I had a long intro written for this but Tumblr ate it. Long and short of it: I wrote this about 2.5 years ago in bits on the forums because I’d been thinking about KS again, and now I’m putting it up somewhere a bit more permanent and easier to find, although it’ll be buried under other posts soon enough. Either way please enjoy this ridiculous thing which I’ve decided to title What Happened After Emi Graduated:





The end of high school and the beginning of college is an unwelcome transition for some, particularly those who, perhaps, spent more time on athletics than academics. Such is the situation that one Emi Ibarazaki finds herself facing down a few days after graduation. It hardly helps that her grades have never been the best, and it helps far less that her dreams of running professionally are hamstrung by a distinct lack of collegiate teams made up of the disabled. If she wants to run professionally, it seems, she’d need to take matters into her own hands–and, as her mother keeps hinting, she’ll need a fallback plan, which means that yes, she still needs to go to college even though there’s not a fucking running program that will get her where she needs to go.



Unfortunately it turns out she’s put off applying too long, so when the next year rolls around Emi is left with nothing to do but train and laze around the house (at least until her mother unceremoniously kicks her out to find a job, because while Meiko loves her daughter almost more than life itself she also can’t stand to watch her daughter mope about the house). So after a year spent working at the local convenience store (and hating it), Emi finds a good physical education program and somehow manages to get some tuition assistance (which a voice in the back of her head tells her is down to the good PR the school will get from its appearance of openness and diversity), packs up her things, and moves into student housing. She’s excited to be in a new place and meet new people, because she’s already drifted out of touch with her former teammates (not to mention Rin, who vanishes into some art gallery opening shortly after graduation and never really reappears) and the one thing Emi can’t stand is being alone, even though she’s kept everyone at arm’s length for most of her life. The room is a shared bedroom, which is a little weird, but it has a nice bathroom that Emi figures will make the whole thing worthwhile.

Emi’s roommate snores so loudly she jerks awake the first night thinking the school has come under attack.Once she realizes this is not the case she lays awake in bed staring at the ceiling and quietly thinking of different ways to kill her roommate before sheer exhaustion claims her and she oversleeps for her first class. She buys earplugs that afternoon and tries to maintain an optimistic outlook, even though she feels like this might have made an enormous mistake and landed herself in hell.

A week in, it strikes her that she has failed miserably at making any friends apart from her roommate who, snoring aside, is actually quite pleasant and maybe even a little sweet. Emi had been worried her legs would be a topic of discussion, but her roommate barely seems to notice or care. The two get to know one another in the inevitable way that roommates get to know one another, and sooner or later Emi is able to admit to herself that they are friends of a sort–though the relationship is that of convenience. Emi is not particularly invested in the friendship, and when her roommate gets a boyfriend a month later and begins spending less and less time in the room, Emi is okay with the change and even appreciates the quiet at night, up to a point.

The month after her roommate more or less vanishes, Emi is suddenly struck by a loneliness so profound that she actually feels the weight of it pressing her down. She spends the following week in a haze of depression that takes her completely by surprise and results in at least one phone call to her mother, who patiently listens to Emi’s woes, heart breaking, and suggests that perhaps her daughter is just going through a rough patch and offers what advice she can, having enough lived long enough to have some experience in feeling lost and alone.

The phone call is enough to get Emi out and running again, and she is shocked at just how far she’s fallen in a week, which makes her feel worse about herself, which threatens to send her mood even further down the drain. The few times Emi runs into her roommate, she manages to put on a happy enough face–and seeing as how her roommate is more concerned with gushing over her boyfriend and what a nice guy he is (and, Emi notes sourly, how good he is in bed) their visits are so superficial as to seem completely boring. At least up until her roommate shows up with a new friend in tow.

