

Effort means nothing if the person who makes it, does it without meaning behind the work, and it's a bitter pill to swallow, especially once she realizes this means she really is in no position to be criticizing Honoka for her lack of effort, not when Honoka makes it during the times she really cares about what she's doing.

Because when Umi does care, cares so much her heart bleeds and ceases to function properly, she becomes paralyzed, and all the effort she's made before that moment is for naught.

She's a coward, a useless one, and it kills her on the inside, slowly eating away at her like the way a bird pecks at bread, piece by piece, crumb after crumb, until the only bits remaining are the ones that are carried away by the wind, swept away into the nothingness of the horizon.

Until then, she lines up her shot, staring at the red bullseye in the distance until there is nothing but red in her vision, then notches the arrow, then pulls, then breathes, then releases.

Her eyes close.

Even without the polite clapping of her club mates after, she knows the arrow flew true.

Because when it doesn't count, the effort she's made up until now won't fail her.

Not when the arrows she fires are weightless and have nowhere else to go but forward, predictable and boring in their trajectory.

Not when she's shooting at targets she cares little for.

Not when her heart is so empty even nervousness has left her.

She smiles then, excuses herself, and goes to change. There's still a mountain of student council work to do, and as Honoka is busy helping out at the shop while Kotori frantically tries to finish the costumes for their next performance, she's on her own in tackling it all.

At least emptiness means no room for distractions, she thinks, and hopefully she will be able to truck through the work efficiently and painlessly.

Effortlessly.

"What's so funny?" Maki quietly grumbles, glaring. Umi's grin grows wider.

"Nothing," she quietly quips. "That you would find amusing, anyways."

"Hmph," the redhead flips her hair in silent irritation, turning back to the sheets of paper on the piano. They've been at this the whole day, taking breaks only when Umi's alarms go off to remind them to eat (eating at proper time intervals is important to keep fit and healthy, after all), and Umi is sure if they had been anybody besides Umi and Maki, they would have goofed off hours ago.

As it is, even people as focused as they are need to take a step back and rest their minds. With that logic in mind, Umi slowly stands, stretching her arms above her head, before she takes a stealthy step and moves for the piano. Maki, eyes now closed, hasn't noticed her actions at all.

Creeping up is no challenge even in her tired state since Maki is more gone than she is, and when she reaches her, some small part of her is amused when Maki jumps to her gentle touch on the shoulder. She's cold, which comes as no surprise considering the chill of the evening, so Umi takes off her school blazer and drapes it over Maki's shoulders.

"J-Jeez! Umi, what are you doing?" the pianist squeaks, tightening up, fingers pulling away from the white piano keys.

"You seemed cold," Umi responds, head tilting. She's only doing the logical thing to warm her up, right? Although judging by the way Maki is stiffening up, perhaps not so much. Eyebrows scrunching together, she tries to remember the last time she washed her blazer. She did her laundry only a few days ago, didn't she? "I'm sorry, does it smell bad?" she asks.

When Maki turns her head to face her, Umi is surprised to see the red tinge to her cheeks. "No..." the redhead slowly murmurs. "That's..."

A lightbulb goes off in Umi's brain, and one hand of hers reaches forward. "Maki, do you have a fever?" she hurriedly questions, feeling her friend's forehead and searching for traces of abnormal heat. Maki doesn't feel warm... but to her surprise, the girl's cheeks grow redder and redder to match the scarlet shade of her hair.

"No, I-I'm fine!" Maki all but shouts, standing from the piano bench, knocking Umi's hands off, and stalking away, movements stiff. Umi can only blink after her. "I'm... going to get the bath ready," Maki says at the doorway before she steps out, red hair flying from the force of her steps.

Umi continues to blink.

Finally, to the empty room, she replies, "...Alright then."

...

When Maki comes back ten minutes later, she finds Umi sprawled on top of the table, eyes closed, bangs covering her forearm where her forehead is propped up against, her papers spread out and her pencil teetering towards the floor. The second year is uncharacteristically messy, and the fact that she passed out at all is strange in and of itself.

She has to hold back her laughter at the adorable sight.

Soon, though, her amusement changes to quiet, appreciative observation.

Umi is always stern faced even when she is being kind, a sight which is comforting despite the usual negative connotations that go with being stern (and since Honoka and Rin are the ones who receive most of the scolding anyways, Maki's never minded), so to see her relaxed expression is a rare treat.

Maki can't help but indulge herself.

Quietly, she pads over to Umi's side for a closer look. There she finds that she can take in the details of her strong jaw and the curves of muscle on the side of her neck, and then her eyes trail to the blue strands of hair cascading over sturdy shoulders, strands that have a soft, silky quality–

She immediately retracts her hand once she realizes what she's doing. Flushing to the tips of her ears and swallowing the lump in her throat, Maki leans away, squeezes her eyes shut and counts to ten.

