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Momoko doesn’t know what is happening to her. Never before had she felt like this, especially not about a girl. Jesus didn’t approve of things like that, and the thought made her physically sick. She couldn’t be a sinner — couldn’t be a homosexual. And the worst part? There isn’t a world where she can cut Satsuki off and keep her tenuous relationship with their friends intact. Satsuki is the crux of their squad, and is one of the very few people that are genuinely nice to her. No one else spoke to her out of passing. Not many appreciate the whole born-again Christian spiel.
No one had sought her out before. But there Satsuki always was. Every passing period, every lunch break, every walk to the bus after school. Sure, Keiichirou was there a lot, but he hardly counted as company. And worse still? Satsuki never did any of that with the boys — hell, she actively avoided Hajime most of the time, and Leo usually didn’t stray far from his side.
Maybe she’s spiraling just a little. She can tell herself it isn’t weird for her to prefer the company of a girl, can tell herself that her heart would beat that fast if anyone hugged her like Satsuki does. It’s normal, and the thoughts she’s having aren’t depraved. They’re just friends, and Momoko isn’t going to be smited to Hell for that. Friends, but her eyes linger on Satsuki just as often as Hajime’s do. Friends, but she wants to rip her eyes out every time Satsuki so much as looks at Hajime. Friends, but she screams into her pillow and begs for God’s forgiveness.
Momoko prays and thinks back to everything she’d taught others in conversion camps, then prays more. She confesses every impure thought to her pastor and whispers her Hail Marys into her rosary every night until her voice is hoarse and eyes heavy. The thoughts and feelings remain.
It must be God testing her faith. That’s what she decides as days stretch into weeks stretch into months. Well, she can show Him exactly how dedicated she is. No temptation is too great, not even Satsuki.
For a while, it’s okay. Everything is completely normal. Momoko reseals ghosts with her friends like nothing is wrong. She mentions Jesus and the Lord as frequently as she can, muttering Bible verses where applicable. Momoko is fine. She’s never been more fine.
(There’s a pit in her stomach whenever Hajime and Leo make fun of each other. Faggot is greeted with shoves and laughter, and she is not okay.)
The day is boring and entirely like every other before Satsuki pulls her aside. They’ve been chasing a ghost around the schoolhouse for the last hour, and the boys have spent most of it hollering and laughing like idiots. Keiichirou had chased after them.
Momoko is completely alone with Satsuki for the first time in months.
Should she be excited? Nervous? Does Satsuki know? Momoko doesn’t want to even entertain that idea. Her heart is pounding so fast that her chest hurts and they haven’t done or said anything.
Two beats of silence, then Satsuki says, “Are you okay, Momoko?”
There is no way to explain it. None that leave their friendship unchanged — none that prevent it all from falling apart. So Momoko plasters on the realest smile she can muster and nods, not trusting her own voice. She’s terrified that if she tries, the truth will tumble out faster than she can stop it.
Then Satsuki’s hand is on her shoulder, steadying her in a way that she loves and hates in equal measure. “You’re sure? You’ve hardly talked today, even about Jesus. It’s weird.”
Momoko kicks herself internally. Of course Satsuki would notice something like that. “I’ve just been praying for our safety. That’s all.” She punctuates it with another smile, a twinge brighter than before. It’s a believable enough excuse. “Don’t worry about me, Satsuki. Come on, we should catch up with everyone before they get into trouble.”
She turns to leave, expecting Satsuki to laugh it off and follow her like normal. Because that’s what they are: normal. No strange feelings, no longing glances, just normal. Satsuki catches her hand and Momoko freezes in her tracks. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks, Momoko. When we hang out with Hajime and Leo, you shut down. When it’s just us and Keiichirou, you make excuses to leave. Did I do something wrong?”
Satsuki’s hand is warm and much softer than any boy’s. The indulgent sinner in her begs to savor it for just a few moments, but she jerks away as if burned. “No, I— You’re a great friend, Satsuki.” Friend, she emphasizes until her heart catches on. Satsuki will only ever be a friend.
“Then talk to me, Momoko. What the hell is going on with you?” Satsuki reaches out to touch her shoulder again, pleading. “Stop lying.”
The dam starts to crack. Momoko blinks and turns away before Satsuki can see her tears, then runs.
After all they’d faced together, Momoko didn’t consider herself a coward. You can only stare death and monsters in the face so many times before the impact starts to wear off. No matter the ghoul or ghost, she’d stand beside her friends and fight. Now, though, against feelings and a girl she liked more than she ought to, she’d never been more afraid. Satsuki is calling out after her, but she isn’t listening. She runs until the footfalls are a distant memory, and she’s never been more glad that Satsuki is a terrible runner.
Without thinking, she ducks into the girl’s bathroom and sinks into a concealed corner, deep enough to hide in shadows and dust. Deep enough to fade into nothing and die, right then and there. Maybe, if she prays hard enough, God will forgive her weakness. What can she do but clutch her rosary with shaking hands and beg for forgiveness?
God does not offer any to girls sobbing on grimy bathroom floors, even the most faithful.
Just as Momoko is about to fall apart for good, familiar arms drag her out of the shadows and into an embrace. For once, she doesn’t fight it. She takes everything Satsuki gives her — every inch of comfort and every moment of understanding. There’s no point in hiding now, and she cries in earnest.
“I’m a lesbian, Satsuki.” Her voice cracks halfway through, and she’s not entirely sure what compels her to say it. There is no lying or half-truths buried in church doctrine. She just feels safe. “I’ve never said that before.”
Satsuki pulls away, brow furrowed as she carefully examines Momoko’s expression. Whatever she’s looking for, she finds. “Me too,” Satsuki whispers, like it’s a secret just for the two of them.
The air is sucked from Momoko’s lungs the second her brain processes the words. Hope, mixed with bitter regret.
But when Satsuki leans in, Momoko doesn’t run. Their first kiss tastes like salt and strawberry chapstick. The shitty bathroom stall fades away until all that remains is her, Satsuki, and lips far too soft to spell eternal damnation.
They pull apart after what feels like eons, and Momoko has never felt more lost.