“I promised her I’d let her borrow this top of mine,” her roommate says, digging through her closet and failing entirely to notice that Emi is staring at her friend with an expression of complete astonishment. “There’s a group of us headed to this karaoke bar, they’ve got a great rate…”

Emi continues to stare at her roommate’s friend, who has by this point is staring back with equal surprise that begins to change to amusement the longer Emi’s roommate natters on. She’s taller than Emi remembers, and some of her softness has vanished, along with most of her hair which has also changed color (now a deep electric blue), but the eyes are the same, as is the unmistakable grin that appears, followed shortly by the laugh, which is basically impossible to forget.

“…Misha?” Emi’s not sure why she suddenly feels so awkward, lounging around in gym shorts and a t-shirt that is veering dangerously close to rag territory. To have someone who knew her when she was far more outgoing and popular than she is now suddenly show up uninvited in her room is an awful lot to take. “What are you doing here?”

A gale of laughter erupts as Emi’s roommate raises an eyebrow. “Borrowing a top so I can go sing karaoke! Assuming Mai can find it, of course.”

“Wait a second, do you two…know each other?” Mai seems, if possible, more surprised than Emi.

“We went to school together! Although I didn’t know we’d wound up at the same university…”

“I thought Emi went to a specific school for…” Mai pauses and looks nervously at her roommate as a million different possibilities, each of them ending in a deeply offended roommate, flash through her head.

“The disabled, right. But Misha was there as an interpreter for the deaf.” Emi steps in to save Mai, who has always been very sensitive to Emi’s feelings re: her legs and the proper terminology–something she’s always been secretly grateful for.

“That’s right!~” The lilt in Misha’s voice hasn’t changed either, apparently. “We weren’t in the same class, but we ran into each other a few times here and there.~” If possible, Misha’s grin grows a bit wider and for a moment Emi thinks she’s about to elaborate on just what ‘ran into each other’ means, but instead she claps her hands together excitedly. “I never imagined I’d see a familiar face here!”

Emi finds herself enveloped in an enthusiastic (and sudden) hug and feels suddenly like a weight has lifted off her shoulders, ever so slightly. She feels a smile creep across her face and returns the hug. “I guess we’ll have to do some catching up soon, huh?”

Mai may be slightly out of touch when it comes to the overall demeanor of her occasional roommate, but she’s sensitive enough to notice that Emi has brightened up significantly. Feeling slightly concerned that she’d somehow failed to notice her roommate’s dour mood until now, and because they are friends, after all, she resolves that Emi will be coming out with her tonight. “Come with us, Emi! We’ve got plenty of time for you to get ready to go.”

This kindness of the gesture is not lost on Emi, who mentally resolves to be more engaged with her roommate (when she shows up, anyway). The sudden brightening of her own mood by the sudden appearance of Misha helps bring back some of the younger, up-for-anything Emi. “Sounds great! Are you sure you’ve got time? I need to shower and find something to wear…”

“It’s no trouble, honest!”

There is some more back-and-forthing–Emi expresses her gratitude, Mai insists it’s no trouble, and Misha enthusiastically declares she will help Emi find something to wear. A surprisingly short amount of time later and Emi’s in a pair of jeans and a top Misha insists looks cute on her they’ve found the rest of Mai’s friends, and Emi feels an unfamiliar lurch of panic as she is introduced to each person in turn that seems to underline just how long it’s been since she last bothered to be sociable. Fortunately, she is not too young to drink, and the drinks are not too expensive, so soon enough she feels less anxiety. In spite of her more relaxed state, however, Emi can’t help but gravitate naturally toward Misha–she knows her in a way that she doesn’t know anyone else, and Misha’s own natural boisterousness is oddly comforting in its familiarity. Not that the two spent much time together at Yamaku, but they share a common experience and that is far more to go on than the total strangers Mai is introducing Emi to.

Meanwhile, Misha is equally surprised to have so suddenly stumbled upon an old acquaintance from a part of her life she tries not to think too hard about these days. The end of her high school career was somewhat less enjoyable than she’d hoped it would be, and rash actions in those final days had more or less demanded she make a clean break once graduation was over. She’s been making her own way for the last two years, undergoing the sort of rapid emotional development that occasionally happens to people once free of the hefty emotional baggage high school grants.

