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Lisa and Yukina have been dancing around each other. They aren't as close as they once were — though it'd be hard to recreate the bright overlay of childhood emotion anyway — and they're nowhere near as distant either. An in-between space, always on the precipice of something Yukina can't quite put her finger on. Lisa is far more inclined to talk about it; she's open with the affection she gives, though guarded in the amount. She started small. Sacrificed her pretty nails so she could accompany Yukina's vocals with her old bass, overeager. Picks up Yukina's favorite snacks after her convenience store shifts and makes time to drop them off — they even share, sometimes, so Yukina quietly luxuriates in the comfort of Lisa's continued presence. Sometimes, Lisa comes back from the mall and offers her a new matching item — a keychain, or a phone case, or some other accessory. Every action spells out her obvious care, and they spend ample time together during band practice, but they haven't done... much more. Not like... um.
Not like when Yukina used to feel weird and small and soft in Lisa's arms. Not like when Lisa took the feeling in easy stride and looked after her when she couldn't speak — couldn't do much more than blink up at her girlfriend, slow. Not like when Lisa bought her things from the pet section with her own money and put up with kittenish behavior because she could never find any part of Yukina repulsive, no matter how small she tried to make it.
It was an accident at first. Neither of them knew what had happened. Then it was encouraged, because Lisa noticed how much it calmed her under pressure.
Yukina hasn't been able to regress since she and Lisa split up.
She misses it. Finds it shameful. Catches herself teetering, hovering, slipping between states of mind. Puts a stop to that as quickly as she can, because she has to focus on her work, her music, her career.
...even if that were not the case, Yukina hurt Lisa. She can't ask her for this. Even though they're healing, even though it helped Lisa too, what they have now is still so new and uncertain. They're learning each other again, and it shouldn't include — that. Not yet; perhaps not ever. Yukina doesn't want it to.
She doesn't want it.
Yukina bites her lip. Lets herself bask in memory for only a moment more before she gets up, brushes off, and embraces the grip of a microphone biting cold into her hand.
-
Lisa has broken off another precious portion of her day to spend with Yukina. And that sounds odd, perhaps, considering Yukina is — busier, more involved, more invested in the logistics of getting their band to succeed. She is the one with the knowledge, the history, the experience. But Lisa is so good, so kind, so willing to give Yukina another chance that it feels like a gift, inherently, when graced with her presence. Yukina remembers how thrilled Lisa had been at the prospect of them playing together like old times. Back to how it was, before darkness swallowed up Yukina's previous passion and turned it into hard, cold desire and an inset need to impress. She'd slipped away in the blink of an eye and had not considered the disappearance's effect on her longest friendship; her dearest friend.
It doesn't matter. It matters more than anything. She can't think about it long or she will show something she finds unseemly.
Yukina can soften a little around Lisa — has always been able to, even when they were kids and their worries weren't much more than wishes. Lisa seems to recognize that she feels quiet today, so the only sound is the rustling of chip bags, and Yukina doesn't feel scorned for that need once. The only expression she's seen on Lisa's face is a small, fond smile, with rosy cheeks and hazel eyes that will not meet her gaze.
She feels it creep in like thick clouds of dreamy fog in her mind, and she mumbles something nonsensical, presses her hands together in her lap.
Can't, can't, can't. Won't.
...
"Mm? Yukina?"
When Yukina yawns, the sound is all sweet milk and mewling. She’s visibly tense as she resists the urge to lean into Lisa’s side like she belongs there. Like she used to. Lisa’s hands ache in sympathy, seeing how tightly Yukina’s are clenched. How much she denies herself. It isn’t as if Lisa doesn’t also miss it — the warmth, the trust. Sunlit dozing as she scratched the space behind Yukina’s ear.
“Hey,” Lisa says, beckoning Yukina’s attention. Tentativeness gentles her tone. “Don’t force yourself for my sake.”
Yukina tries to reply, but the words are running out of her head — water dripping through cracks. Elusive fish in a briskly paced stream. Her throat feels jammed when she tries to string a sentence together, and for a moment she worries about her ability to sing — before Lisa takes a risk and cuddles her close.
“It happens, remember?” Lisa makes an almost-crying noise above Yukina, something that makes Yukina want to bat a hand at her (softly, lovingly). “I guess it’s been a while, huh? You really can’t on your own…?” There’s a space left for the question to be answered, rhetorical as it is. Of course she can’t. Not without her Lisa. “I guess I’ll have to make it good then! Kitty cat, little kitten of mine.” She reaches with a finger to scratch beneath Yukina’s chin. Yukina... purrs, or makes some approximation of the sound. It rumbles out of her in comfortable, easy waves. Nothing with Yukina is ever easy. Nothing ever... slips out of her like this, cushioned by the safety net of someone else's arms — not the way it's happening now.
(Someone else's, sure. It's not like there's only one girl she's ever been gone for.)
"Ahaha, I think I still have some of your old stuff...? Only if you want, honeybunch."
Yukina blinks at her — slow, slow, slow. Yes, of course she wants. She's a kitten, after all, and kittens don't deprive themselves of anything good.