Chapter 5

The next time Riko stayed over, I woke up to the smell of cherry perfume and the terrible awareness that my apartment was too quiet again.

Riko gone before morning could ask any questions.

My chest tightened before my eyes were even properly open, and I hated that. I hated that my body had learned the shape of waking up alone so quickly. I hated that some anxious little part of me reached for hurt before anything else, like it was already waiting beside the bed with its shoes on.

Then I saw the note.

It was stuck to my forehead.

I did not know that immediately.

What I knew first was that something papery fluttered against my face when I sat up. I went cross eyed trying to look at it, then peeled it off slowly and stared.

It was one of my sticky notes.

One of the cute ones.

The little square was pink yellow with tiny cartoon rabbits along the bottom edge, each one wearing a different hat. Top hat rabbit. Sun hat rabbit. Tiny knight helmet rabbit. I loved those sticky notes because they made grocery lists feel like quests given by polite woodland nobles.

Riko had written on it in sharp, messy handwriting.

Yuzu has to wear these now.

Too cute not to.

Don’t argue, peach boy.

For a moment, I did not understand.

Then I looked around the room.

There were panties everywhere.

Not everywhere everywhere. Not like an explosion. More like Riko had curated an exhibit.

Several pairs sat folded on the end of the bed in a little tower of lace and cotton and colors too bright to be accidental. Pink, black, soft blue, yellow with little white stars, one pair with tiny cherries on the hip, and another that looked so delicate I was afraid breathing near it too strongly might count as damage. A few more were stacked on my chair. One had been draped very boldly over Charlie’s pot, which was frankly disrespectful to both me and the plant.

Charlie stood beneath the evidence, silent and leafy.

I stared at him.

“Charlie.”

Charlie did not answer.

“Did you allow this?”

His silver leaves trembled slightly in the morning draft.

“Traitor.”

Then I opened my dresser.

My underwear drawer was empty.

Not low.

Not rearranged.

Empty.

I stared into it for a long time.

The drawer stared back with the hollow dignity of a tiny furniture grave.

“No,” I whispered.

I checked the laundry basket.

Nothing.

I checked under the bed.

Nothing except one sock, a pencil, and the shameful dust bunny I had apparently failed to defeat during my last cleaning campaign.

I checked the drying line in the bathroom.

Nothing.

All of my underwear was gone.

My mouth fell open.

“She threw them away?”

The apartment did not answer.

I looked back at the note.

Yuzu has to wear these now.

My face heated so quickly I had to sit down on the bed.

I was not mad.

That was the strange part. I knew I probably should be. Or at least I should be something firmer than embarrassed. Riko had come into my apartment, apparently conducted an underwear coup while I was asleep, and replaced a basic part of my clothing with hers because she thought I looked cute. That was… not normal. That was definitely something people were supposed to discuss. There were conversations for this. Maybe a checklist. Maybe not a checklist, that sounded too official, but at least words said while everyone was awake.

I wished she had asked.

That thought arrived softly but clearly.

I wished she had asked first.

Because the answer probably would have been yes.

That made it more confusing.

I picked up the yellow pair with the little stars and held them in both hands. The fabric was soft. Very soft. Much softer than anything I had owned. Also much smaller than anything I had owned. They looked like they had been designed by someone who did not believe in front storage. Or tail consideration. Or reality.

“Do they make panties for boys?” I asked Charlie.

Charlie remained quiet.

“I mean, they must, right? There are all sorts of bodies. There are chimerin with tails, and goblins with hips, and dwarves who probably need very sturdy waistbands, and oni who...”

I stopped.

My brain, unhelpful and extremely rude, finished the thought.

Oni who needed more room in the front.

I covered my face with both hands.

“Oh crumbs.”

The thought sat there anyway.

Large.

Embarrassing.

Technically accurate, which made it worse.

Maybe the tightness was not because panties were made wrong. Maybe it was because I was too large. I did not like thinking that. I especially did not like thinking that while holding tiny yellow star panties and sitting on my bed beneath a note written by the girl who had decided my underwear future without a vote.

I set them down very carefully.

Then picked them back up.