There’s a moment’s surprise when she finds out Emi’s only just started her college career–”That makes me your superior, you know!”–and does her best to conceal her shock at how different Emi seems from the girl she once knew. This girl is far less outgoing than Misha remembers, and seems unsure of herself in a way Emi never was at Yamaku. Misha doesn’t consider herself to be a busybody, of course, but old habits die hard. She makes the decision to keep an eye on Emi and firmly tells herself this is about being friends and not anything else–because Misha knows too well what happens if she lets herself believe there could be more. Heartbreak, man, and plenty of it. She’s come a long way in the last two years, and it’s best she doesn’t slip into old, self-destructive habits.

As the alcohol continues to flow, Emi feels herself teetering on the edge of having one of those drunken emotional moments that her mother used to warn her about and, somewhat reluctantly(?) decides that it is time for her to beat a hasty retreat; made easier by the fact that the group has apparently partied until, if not the break of dawn, at least close enough to it that the karaoke bar’s shutting down. She says her goodbyes and is just about to walk off when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, you can’t go yet! I still need your phone number!” Misha’s pretty drunk herself at this point, but she spent years learning the sort of self control nuns normally practice, so the request manages to sound friendly rather than seductive. “We have a lot to catch up on!~”

Emi rattles off the necessary digits, relieved that one of them remembered–she’s drunk enough to admit to herself that she’s been craving human contact, and if it’s someone she was friendly with before, well, that’s so much the better. Another part of her (no guesses for which one) also points out that this is someone she was once more than friendly with, and it’s been a long, long time since she was more than friendly with anyone. A hug from Misha and even one from Mai follows, who, as it turns out, holds her liquor better than either Emi or Misha and maybe saw something between these two, hmm, very interesting.

The next morning involves a killer headache and an abject failure to get out and run, which Emi reckons is not a terrible price to pay for having actually gotten some much-needed socializing done. She is surprised by both how much better she feels and how badly she wants to see Misha again, because it had been so easy to fall out of touch with everyone she knew in high school. Nobody ever got properly close to her, attempts of ex-boyfriends all failed in the sort of spectacular and dramatic way that high school romances tend to fail.

Now of course here she is, trying not to seem too eager to see Misha again because she can’t remember the last time she felt as good as she’d felt last night. So instead of calling or texting, Emi goes for her usual run (which is hellish, but by the end she feels almost human again) and sits down to actually focus on some coursework for what is probably the first time in a solid month. Maybe she glances at the phone a few times and wills it to ring, but who can blame her? It’s not every day she meets someone who wants to hang out, much less actually seems excited to see her again.

It’s a great feeling, as a result, when her phone buzzes just as Emi’s finishing up an assignment and it turns out to be a text from Misha, asking what she’s up to.

“Just finishing up some homework.” Emi types back, adding after a moment’s thought, “I felt like hell this morning.”

“lol, me too! spent the day in bed.”

“Not a bad idea. I went running and it was pretty awful.”

“ur not human!” Misha responds, followed by “you wanna grab something to eat? havent eaten all day.”

Emi texts back that yes, that sounds good, and the two agree to meet in the campus cafeteria, because neither of them are exactly swimming in money and they both have meal cards. Emi bounds out of her room after throwing on some nicer-looking clothes than what were essentially her pyjamas and has to control the urge to jog to the cafeteria so she’ll get there faster. It’s been a long time, she realizes, since she did anything more than grab some food and bring it back to her room to eat alone. Shaking her head, Emi wonders just how the fuck she allowed herself to become so isolated–but that’s the way these things tend to go, of course. One day she’s outgoing and popular, the next day a million little things have gone wrong and she’s unable to deal with the shift, or maybe it’s just that a lifetime of keeping people at arm’s length has finally bitten her in the ass like she always knew it would.

