Love, if You Like

Usually when Komaru suggests they take a bath together, Fukawa blows her off. She hates Komaru’s enthusiasm for things like hot water and soap; hates bathing even by herself, let alone with other people.

But it’s been a long day. They had to go down into the sewer system to escape one of Monoca’s traps, and Fukawa can still remember the smell of it, and she can’t be bothered fighting Komaru on the bath question.

What does it matter if Komaru sees her naked anyway? Komaru has already seen her through the good and bad – and mostly the bad, if Fukawa’s honest.

They wash up together, and Komaru hardly even peeks at her. Because what is there for Komaru to peek at? Fukawa scrubs herself hard, as if she can clean off her plainness with the dirt. She’s still scrubbing when Komaru gets into the bath, and Komaru lets out such a happy, indulgent sigh then that Fukawa has to look over. Komaru is submerged up to her chest, her breasts are buoyant in the water, and something in Fukawa wants to be bitter, looking at her.

‘It feels so good,’ Komaru says. ‘You should hurry up, Toko-chan.’

‘I’m hurrying!’ Fukawa says, and rinses herself off. She’s clean enough; she’s just avoiding the matter at hand. Which is joining Komaru in the bath.

Komaru does, then, watch her. She isn’t coy about it, and Fukawa should be mad, but there’s nothing judgemental in Komaru’s expression. It’s as if this is already normal to her.

The water is hotter than Fukawa likes – that’s part of why she doesn’t like baths, the heat – and she can feel herself going red as soon as she steps in. Still, maybe it’s because the day was so rough that the heat seems to chase the aches in her body, and to ease them.

Komaru looks at her fondly.

‘What are you smiling for?’ Fukawa says.

‘Don’t you think this is nice?’ Komaru says. She folds her arms around her knees.

‘Not really ...’

‘Well, I think it’s nice,’ Komaru says. She reaches out and bops Fukawa on the nose, and then looks abashed for it.

‘What was that for?’

‘No reason.’

Even for Fukawa, it’s hard to be tense in a bath. And she doesn’t really mind Komaru looking at her so fondly. Komaru’s legs rub up against hers, and Fukawa can’t even be bothered to make herself smaller. She just allows the touch, Komaru’s skin against hers, Komaru’s heat indistinguishable from the heat of the water.

Fukawa can relax.

She lets out a sigh of her own, without meaning to. It comes out contented.

Komaru giggles, and she presses her leg against Fukawa’s.

‘You do think this is nice,’ she says. And her toes tickle the inside of Fukawa’s thigh.

Fukawa takes a sharp breath, the warm air making her feel dizzy. Or maybe it’s Komaru making her feel dizzy, touching her so intimately and with such an innocent expression on her face. Like she doesn’t know she’s doing it.

She knows she’s doing it. She’s waiting to see how Fukawa will react.

Fukawa doesn’t know how to react. She knows she should protest – she’s saving herself for Byakuya; she’s not a lesbian; she doesn’t even believe Komaru is a lesbian. It would be just like Komaru, to try and debauch her as if that were normal between female friends. Fukawa might not have any other female friends, but she’s pretty sure Komaru is breaching the bounds of normalcy.

On the other hand, because it’s Komaru, she’s not sure that she won’t just go along with it.

Fukawa bites her lip. She catches Komaru’s foot between her thighs; Komaru looks surprised. Fukawa reaches down, and she traces her fingers over the bumps of Komaru’s toes.

‘That tickles,’ Komaru says. She doesn’t pull away, but closes her eyes.

Fukawa loosens the grip of her thighs, and holds Komaru’s foot in her hand again, dragging her thumb along the curve of her sole. She’s a little scandalised at herself; Komaru, though, looks contented. Like a cat. If Fukawa petted her right, Komaru would roll over and show her belly.

Well, Fukawa’s already seen that much. But that doesn’t stop her from looking more. The way her skin has blushed pink from the heat. The graceful curve of her neck when her head tips back.

Fukawa has spent a lot of time hating other girls. She’s failed to hate Komaru, though. Maybe she’s even failed to envy Komaru. She knows too well when she’s unhappy, and wants her not to be.