Then set them down again.

Then looked toward the dresser drawer, which was still empty and therefore extremely unhelpful.

I had work.

I had no underwear except the pile Riko had left.

And I had a note with tiny rabbits on it telling me not to argue.

“I am not agreeing because of the note,” I told Charlie.

Charlie looked unconvinced for a plant.

“I am agreeing because I do not have time to go shopping before work, and because it might make Riko happy, and because maybe this is fine if I decide it is fine. Which I am. Mostly. With concerns.”

I chose the black pair because they seemed the least likely to become a visible spiritual crisis under my work clothes.

They were tight.

Of course they were tight.

I stood in front of the window reflection and adjusted them with the intense focus of someone solving a cursed puzzle. Tail placement was difficult. Front placement was worse. Every adjustment made me more aware of myself than I wanted to be at seven in the morning.

Finally, I got them comfortable enough.

Comfortable was a strong word.

Acceptable.

No.

Survivable.

I dressed quickly after that, because looking at myself too long felt dangerous. Work trousers. Shirt. Tie. Patch. I checked the patch three times because the other day still sat in my memory with teeth. Amber. Working. Amber. Working. Amber. Working.

Good.

Responsible.

Safe.

I grabbed Riko’s note before leaving.

Then I hesitated.

I should throw it away.

I did not.

I folded it carefully and slipped it into my desk drawer.

“Do not say anything,” I told Charlie.

Charlie did not.

He was very good at secrets.

Hearthbell smelled like morning bread and safety when I arrived.

I was on time.

Mara noticed immediately.

“Look at that,” she said from the front counter. “A punctual miracle.”

“I am a responsible citizen.”

“You are a flour covered hazard with horns, but punctual today, yes.”

“That is almost a compliment.”

“It can be if you’re brave.”

The head baker grunted from the kitchen, which was either approval or the sound he made when lifting a heavy tray. With him, it was hard to tell.

The morning rush went well enough. I checked my patch twice in the back, but only twice, which felt like progress. Riko did not message. That made me nervous. Then I felt guilty for being nervous. Then I got annoyed at myself for building a whole little emotional staircase out of nothing, so I made the apple turnovers extra pretty and decided that counted as healthy coping.

The underwear was noticeable all day.

Not visible.

Just… there.

A secret under my work clothes. A soft, tight, impossible little reminder every time I bent, reached, crouched, or took too long to think about Riko’s handwriting on bunny paper.

It made me careful.

It made me flustered.

It made me feel like someone had put a private joke directly against my skin and then left me alone to be normal about it.

I was being normal about it.

Mostly.

Then the flour shipment arrived.

Crates came in through the side door near noon, carried by two delivery workers who looked personally betrayed by stairs, humidity, and the existence of heavy things. The head baker signed the delivery slate and pointed me toward the storage corner.

“Yuzu, stack the small crates. Mara, count the sacks.”

“Yes, sir.”

Small crates were safe. Small crates were my natural enemy, but an enemy I had defeated before. I lifted the first one, carried it to the storage shelves, and set it down. Then the second. Then the third. My body was small, but I was still an oni and still level ten, even if I mostly used that power to carry flour and not die on train platforms.

The fourth crate was wedged badly against the doorframe.

I crouched, got both hands under it, and lifted.

My shirt rode up.

My trousers pulled low at the back.

Cool air touched skin.

Mara made a sound.

Not a loud sound.

Not even a full word.

Just a small, sharp, very informed “oh.”

I froze.

The crate was still in my hands.

My whole body went hot.

Slowly, terribly, I looked over my shoulder.

Mara stood behind me holding a clipboard.

Her eyes were not on the crate.

They were very much not on the crate.

I lowered the crate.

Adjusted my shirt.

Adjusted my trousers.

Turned around like a man approaching his own public execution.

“Mara.”

Her eyebrows had climbed almost to her hairline.

I held up one finger. “There is an explanation.”

“I bet.”

“It is not as dramatic as it looks.”

“I’m going to disagree.”

“I am exploring laundry alternatives.”

“Yuzu.”

“Riko threw away all my underwear.”