Emi’s always known to some extent she wasn’t really the outgoing type–not the sort that actually makes fast friendships that can withstand any significant complications (like having a crush on your friend/roommate and not knowing how to act on it, or having the boy you’re interested in decide that running isn’t for him, a voice in her head mocks). She knows precisely why, of course–maybe Emi wasn’t the most self-aware kid in high school but she figured that little mystery out before she graduated–but it’s been another two years and to her surprise she’s almost gotten used to not having him around. Maybe it’s time to actually make some real friends before she ends up alone forever; certainly the appearance of Misha must be some kind of sign, right? Emi’s not what you’d consider a ‘spiritual person,’ but it sure does feel like some external force is sending her a message about something.

This train of thought is derailed by the sight of Misha slumped down at one of the cafeteria tables, staring at the surface of the table as if it might provide some kind of answer to life’s questions and looking for all the world like she’s just gotten out of bed. Her hair is stuck up, and while Emi might have been together enough to decide to throw on actual clothes, Misha is wearing a several-sizes-too-large shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Stifling a laugh, Emi slides into the seat across from her and waves a hand in front of her new friend’s bleary eyes.

“Rough night?”

Misha’s eyes focus on this new arrival and her brain begins the task of remembering how to speak. Her throat is slightly raw from a morning spent praying for death in front of the toilet, so her voice comes out as more of a gurgle than anything else. Emi fails to stifle further laughter and spends a few moments cackling, the bitch, while Misha claps her hands over her ears and prays for death–either her own or Emi’s, she can’t decide which.

“Please, not so loud! Some of us aren’t so fortunate when it comes to shaking off a night out, you know?” This time Misha’s voice comes out as a plaintive whine, which doesn’t do much to stop Emi’s laughter.

Eventually Emi gets ahold of herself and calms down. “Sorry, Misha, I couldn’t help it. You look so miserable!”

“That’s because I am miserable! I don’t drink that often, you know?” The reason for Misha’s usual sobriety is, of course, one of necessity–experience has taught her the consequences of acting impulsively, after all, and self-control aside alcohol is a risk she’s not always willing to take. “I’m not used to the morning after.”

“I’m surprised,” Emi says, almost immediately regretting it, “I always saw you as the life of the party. Certainly you and Hakamichi were always out on the town when you weren’t in the office…”

A pained expression flashes across Misha’s face that she covers with a giggle. “We didn’t go out that often–certainly not to go drinking. It would’ve been completely against the rules, silly!~” Misha takes the opportunity to fire back with a question of her own. “I always had you pegged as far more likely to be a secret party animal.”

Emi mentally files away the fact that Hakamichi is probably a topic best left unexplored for now and replies with a giggle of her own. “Well, I didn’t say I wasn’t. Though I had to keep in shape for track, of course, so I don’t know about animal.” Almost without meaning to, she finds herself adding with a hint of bitterness, “Not much of a concern these days.”

Unlike Emi, Misha makes a note of the tone and decides that further inquiry is necessary, rather than to be avoided. “You aren’t running track anymore? Why not?”

“There’s no team for people like me here, for starters. If I want to keep competing, it has to be done on my own, which costs money for things like entry fees–which I can’t really afford. Plus…” To her surprise, Emi finds herself responding more honestly than she usually would. Maybe it’s that she’s tired, maybe it’s that she just wants someone to talk to about it, and maybe–maybe it’s because it’s been long enough that it doesn’t feel as painful anymore. “I think I really only pursued track as aggressively as I did ‘cause of my dad.”

Misha stays quiet, and Emi continues, the words spilling out almost uncontrollably now. “He was like my running coach growing up, and after the wreck it felt like a way to remember him, you know? Only now I don’t know if I need or even really want to keep running competitively anymore.” Emi stops talking suddenly, stunned by what she’s just vocalized.