Once ten comes, she's gone from embarrassed to emboldened. Somewhere in those ten seconds, an insane impulse took a hold of her mind, one whispering hard truths to sway her, telling her this is her only chance to be close with Umi, normally so distant, attached at the hips to her childhood friends, who she only had eyes for...

It's bitterness, not affection, that moves her forward, and when she presses her lips to that soft blue hair right above the ear, inhaling the soothing scent of morning dew on wood, only then does she realize the mistake she's made.

Her throat goes dry.

Blinking, she leans away, looks to the white ceiling to blot out the overwhelming blue in her vision, and counts to ten with her lip between her teeth.

She clenches and unclenches her fists.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity in tense silence, she heaves a tired, weary sigh and decides that she's doing nobody any favors by standing there and regretting the past. Might as well go use the bath she drew up and get ready to rest for another day of tortured songwriting in the same room as the one she holds feelings for.

Tomorrow will be another long, long day.

With one foot poised for the door, she pauses, unable to resist the temptation of one last look. Lucky that she does so, actually, since she would have otherwise missed the shiver of Umi's back beneath the white wrinkles of her school uniform.

But if tomorrow is another long day, at least one of us should rest well, she thinks with a wry smile.

It's affection then, not bitterness, that moves her to shrug Umi's blazer, still draped around her like a protective cloak, off, settling the jacket gently back on its owner's shoulders.

Her hands linger for a moment before she shakes her head and forces herself away.

She'll come back after her bath and wake Umi up later, and with that, the door shuts closed behind her.

...

Umi waits a few seconds, then a few more, then a few minutes to be safe, before she raises her head off the table, pencil clattering to the floor and paper sheets shuffling around on wood. Cheeks burning holes into her face, she brings her hands up and cups them, alarmed at the feverish feeling running beneath her fingertips.

Oh, is all she can think. Oh, is all she has been thinking since Maki walked back into the room and didn't say a single word. Oh, is all that went through her mind the entire time Maki hovered near her and then when she–

Her entire body erupts like a volcano.

Umi is no genius when it comes to things like this, but even she's not dense enough to misinterpret everything that just happened.

She's only lucky Maki hadn't caught her staring when she was about to leave the room, although for a few horrifying seconds Umi thought she had been, but then Maki had merely returned her blazer, and well, that was that.

Except... except now what is she meant to do?!

With dread pooling in her heart, she wonders how long she can pretend she doesn't know anything about anything, but...

But Umi is no liar and she cannot lie to herself: she knows she is a horrible actress.

Just the thought of seeing Maki again is sending her stomach into somersaults, and her body is so flushed at this point she feels like she's permanently a shade of red.

At least Maki loves tomatoes, right?

Umi doesn't know what's worse: the fact that she's now imagining herself in a giant tomato costume, or that a small part of her is actually kinda, sorta, really glad that she doesn't need to be a tomato for Maki to love her.

Then Umi remembers they're spending the night together.

Alone.

In Maki's house.

Because Maki's parents are gone for the weekend.

Normally not a problem, but now?

Now...

Umi faceplants right back into the desk and sends her papers flying everywhere, unconscious and dead to the world.

...

Maki, red hair slightly damp, quirks her eyebrows at the sheets spread all across the floor and the pencil right by her feet at the doorway.

...She decides not to think too much about how they got there and picks them up.

Setting them back down on the table, she goes to shake Umi awake.

The girl doesn't even twitch, not one little bit, at the disturbance.

She shakes some more.

Nothing.

Humming to herself, she recalls the last time she saw Umi unceremoniously awakened, where the girl had returned to the living world as a demon hurling supersonic pillows, and ultimately determines that it's not worth the risk.

Despite her fear at the time, the memory forms a smile on her lips. She shakes her head.

Her eyes fall over Umi's slumbering form.

...Well...

If she's this dead to the world, then...

She pats the sleeping girl gently on the head and contents herself with watching her sleep for a little while.

Even asleep, Umi has never looked more mesmerizing.

...

When the morning rays of light shine on Umi's face and wake her from dreamless sleep, the sight of Maki slumbering just a few inches from her on the table nearly sends her into cardiac arrest. Her red hair spills beautifully onto the table, almost glowing under the morning sun, and the way it frames her slumbering visage only brings out the soft contours and edges of her face.

Umi forgets how to breathe.

Once her heartbeats stop thundering in her ears does she realize this is a rare chance to observe the redhead up close without interference.

It's only then that she really recognizes it's morning, and her thoughts from last night come rushing back to her head.

She can't tell if she's more mortified or disappointed that nothing happened.

Then she gets a whiff of herself off her sleeve and grimaces. Right, she never bathed.

Well, if it's for memorizing the picturesque scene before her, she can put up with her stench for a few more minutes.