Mara stared.

I stared back.

The delivery worker at the door very slowly picked up an empty handcart and walked away with the wisdom of someone choosing survival.

Mara’s expression moved through several stages. Confusion. Concern. Alarm. Then, unexpectedly, something softer. Something almost happy.

“Oh, honey.”

That was worse.

That was so much worse than laughing.

“No,” I said immediately.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I know the shape of that voice.”

Mara set the clipboard down. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Then lowered my voice. “I wish she had asked first.”

Mara’s softness sharpened into attention. “That matters.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I think so.” I rubbed my arm near the patch, not touching it directly. “I’m not mad. I’m embarrassed. And confused. And maybe a little... I don’t know. It’s not bad exactly. It’s just a lot.”

Mara leaned against the shelf, arms folded. “Did you tell her that?”

“No.”

“Yuzu.”

“She wasn’t there when I woke up.”

Mara’s mouth tightened.

“She left a note,” I added quickly. “On my bunny sticky notes.”

Mara closed her eyes for a second. “Of course she did.”

“It said I have to wear them now because I’m too cute in them.”

Mara opened her eyes again.

I braced for judgment.

Instead, she smiled.

Not teasing.

Not exactly.

More like she had remembered something complicated and funny and kind.

“Well,” she said. “This month is coming up.”

I blinked. “What month?”

Mara stared at me.

I stared back.

“Mara?”

“You are joking.”

“I am not joking. I am very rarely successfully joking on purpose.”

“You don’t know about Gaycation?”

“I know the word. I thought it was a travel advertisement.”

Mara pressed both hands to her face.

“What?” I asked. “It sounds like a travel advertisement.”

“Well, sometimes it is, but that’s commercial corruption and not the point.”

I leaned against the flour shelf, suddenly interested despite my burning face. “What is the point?”

“Gaycation is the modern festival season that grew out of the old Pride months. It started in pre portal records as queer liberation marches, remembrance, protest, celebration, all of that. Over centuries, different cities changed it. New Avalon turned it into a whole month of parties, performances, dances, drag tournaments, street food, terrible rainbow alcohol, and people being encouraged to experiment with who they are and what they want.”

I blinked.

“That is a lot.”

“It is a lot.”

“And it is called Gaycation?”

“Officially, the city calls it Libertas.”

“That is prettier.”

“Everyone calls it Gaycation.”

“That is funnier.”

“Exactly.”

I looked down at myself.

Or rather, at the secret under my work clothes.

“So you think this is... festival related?”

“I think,” Mara said carefully, “that maybe you are exploring. And that is not bad.”

My face warmed again, but differently this time.

Exploring.

That sounded much kinder than being weird.

“I don’t know what I’m exploring,” I admitted.

“That’s allowed.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I’m bad at it?”

“Especially if you’re bad at it. Everyone is bad at it at first.”

I thought about Riko. Her grin. Her strange cold silences. Her warmth that came sharp and bright and then vanished before morning. Her messages. Her note. The panties. Mine.

“I think she knows what she’s doing more than I do.”

Mara’s expression became complicated.

“That doesn’t mean she knows what she’s feeling,” she said.

I looked at her.

“She’s intense,” Mara continued. “And you are sweet enough to make a saint nervous. That combination can get messy.”

“She is not bad.”

“I didn’t say she was.”

“She’s just... Riko.”

“I know.”

“You don’t.”

Mara did not argue.

That made me feel worse.

She picked up the clipboard again, then seemed to decide something. “My wife and I are going to a Gaycation opening party next week.”

I immediately shook my head. “No.”

“I did not finish.”

“You said party.”

“Yes.”

“I heard party.”

“Very good listening skills.”

“I cannot go to a party.”

“You work in customer service.”

“That is different. Customer service has counters. Parties have open space and dancing and people asking questions.”

Mara smiled faintly. “This one is small. Mostly bakery people, some old friends, some queer guild retirees, a few artists. It’s at a rooftop garden. Music, food, drinks, nothing too wild before midnight.”

“Before midnight?”

“After midnight, my wife’s friends become everyone’s problem.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“They are lesbians with disposable income and access to magic. So yes.”