Misha, for her part, has the good sense to realize that her friend has inadvertently stumbled into some kind of personal revelation here, and (as she’s done so many times before) reaches out and places a comforting hand on Emi’s shoulder. “Hey, sorry. Forget I asked, okay?”

Surprisingly, however, Emi starts to laugh, quietly at first and then exploding into loud gales of laughter that draw some strange looks from the others in the cafeteria. Misha tries and fails to shoot an expression that conveys “sorry, I don’t actually know who this person is but maybe they’ll stop laughing soon” to the rest of the room. Fortunately Emi seems to come to the end of her fit and looks at Misha with eyes shining. “Sorry I just…” she chuckles again, shaking her head in disbelief, “I just wasn’t expecting to say any of that out loud today.” Another pause. “Or ever, really.”

Misha has her own experience with life-changing revelations–really just the one big one around the same time as puberty hit–but she doesn’t remember laughter being her response. More like feelings of guilt and shame (and a healthy helping of paranoia) which, even now, still manage to make an appearance every now and again. Unsure of how to proceed from here, Misha reverts to humor. “I guess you should drink more often, huh?” She follows this up with a laugh of her own which is cut short by how much worse her headache gets when her laughter starts reverberating around the inside of her skull.

The joke doesn’t quite land, but Misha’s suffering carries its own comedy, so Emi winds up chuckling a little. “Maybe so.” Misha continues to clutch at her head and whimper slightly, and Emi takes pity on her new(?) friend. “Hey, come on. Let’s get some food into you.”

A plate of the finest cuisine a college can offer later and Misha appears to be on the mend–the giant bottle of water she’s clinging to like it’s the most important thing in the world helps matters too, obviously–while Emi’s still riding the high of her earlier realization. “So I’ve gotta ask,” she says, gesturing to Misha’s hair, “why’d you change your hair? I thought pink was always your color.”

Misha shrugs and, not wanting to risk bringing the mood down again, gives a vague answer. “After we graduated I felt like I needed a change, you know? I was going away to college and I figured that was as good of a reason as any!”

Emi’s willing to accept this as a response, if only because she’s got some vague memories of some fairly vicious talk that floated around in the last few months at Yamaku re: Misha and her state of affairs, in particular the ones involving the class president. “I like it!” she says (meaning the hair), “Blue suits you - and I’m sure short hair’s easier to maintain as well, right?”

Misha laughs again–quieter this time–at Emi’s comment and nods her head vigorously. “It’s true! Doing my hair used to take forever, you know? Now I can sleep in a little longer!” She gestures at Emi’s hair now, feeling compelled to return the compliment. “I notice your hair’s different now too! No more twintails, huh?”

Emi brushes her hair back, a little self-consciously. “Yeah, I had to keep my hair tied back when I worked at Aura Mart, and I wound up getting used to it.”

“You worked at Aura Mart? When?”

“Last year.” Emi laughs at Misha’s shocked response. “I’d already missed the deadline for college applications for the year, so my mom said I had to get a job in the meantime. You know, save up money, that sort of thing.”

“So you’re secretly wealthy, huh?”

Another laugh. “Hardly! The pay was bad, and the customers were bad, and yeah, there were some okay people there…” Emi trails off for a moment, remembering a few occasions she and one of her more attractive co-workers had done some good old fashioned teenage shenanigans in the walk-in freezer (what was that guy’s name, anyway? He’d tasted like cigarettes and had a tongue piercing (which she now suspects could have been a real bonus if they’d taken things further, i.e. done anything outside of work) that had clacked against her teeth annoyingly which was part of why she’d decided to break it off with him) before continuing, “If nothing else, it convinced me to go to college so I could get a better job!”

This gets a laugh out of Misha. “I’m lucky,” she says, “My parents were so happy I got into the program here they offered to pay all my expenses!” It’s a point of pride to Misha that her parents are so invested in her education, even if her mother’s reasoning runs along the lines of “college is the best place to find a future husband.”

