Intrusion

Seiko hates it when she’s given tasks involving Ruruka. She knows the two of them ought to behave like adults, and treat each other accordingly – but even if Seiko could forget what happened between them, Ruruka would never let her.

She’s only dropping something off to Ruruka, that day. There’s no answer when Seiko knocks on the door, but the handle opens when she tries it, and Seiko lets herself in. It’s safer to leave the package inside, she thinks. It would be unreasonable of Ruruka to argue otherwise.

Ruruka is asleep on the couch. She obviously wasn’t intending to take a nap, with her head lolled against the back of the couch and her mouth open. It makes Seiko want to giggle, because Ruruka looks so inelegant that it’s cute. But she stops herself.

‘Um, Ruruka?’ she says. Ruruka doesn’t respond. ‘I just came to drop this off ...’ Seiko sets the parcel down on the coffee table, but Ruruka doesn’t wake. It must be nice, Seiko thinks, to sleep so deeply.

She says Ruruka’s name a little louder, and pushes her shoulder, gently. Ruruka scrunches her face a little, and she shifts away from Seiko’s touch, but she doesn’t wake up. Seiko doesn’t even think she’s pretending.

Part of Seiko wants to put Ruruka to bed. Tuck her under the covers and kiss her goodnight. How long has it been, since she’s been this close to Ruruka and not had hateful words spat at her? Not since they were at school, surely.

She sits down on the couch, at the other end from Ruruka. The cushion sinks under her weight, but Ruruka is undisturbed. There’s not much room for Seiko – Ruruka has her feet up on the couch – so she sits very properly, and feels like she might burst from their proximity.

Ruruka’s skirt has ridden up, Seiko notices. Seiko can see the white skin of her thighs.

She’s not thinking of touching her. Even though she’s so close. Even though she wouldn’t know it, not if Seiko were careful.

She doesn’t look at Ruruka, then, but she moves her hand slowly, creepingly, until she lays it down on Ruruka’s calf. Ruruka is wearing socks, but she’s warm even through the fabric.

Seiko dares to look at her, then. At Ruruka, being touched by Seiko and not knowing to make a fuss about it. They could be teenagers again, Ruruka having fallen asleep while they watched a movie.

Seiko’s fingers curl. Ruruka doesn’t notice.

If Seiko thinks of the time when they were friends, she thinks about other things too. Seeing Ruruka get changed, and trying not to be caught staring. The thrill Seiko had always felt in secret, whenever Ruruka touched her, put her arms around her.

Seiko slides her hand up Ruruka’s leg, her whole body tense in case Ruruka shows any sign of waking. But Ruruka doesn’t wake. Seiko touches her bare flesh with her fingertips, and Ruruka doesn’t wake.

Seiko has to stop then, and catch her breath. She doesn’t know what she’s doing this for. Simply because Ruruka can’t stop her? Has this always been what Seiko is like? She really is pathetic.

Seiko bites her lip, and she slides her hand higher, beneath the hem of Ruruka’s skirt. She can’t pretend to be casual about this now. But then, there was nothing casual even about sitting down beside Ruruka, was there? If Ruruka wakes up ... she’ll be so mad. She’ll probably push Seiko; she’ll yell at her, accuse her. The idea should be more abhorrent to Seiko than it is. Somehow, she wants Ruruka to keep hating her.

The only thing worse than Ruruka’s spite would be if Ruruka were indifferent to her.

Seiko reaches the fingers of her hand higher, until she touches the swell of Ruruka’s bottom, can trace the scalloped edge of her underwear. Seiko shuts her eyes. She squeezes her own thighs together. She’s doing something awful, she knows. But – she squeezes her legs again – she can’t help her own reaction to it. Ruruka would be so mad; she’d yell at Seiko, call her a pervert, and she’d be right.

Seiko pulls her hand away, looks at it in front of her. Looks at Ruruka again. Darling, vulnerable Ruruka. If she’d known how Seiko felt about her, she would have called Seiko a pervert then, too. Even when they’d liked each other.

Seiko shifts her weight on the couch. She leans forward, and quickly she pushes Ruruka’s skirt up higher, so that Seiko can see her underwear, see the V between her legs.

Seiko sits back again, leaning against the arm of the couch, and then, before she thinks about what she’s doing, she presses her hand between her own legs, rubbing at herself through the fabric.

She wants Ruruka to wake up. She wants Ruruka to wake up and tell her how pathetic she is, tell her exactly what’s wrong with her. Seiko doesn’t know what’s wrong with her.

Ruruka shifts in her sleep, and the zap of terror that sends through Seiko is indistinguishable from her arousal. But Ruruka doesn’t wake up. Not yet.

Seiko pushes the fabric of her underwear aside, and she’s wet enough that her fingers slip easily between her folds. She rubs her clit with her fingers slicked up, and she watches Ruruka’s sleeping form, the parts of her that are exposed. And Ruruka has no idea.

Seiko comes, there on the couch next to Ruruka, and she doesn’t make a sound.

It’s disturbing how good it feels, coming like that. Without Ruruka noticing.

Seiko takes a moment to compose herself. Ruruka moves her head, and her hair falls over her face, and Seiko can remember exactly how it felt, wanting her as a teenager.

But they’re not teenagers any more. And Seiko has no excuse for what she’s just done.

She stands up from the couch. She wipes her fingers on the underneath of her own skirt, staring at Ruruka with wide guilty eyes.

She leans forward, to pull Ruruka’s skirt back down. And she fears then, that that will be the moment Ruruka wakes ...

But she doesn’t.

And Seiko won’t sleep easily herself tonight.