I almost smiled.

Then I remembered Riko and my stomach twisted.

“I don’t know if I should go without Riko.”

Mara’s face softened again, but there was steel under it this time. Gentle steel. The kind that did not cut unless you leaned too hard against it.

“Yuzu,” she said. “You need to have a life outside work and relationships.”

I looked down.

“I have Charlie.”

“Charlie is a plant.”

“A very emotionally intelligent plant.”

“I respect Charlie. That does not change my point.”

I rubbed at my sleeve again. Amber pulsed under the fabric.

“I don’t want Riko to think I’m hiding something.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Then tell her.”

“What if she gets upset?”

“Then she gets upset.”

“That seems bad.”

“It is not your job to arrange your whole life so she never feels anything difficult.”

The words landed strangely.

Not like a revelation. More like a bun tray pulled from an oven too early, soft in the center and not ready to hold its shape.

I understood them.

I did not know how to live them yet.

Mara must have seen that, because she did not push.

“Think about it,” she said. “No pressure.”

I looked toward the front of the bakery, where morning light glowed through the display cases and a customer was probably waiting for bread while I stood in the back discussing underwear.

“I should finish the crates.”

“You should.”

“And maybe not bend like that again.”

Mara’s mouth twitched. “Maybe not.”

I picked up the next crate, carefully this time.

My shirt stayed down.

My secret stayed secret.

Mostly.

The rest of the shift passed with Mara acting normal in the heroic way only people who loved you enough to embarrass you privately could manage. She did not tease me in front of customers. She did not ask more questions while I was wrapping bread. She only passed me a little flyer during my break.

Libertas

Opening Rooftop Social

Music. Food. Dancing. Joy. Questionable Punch.

At the bottom, Mara had written in pencil:

You are invited.

Riko optional.

You mandatory if brave.

I stared at the word brave for a while.

Then tucked the flyer into my bag.

Near closing, Riko finally messaged.

Riko: Did you find your presents?

My heart jumped the way it always did.

Yuzu: Yes.

Riko: Good.

Riko: Wearing them?

I looked around quickly, even though no one could see the message.

Yuzu: I am at work.

Riko: That is not an answer.

I swallowed.

Yuzu: Yes.

The reply came almost instantly.

Riko: Good boy.

Warmth.

Immediate.

Bright.

Then:

Riko: Don’t wear anything else anymore.

I stood very still behind the counter.

My fingers hovered.

Usually I would have agreed.

Usually the fear of making her cold would have moved my hands for me.

This time, Mara’s voice sat beside the message.

That matters.

Ask. Tell. Have a life.

I breathed in.

The bakery smelled like bread.

The patch pulsed amber.

My underwear was too tight.

My heart was too full.

Yuzu: I like them.

I stopped.

Then added, slowly:

Yuzu: But I wish you had asked first.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then three dots appeared.

Stopped.

Appeared again.

Stopped.

My stomach twisted itself into a knot so tight it could have held up a bridge.

Riko: Oh.

That was all.

Just oh.

Cold rushed in immediately.

I panicked.

Yuzu: I’m not mad.

Yuzu: Really.

Yuzu: I just got surprised.

Yuzu: They’re nice.

Yuzu: I’m wearing the black ones.

Too many messages.

Too fast.

I knew it as I sent them and still could not stop.

No reply.

One minute.

Two.

Five.

Mara glanced over from the sink. “Yuzu?”

“I’m okay.”

I was not.

Then the panel pinged.

Riko: You look cute in black.

I exhaled so hard my knees almost softened.

Another ping.

Riko: I should have asked.

I stared at that one.

The words did not fix everything.

They did not make her leaving easier, or the strange silences, or the way she could turn cold and warm like a knife flashing in light.

But they were words I had needed.

Yuzu: Thank you.

Riko: Don’t get used to me being reasonable.

Yuzu: Too late. I have recorded evidence.

Riko: Brat.

I smiled.

Then, because brave apparently made people stupid, I sent one more message.

Yuzu: Mara invited me to a Gaycation party next week.