“Sounds lovely. I guess I know who to go to when I need money then, huh?”

“I have reasonable interest rates” Misha says, adopting a gangster-ish sort of voice as Emi comes close to snorting her drink through her nose, “and of course, if you can’t pay I’m sure we could come to…some kind of arrangement~*”

The look Emi gives Misha hangs in the air as both women find their minds drifting into scenarios erotic, from which they quickly backtrack before it becomes obvious to the other. “I want you to know,” Emi says, leaning forward and trailing off, waiting until Misha shows signs of alarm to continue “that I won’t kill anyone for you.”

Just like that, the tension breaks and the two laugh. Misha stands and stretches, feeling considerably better now that she’s got some food and water into her system. “Well,” she says brightly, “now that I don’t want to die, I think I’m going to go lay in bed and watch television.”

“The best cure after a long night out.” Emi nods.

“You wanna join me? Unless you’ve got other things to do, Miss ‘I went for a run and did homework.’” As soon as she makes the offer, Misha regrets it–they’ve barely hung out at all, and she doesn’t want to make things awkward (and nothing says awkward like lounging on her bed watching bad television). For whatever reason Misha’s already feeling like Emi’s become a close friend and this, this could fuck it all up.

It’s a relief, then, that Emi gives an apologetic shake of the head. “Sorry, but I’ve got class first thing in the morning tomorrow and there’s still a ton of work I’ve been putting off.” And, because part of her really would like to lounge in Misha’s room watching television, she adds, “Another time, okay?”

This statement earns a smile from Misha as a feeling of relief washes over her. “Definitely! I’ll talk to you later!” She’s turning to leave when Emi, acting impulsively for the first time in a long time, gives her a hug and a murmured “good to see you again” before stepping back and heading out the cafeteria, leaving a momentarily stunned Misha in her wake.

Neither one has a particularly easy time sleeping that night–Emi’s got a chance to actually think about what she said about running competitively and frets about what the hell she’s meant to do with her life now that she has somewhat tacitly acknowledged she no longer wants to be a professional runner–not in the super-aggressive, Olympics-bound dream she’d always claimed to have, anyway–so a full-on late night existential crisis seems appropriate. Let’s not even get into the nascent feelings bubbling around the blue-haired (her favorite color! At least the universe has a sense of humor) girl who appeared out of nowhere and has, in a single day, almost single-handedly pulled Emi out of her funk. Misha is kept awake replaying the hug over and over, not worrying about it, not exactly, but wondering if perhaps, maybe, things could move in that direction, and is that something she can trust herself not to screw up, and it’s sure been a very long time since Misha considered that kind of relationship with anyone, hasn’t it?

In a week the two discover that while they aren’t in the same classes, they do seem to have schedules which are similar enough to one another–namely, now that they know what each other looks like they recognize one another in the cafeteria and end up eating together on a regular basis. Emi meets Misha’s friends: Moira, a Scottish (Emi’s surprised to meet another person with Scottish blood, having regarded Lily as something of a unicorn in terms of rarity) import with green hair and a tattoo of some Gaelic phrase on her arm who’s studying political science even though it only seems to make her angry (and an accent that makes her all but incomprehensible when she really gets going); Ryougi, a biology major who keeps her dark hair short and immediately bonds with Emi over a shared love of baggier clothing (although Emi’s reasons all have to do with keeping her prostheses from drawing attention, whereas Ryougi’s all have to do with a boyish aesthetic that Emi finds deeply compelling for reasons she damn well knows but doesn’t always acknowledge); and Haruko, a philosophy major with long red hair who spends most of the lunch hour napping and is, Emi finds out later, the one who knows where the best parties are. Next to them all, Emi is even more surprised than she was before that Misha seems to make so much time to see her, because all Misha’s friends seem far more interesting than Emi considers herself to be.

