Misaka and the Feeling of Yearning
It was the size of a 500 yen coin. An outer glow emanated from around it as it sat between Misaka’s index and middle fingers. Her true adversary—the one thing that shone down and bathed her in an otherwise dark world. A breeze ruffled through her bangs as she unfocused her eyes. The Moon was so big, so far away… so necessary. Not just as a means to an end for life on Earth, but rather, Misaka’s own sense of scale. It sat there, taunting her, as she contemplated her limits. Despite her power, she felt insignificant—human beings were not so significant when it came to the grand scheme of the universe. The Moon was a reminder of that. Why did that bother her? Thoughts about the Earth, so much larger than either herself or the Moon, barreling through space at a velocities she could not perceive, didn’t bother her. And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? The true nature of Earth was masked by a lack of perspective. Sometimes a mountain or an ocean would serve as a reminder of how grand it all is by comparison, but to someone as powerful as the Railgun it didn’t quite have the same effect. No, it was the Moon that, of late, had been reminding her of her mortality. Life was short, and even she with all her might wouldn’t last that much longer than the next woman. Tch. Misaka frowned and uncrossed her legs, allowing the coin to fall to the shingles below her.
What if she poured all of her power into it? What if it was decided here and now—consequences be damned. Forget everything; forget all the shadowy figures and their delicate plans—their machinations of evil that would permeate terror throughout the world. Maybe it was the alcohol making her more brazen, but Misaka’s longing, her yearning, motivated her to stand and take a ready position. She could risk her life and those of every person in the vicinity to make a point. To feel significant. To prove the universe wrong. Electricity discharged around her arms as her hair wavered in the wind. That familiar scent of ozone swiftly grazed her nostrils. But then it stopped. Two thoughts caused her to fall back down onto the roof. The first, the fact that even if she were successful—there would be an infinite amount of objects that she could hardly grasp the size of—let alone destroy. The second was one she was hoping would leave her alone. No matter how much she protested her subconscious—in the end it was all for naught. Shoukuho Misaki.
Yes, Misaka didn’t want to admit it, and had actively been repressing how she felt. She hit herself in the head and grabbed a lock of hair. Tears began to swell in her eyes as her face turned red. How could she admit this to her when she couldn’t even admit it to herself? Dammit. Why did she have to fall in love? Academy City’s Ace, yeah. Okay. But you can’t even tell a girl you like her. You fuck everything up. You’ll lose her, and it’ll be all your fault. Because you’re a coward. I’ve got my pride, I said, I won’t cry. Yet. Yet, I’m… Misaka tightened her eyes, but the tears poured out anyway.
Her memory faded to a few days ago when Misaki asked her to stay the night. She recalled a knock on the door. The faint light of the cottage lantern illuminated just enough of the woman’s upper body. Hokaze Junko stood there with an umbrella as the rain poured around her.
“Might I come in…?” she asked, stepping in anyway.
Mikoto and Misaki had been involved, for lack of a better term. The two had been watching a supposedly scary movie, which only prompted the two to laugh and make fun of it. At a certain point, Misaki had rested her head on her shoulder, nuzzling it into the crook of her neck. For a moment the mood changed, and the two looked into one another’s eyes. Misaki placed a hand on Mikoto’s cheek and the two leaned forward.
But then Junko of all people had to arrive at the worst possible time, as if she just knew what was going to happen. Mikoto was wearied of loneliness and felt her heart sink. The purple haired woman eyed her with a slight frown as she walked in and compacted her umbrella.
“You haven’t been answering your phone,” she said.
“I’ve been preoccupied.”
“I can see that,” Junko said as she turned her head to Mikoto.
“I hope you don’t mind if I stay the night. The weather’s rather dreadful at the moment, and I came all this way to check on you,” she said, her nose brushing past Misaki’s ear.
Misaki was no fool; although she wouldn’t enter her mind purely out of respect for her friend, the signs that she was jealously interfering were plainly obvious to her. Interfering. What an odd choice of words. What exactly had she been hoping for that night beyond companionship? Junko took advantage of her flustered state and sequestered her to the kitchen, which left Mikoto to stir in her thoughts—alone.
She sat on the couch, crossed her legs, and tapped her foot. A suffocating feeling welled up inside her chest. Anxiety riddled her mind, and within seconds she felt lightheaded. The vein in the side of her head pulsated. Throbbing, and throbbing. God. As her chest tightened and stomach churned she jolted up and marched into the kitchen. Junko had her hand pressed to Misaki’s cheek. She was close. Why was she so close!? Misaki’s eyes widened as Junko’s seemed to leer back at Mikoto. The curled hairs on Junko’s head pressed into her as she gave a light kiss. Mikoto clenched her fists and bit her bottom lip. And in an instant—she was gone.
That’s why she was on the roof sulking. And drinking. Imagine falling for someone, and then seeing them kissing another… girl. Oh god. The prospect had slipped her mind. Kissing another girl. Misaka liked girls. Holy shit she was just like Kuroko. She was just like fucking Kuroko. Not good not good not goodnotgoodnotgood. Placing her hands on her head she stumbled forward and screamed.The past day, awkwardness aside, her feelings felt normal. Enjoyable even. The underlying trepidation was hard to pin down. It was as though these thoughts came in waves and formed layers. If Mikoto’s mental state were an onion, then several layers below the surface was the thought that two women being together was par the course. And that rumbled upward disrupting every other subsequent feeling. What would people think? That she was a predator like Kuroko? Oh no. What would would Kuroko think? Ahh… Misaka felt dizzy and pinched the bridge of her nose. After staring at the Moon for awhile she wondered—what would Misaki make of it all? How did she feel about Junko kissing her? Was she repulsed or did she enjoy it? Would Junko being an exception? Could either of them enter a normal relationship or would it be purely for pleasure on the side?
Misaka attempted to push the thoughts out of her mind, as though someone could read them, and they would think less of her. The heat radiating off her face pulsated. There was only one way to remedy the situation. It was something she thought she was more than capable of, but apparently not. She ran away again. Did that still make her childish? It doesn’t seem so alien for an adult to run away when such intense feelings magically erupt. Would this be considered an “identity crisis”? Misaka stood up straight with a misstep and took a deep breath. She counted. 1… 2… 3… 10. Life is so incredibly short. The moonlight reflected off her skin as her gaze traced it along her right arm. That was her reminder once again. She could run away and deny her feelings. She could curse herself in regret and brood from the skyline all she wanted. Or she could take everything head on like she did with all the assholes that challenged her. Perhaps Misaka’s biggest foe she would never be able to best was herself, and that was the scariest thing of all. If you get one life and everything’s so arbitrary… then what did she have to lose confronting Misaki. Or was it confronting herself? She stepped on the bottle of bourbon and crushed it. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but Misaka wasn’t going to back down from a challenge.
“Lez. Lesbian. Homo. Gay. Whatever. What matters is how I feel, and if I can’t be honest with how I feel due to some stupid personal issue, or what people will think, then what’s the point in living!?” she said aloud as she pressed an electrically charged foot to the rooftop. Shingles shattered and static discharge danced in the night sky. In less than a second, she appeared a silhouette in the night sky. It’s now or never.