Riko replied immediately.

Riko: Who is going?

My stomach tightened.

Yuzu: Mara and her wife. Bakery friends. Some others.

Riko: Are you asking permission?

I stared at the wording.

Was I?

No.

Maybe.

I did not want to be.

Yuzu: I’m telling you.

The dots appeared.

Stopped.

Appeared.

Stopped.

Riko: Hm.

That was not an answer.

It was not a no.

It was not a yes.

Riko did not answer after that.

Not that night.

Not the next morning.

Not during the first half of my shift, when I checked my panel so often that Mara started moving trays into my hands before I could open it. Not during lunch, when I sat in the alley with my little cloth wrapped sandwich and stared at her last message until the letters started looking less like words and more like a puzzle I had failed to solve.

Riko: Hm.

That was all.

Hm.

A whole storm folded into one tiny sound.

I sent one message first because that seemed normal.

Yuzu: You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I just thought I should tell you.

Then I waited.

No reply.

An hour later, I sent another.

Yuzu: I won’t go if you’re uncomfortable.

That felt too needy after I sent it, so I immediately sent a third message to make it less needy, which, as soon as I had done it, I realized was probably the exact opposite of how neediness worked.

Yuzu: I mean, I want you to be okay. I’m not trying to do anything behind your back.

Read.

No reply.

The little read marker sat beneath my messages like a tiny, polite executioner.

I closed the panel.

Opened it again.

Closed it.

Opened it.

Still nothing.

By the second day, I told myself she was busy. Riko had a life. A complicated life. full of things I did not understand, places she did not explain, sudden disappearances, strange hours, and emotional weather that moved faster than New Avalon storms. Maybe she had work. Maybe she had family. Maybe. I did not know enough. Maybe asking would have been thoughtful. Maybe asking would have made her angry. Maybe I had already made her angry by telling her instead of asking.

By the third day, I had built an entire apology in my head and taken it apart twelve times.

By the fourth, I sent it.

Yuzu: I’m sorry if I made you feel like you didn’t matter. You do matter. A lot. I just thought Mara was right that I should maybe try going places sometimes. But I don’t have to. Really.

Read.

No reply.

The cold stayed.

I tried to be normal about that.

Normal was apple braid, honey twist, milk loaf, smile, wrap, tray, thank you, have a good day. Normal was checking the patch. Amber. Working. Normal was making Charlie’s water schedule into a little chart because his soil had seemed too damp on Thursday and I needed something in my life to have clear instructions. Normal was folding the panties Riko had left into the cloth box and pretending that did not feel like keeping pieces of a girl who only visited when she wanted to.

Mara noticed.

On the morning of the party, she found me in the back trying to pipe cream into strawberry horns while my eyes kept flicking toward my panel every twelve seconds.

“No,” she said.

I jumped hard enough to nearly overfill one. “No what?”

“No whatever this is.”

“This is pastry.”

I looked down at the strawberry horn in my hand. The cream had gone slightly crooked. I smoothed it with a tiny spatula.

“She still hasn’t answered,” I said quietly.

Mara’s expression softened, but not enough to let me hide in it. “I know.”

“I told her I wouldn’t go.”

“I know.”

“I told her if she didn’t want me to, I wouldn’t.”

“I know.”

“She didn’t say she didn’t want me to.”

Mara folded her arms. “She also didn’t say she did.”

My chest tightened. “Maybe she’s hurt.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“I know.”

“I love her.”

Mara’s face changed.

Not surprise exactly. Not disapproval either. Something sadder. Like she had watched a very sweet animal walk toward a trap.

“I know,” she said again, much softer this time.

That made my throat hurt.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered.

“That’s why you’re coming tonight.”

I looked up quickly. “Mara ”

“No. Not negotiable.”

“But if she messages while I’m there and gets upset ”

“Then you answer like a person who is allowed to exist outside her field of vision.”

“That sounds brave and impossible.”

“It is one of those.”

“I don’t have clothes for a party.”

Mara smiled.

My stomach dropped.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“I do not like that smile.”

“You are going to like the dress.”

“The what?”

Mara already had my wrist.