“How did you all wind up meeting?” Emi asks Misha at one point.

“Oh, we all met at this club meeting back in my first year.” Misha replies. “I was thinking about joining the radio station.”

“I never knew you were interested in radio,” Emi replies, more than a little intrigued.

“She really wasn’t,” Ryougi interjects with a smirk, “but I think she thought Moira was cute.”

“Yes,” Moira says, shooting a significant look at Ryougi, complete with a suggestive waggle of the eyebrows, “I seem to have that effect on some women, don’t I?”

Misha rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the display, shooting a look at Emi that seems to say “I’m sorry, these people are ridiculous.” Emi laughs, while another part of her brain quietly points out there seems to be a level of comfort with sexuality that she’s wholly unfamiliar with here, and she almost immediately feels more comfortable.

“Anyway as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Misha says, shooting another glare at Ryougi, “I wound up not being that interested in the actual…radio part? But these poor women seemed so alone without me, so I stayed friends with them.”

“Also,” Haruko suddenly waking up and interjecting here, “she knew that we were the cool kids.”

Emi nods seriously. “I can tell.”

Just like that, Emi’s suddenly got not just the one friend, but a whole group of friends. Friends who contact her one weekend and invite her to a show that turns out to be heavy on the guitars and crowd-surfing, and Moira manages to stage dive not once but TWICE. Emi isn’t much for dancing (her legs aren’t built for that sort of thing) and is initially a little shy about it, but then Misha’s there bouncing along to the beat and so is she, unable to really understand what the singer’s saying but swept up with an energetic feeling she’s more used to getting from her runs than anything else. It’s not until the show’s over that she realizes just how sore her legs are from everything, but she’s too full of energy and feeling far too good to really care.

The group stumbles out into the night, laughing and sweating from the heat of the club interior, and Emi sees Ryougi take Moira’s hand and lead her away from the crowd. Haruko watches the two go and shouts some obscene advice to Ryougi, who laughs while Moira extends her middle finger and responds with some invective in English that nobody understands, although a series of follow-up gestures make it pretty clear. The two disappear into the night, leaving Haruko, Emi, and Misha on their own.

“Well, I don’t know about you two,” Haruko opines, “but I’m too wired to go home. Think I’ll find a bar nearby and have a few drinks–you two in?”

Which is how Emi finds herself at a table, swapping stories about Yamaku with Haruko who seems to find particular enjoyment in stories involving the paranoid kid with glasses. In return, Emi learns the following information about Haruko:

She’s lived in the city all her life

Her parents divorced, but inexplicably remain on friendly terms (and, she confides after several drinks with an exaggerated shudder, are probably still fucking occasionally) She’s been bouncing around this particular music scene since high school She used to skateboard a lot in high school, but barely does anymore (though she does have a skateboard in her room) She has a weakness for men in punk rock bands

Emi discovers the last point when the band they’d been to see coincidentally shows up in the bar, having packed their gear and consumed all available alcohol at the venue. Haruko boldly strides up to the guitarist and strikes up a conversation, and after a few hours of drinks leaves with him–much to Misha’s amusement.

That leaves Emi and Misha, sitting in a…well, not a tree, but Emi’s had enough to drink that the idea of K-I-S-S-I-N-G no longer carries the sort of weight it would normally carry (which has never been terribly much to begin with for Emi, though the gender of Misha in question and what the response in a public setting would be does not fail to enter her mind), so she musters up a casual enough tone to say “You know, I think now would be a pretty good time to get out of here, grab some more drinks, and watch a movie or something.”

