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Yuri moves slowly through the shallow water, wading her way through the threshold of the wooden doors opening up to the shrine. A large black box stands in the centre of the room, pulsing with malevolence - as though an invitation from hell itself, beckoning Yuri further into an eternal isolation. This is something Yuri has grown accustomed to: isolation. She knows it intimately - feels it in every small silence, in-between the few moments where she has no other distraction. Prominent in every flash of memory: hers and others. It’s here now too, even in her haze, it’s more intense than ever.
A part of Yuri wants to turn back, before the doors seal her in and cold seeps through her entirely. To go back to the warmth of the cafe. To the warmth of Hisoka.
Yet an almost hypnotic effect causes Yuri’s body to betray her. The agony of contorting her limbs to make herself fit to the shrines needs provides a strange sort of comfort. A reminder that she is human. The air inside the box is scarce, and the silence hangs heavy. Inside the box is a limerence between life and death, a continuation of the life Yuri has already been experiencing.
But now feels different.
Yuri’s breath catches in her throat. The black water that once pooled around her feet begins to rise. She tries to claw at the darkness around her. This isn’t what she wants anymore. Yuri gasps in an attempt to scream, but instead is suffocated by a large gulp of water. She wants to turn back. Yuri feels as a tear drips down her cheek and disappears into the murky water. She wants to appreciate what she has rather than what she’s lost. She wants to live.
Just for a while.
Yuri woke up startled, eyes wide and hair plastered to her forehead.
Thank god.
She felt sweat drip down her back, pulling her damp hair out of her top as raindrops cascaded down the window. Water had never felt more significant than after the events on Mt. Hikami, Yuri noted. Every rain-drop served as a constant reminder of the events that often plagued her mind. Each soul. Each touch. Everything she wishes to forget.
Yuri tosses and turns in her sheets, eyes stinging with exhaustion. The rain now gently taps on the windows. For a moment, the noise evokes an image; Yuri remembers the small splashing as the skies about Mt. Hikami opened up the night that she headed back from the mountain with Hisoka. She remembers how Hisoka's fingers lightly brushed up against hers, how an image is reflected back to her - a glimpse of herself entranced by the setting sun. A desperation, haunted by the images of death; permanent solitude. But, strangely, most of all Yuri remembers the feeling of Hisoka's hand beneath her light touch. That small warmth amongst the bitterness of the mountain.
After staring out the window for a while, listening to each silvery raindrop, each memory, roll down the window and clatter onto the ground, Yuri realised she was probably not going to get back asleep. Now, she decides to drag herself into the kitchen in hopes that a cup of tea will soothe her nerves. The floorboards on the way creak, and there is a static like hum coming from the store-front as Yuri pitter-patters her way into the kitchen, bare-feet on the cold tiles. Hot tea will serve as a good contrast.
Yuri is so engrossed in making the tea she does not hear the creaking and the footsteps that follow after her. When she turns back around, Hisoka is standing in the doorframe.
“Oh, sorry,” Yuri apologies, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t, I was awake anyways.”
There is an awkward silence momentarily between the two women, the one of many awkward silences that have followed since Yuri found Hisoka at the Shrine on the Water. If Yuri is honest, she has been avoiding Hisoka recently as she refuses to let herself be any more of a burden. Yuri wants Hisoka to believe she is better, no longer sick. She pretends she no longer feels the effects of Mt. Hikami - the black water calling out to her. Instead, they have fallen into an awkward routine in which they only talk to each other about business related topics. The shadows under Yuri’s eyes from too many nights of staring at the ceiling also go unspoken.
“I think I’m going to go back to bed,” Yuri smiles faintly at Hisoka, her voice soft as it breaks the silence. She catches Hisoka's gaze momentarily, noticing her expression of concern and averts her gaze. Her eyes instead linger on Hisoka's hands - caught between reaching out and pulling away - a hint at a desire to bridge the gap between them, between this unspoken tension. To touch. A lump forms in the back of Yuri's throat just at the thought. She attempts to go past Hisoka, avoiding brushing up against her, just in case. However, she is stopped abruptly by the feeling of warm skin against her wrist.
“Please, Yuri.”
Hisoka's touch sends a jolt through Yuri's veins. The warmth of their connection lingers, a fragile threat binding them together. Hisoka's voice is barely audible, a whisper laced in vulnerability.
"Stay," Hisoka murmurs, her thumb tracing circles on Yuri's wrist. "Just for a while."
Yuri's breath catches. She searches Hisoka's eyes, finding vulnerability there - a mirror of her own. Yuri wants to turn away, to give into the fear. But the desire is too overwhelming. In that charged moment, Yuri makes a choice. She moves closer. Closing the gap, their lips meet, hungry and longing as the taste of tea mingles. In that stolen moment, Yuri tasted eternity - a collision of the past shadows and future possibilities. Her hands trace the curve of Hisoka's spine, the brush of her fingertips creating static against her skin. For a moment, the room is silent, the thrumming of the rain instead turning into a hushed drizzle - as if nature herself is holding it's breath.
Hisoka breaks away first, faint smile against Yuri's lips. She guides Yuri up the stairs and to her bed by her hands, her proximity radiating heat that made Yuri's skin prickle. They lie together, entangled in white sheets, Yuri's head resting on Hisoka's chest. Each slow stroke of Hisoka's hand on Yuri's hair sends jolts of electricity through Yuri's body, each holding a small memory - a previous regret. Yuri momentarily ignores each spark in favour of the new found intimacy.
"We'll figure things out," Hisoka sighs, her voice wavering - both a promise and a plea, as she untangles her fingers from Yuri's hair.
"Is it okay if we stay like this," Yuri responds, "just for a while?" Hisoka hums in agreement. The rain continues overhead.