Komaru is not unhappy right now. She lifts her other foot, crossing her legs so that she can place it over the other. She opens her eyes only a little.

‘What, am I giving foot massages now?’ Fukawa says.

Komaru’s smile is naughty. ‘You started it.’

‘I did not. You were –’ How is Fukawa meant to describe what Komaru was doing?

Komaru wets her lips expectantly, like she’s waiting for Fukawa to say it.

‘You were ... coming onto me ...’ Fukawa says, her voice become jittery. She waits for Komaru to deny it, to say, no, no, it was an accident, gosh, this bath is so small and anyway, it’s totally normal for friends to play footsie in the bath ...

‘It’s not that weird, is it?’ Komaru says. She folds up again, her knees against her chest, and the change in water level leaves Fukawa suddenly cold.

‘I thought ...’ Komaru says, ‘it would just be nice.’

‘It’s not meant to be nice,’ Fukawa says. Fukawa has indulged in a million fantasies about how she’ll lose her virginity, and they tend to involve things like near death experiences and declarations of true love, and a whole tumult of emotions that cannot be summed up with nice.

‘Why not?’ Komaru says. ‘I mean ... maybe it’s not like I’m your darling Byakuya-sama –’

‘Don’t talk about him!’

‘– but I’m here, aren’t I?’

Komaru’s eyes are open now, and her gaze is steady. And the flutter in Fukawa’s chest eases. Because Komaru is here. Because Komaru has stuck by her. Fukawa has seen her weak and Fukawa has seen her strong, and really, if Fukawa had to choose a person to stick by her for the rest of her life, Komaru is who it would be.

It could only to be Komaru.

‘You’re right,’ Fukawa says.

‘I am?’

Fukawa nods, slowly. She looks down now, not wanting Komaru to see the love streaming out of her, like she’s sure it must be. Uselessly.

Fukawa feels the water shift around her as Komaru moves forward; she leans her face close in to Fukawa’s, until their foreheads touch. But she doesn’t finish the motion. Like Komaru is nervous too.

Fukawa takes a breath, and then she tilts her head until her lips brush against Komaru’s. She still thinks that Komaru might jerk away; she doesn’t think it can be this easy.

But Komaru kisses her back. Her mouth is soft and she smells like her shampoo. She smells clean.

Fukawa’s never been kissed before. She can’t even remember being kissed by her parents as a child.

Komaru is the only one who’s ever spoiled her like this.

Komaru pulls back just enough to say, ‘Is this okay?’

Fukawa is already flushed. ‘What, do you think I’m going to back down again now?’

‘It’s not a competition ...’

Fukawa kisses her again instead of arguing, clumsily and ardently, but Komaru doesn’t complain. She sits between Fukawa’s legs and presses their bodies together, her breasts against Fukawa’s, and her fingers tracing the outside of Fukawa’s thigh, along the lines of Fukawa’s scars. Fukawa should mind, but she doesn’t.

It’s overwhelming. That, perhaps, is the hard part: to feel overwhelmed and not to fight it. To allow it.

Komaru moves her hand between Fukawa’s legs, and Fukawa lets her. Maybe it’s not the way she ever expected this to happen – if she’s honest she always expected to die an old maid, untouched, unwanted, except that Komaru, apparently, does want her. Enough to do this. Enough to touch her so shamelessly, so lewdly, and with such affection.

And Fukawa loves her.

Komaru touches Fukawa like she knows what she’s doing, and Fukawa wants to make a crude comment about that, but she can’t really keep her thoughts in enough order.

Fukawa has never come before, either. But Komaru coaxes her over that edge too, with her clever fingers, with her mouth wet on Fukawa’s.

And Fukawa thinks, oh. That’s what it’s all about.

The water is cooler now.

Fukawa’s mind begins to tick over the implications of this real-life experience, and how it might be applied in her writing –

‘Toko-chan,’ Komaru says. She giggles. ‘Are you zoning out?’

‘What?’

‘Come on,’ Komaru says, and wriggles against her. Expecting reciprocation, no doubt.

Well, Fukawa’s never done that before either. But she’ll try her best.