Misha, also feeling fairly relaxed and just about as pleased to be around Emi as she thinks is safe to allow herself to feel at the moment, falls right into Emi’s not-so-carefully placed trap and enthusiastically agrees. A general scraping of chairs and paying of tabs later and the two are strolling (or stumbling, depending on who you ask) their way back to Misha’s room where, as it turns out, there are already some cans of beer in the mini-fridge. The reaction to this discovery is greeted with the sort of praise unique to the slightly drunk, and Emi plops herself unceremoniously down on Misha’s futon with a can of beer and less-than-pure intentions. Misha continues to exhibit an almost superhuman ability to not notice Emi’s obvious intent, years of telling herself “don’t get your hopes up you have friends and those are enough, don’t fuck up another friendship what in the world do you think they invented vibrators for, it was so you don’t fuck up another friendship that is why” having done their job almost a little too well. Her uncertainty is buried deep under a running commentary on the events happening on the screen.

It comes as a legitimate surprise to Misha, then, when in the middle of her making some comment about the actress in the film they’re watching and what she, Misha, thinks of her abilities to act (they are nonexistent), Emi (who has found Misha’s running commentary to be funny and endearing and attractive somehow) gives her a piercing look (causing Misha to trail off and cock her head to the side inquisitively), grabs her shirt, and pulls Misha into contact with her–specifically, with her face–even more specifically, with her lips. Misha has a brief moment of confusion, followed by a moment of fear–a sort of “what the fuck is going on here” train of thought culminating in, aided by the alcohol swimming through her veins, the decision to enthusiastically respond to the kiss and Emi’s rather demanding attempts to embrace and otherwise unleash a solid month’s worth of pent up feelings which the two of them both realize have been boiling under the surface of their recent interactions.

Of course, the two are both pretty drunk, and so when Emi decides to escalate things by pushing Misha down on the bed she forgets which way the bed is actually facing and succeeds only in causing Misha to lose her balance on the bed’s edge and fall right the fuck off, which brings things to a halt–not for reasons of injury, but for reasons of Misha laughing uncontrollably while Emi tries to apologize. The laughter eventually dies down and Misha, staring up from the ground at her compatriot, attempts to make some kind of comment as to what’s just happened (the kissing thing, not the falling-off-the-bed thing).

Unfortunately, all she manages is a weak, “What brought that on?”

The question gives Emi pause, briefly, before the old Emi–the one who’s confident and the fastest thing on no legs and maybe even a little cocky, responds with a smirk and “Was that not clear? Should I…” and here Emi’s expression becomes downright seductive, or at least seductive for someone who is slightly drunk and looking down at the person they accidentally pushed on the floor, “repeat myself?”

Somehow, the line is delivered with enough confidence that Misha’s response is not to laugh, but to pull herself off the floor and push Emi down on the bed–in the proper direction so as to not fall out of bed, no less–looming over her in a way that leaves various bits of Emi downright elated. “That won’t be necessary,” Misha purrs (discovering a register of voice that she did not realize she possessed), and this time it’s her who initiates contact.

The bed is, unfortunately, not exactly made for two, and there are, of course, some fumblings seeing as it has been, as Misha gasps at one point, “a long time,” but there’s very little enthusiasm like drunken, horny enthusiasm, so the two do eventually get things off the ground, so to speak, and the do not actually fall asleep until the film has ended and the DVD menu music has looped a sufficient amount of times that Emi throws her leg at the television to turn it off. Misha snores slightly, but Emi finds it soothing somehow and drops off to sleep herself without thinking too hard about what they’d been doing.

Sunlight finds the two spooning under tangled sheets, which, Emi considers as she groggily surveys her situation–namely, the feeling of Misha pressed against her back and the arm looped (a little protectively) around her waist–is a far cry from the situation she’d expected herself to be in at this point. It also occurs to Emi that this is the first time in a very long time that she’d fallen asleep in a bed with another person–vigorous nighttime activities or not, Emi’s always had a strict policy of retiring to her own room afterwards, barring one exception, but had felt so content the previous evening that the thought never entered her mind–not even once.

Misha, for her part, had always figured she would say something romantic if this situation ever happened to her, but instead she wakes up feeling like she is about to vomit, and shortly after extricating herself from the sheets, runs to the bathroom to do so.