Chapter Text
The I’ll stay on the train with her Himeko volunteered three days ago is not going in her favor. While Welt is out with the young ones, she’s on the train with Kafka who, much like an understimulated cat looking for attention, won’t leave her alone. The whole probationary acceptance on the Astral Express is a process in and of itself, something she’s not sure about at all, but she lost the vote and she accepted that result graciously.
It’d just be so much easier if she could lock Kafka in a room for a few hours so she can focus. It’s not much to ask, is it? Because the way the train seems to shrink with her onboard, Kafka always hanging around, well. It’s a handful. She is a handful. But Himeko won’t give up an inch of the Astral Express just because Kafka sprawls out near her, watching her with those inscrutable eyes. It’s her home, it’s her realm, and she won’t go running to the safety of her cabin for anything. And Kafka follows her each day, trailing behind her. As if she wants something — conversation, maybe, or just to cause problems for the sake of it, who is to say?
Himeko has made a point of ignoring it, ignoring her, catching up on her own backlog of reading. Of course, that does little to offset the way Kafka saunters into the lounge, laying down on the couch opposite her. Himeko carefully smooths her own face out. She is not seeing, she is not paying attention, absolutely not. All she wants is a nice afternoon focusing on her own business.
“You’ve been reading that same page for twenty minutes now,” Kafka says, smirking. “Having problems focusing?”
“What is it about me that has you so interested?” Himeko asks without looking up from the book, without acknowledging that yes, maybe she is stuck, but it’s none of Kafka’s concerns now is it?
“Call it personal curiosity,” Kafka replies in that lazy drawl of hers, dragging out the words so they drip from her tongue like molasses. “I want to see if it has any weight to it, or not.”
“Asking is an option.”
“Let me guess the answer: no comment, no comment. Worse than Herta.” Kafka stretches out her long legs, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. “You don’t like being cooped up either. I can tell.”
“I enjoy it on my own. You are the problem here.”
“How terrible for you, to suffer because of me.”
Himeko pointedly flips the page. It’s just a typical romance novel anyway, it hardly matters if she skips five paragraphs. In the end, they will resolve their issues and everything will be well. It’s familiar food, but she likes the thrill of them. Usually. Something about it is off right now though, and though she makes a valiant effort she slips a bookmark in a third of the way through and gives up.
“I voted against having you here,” Himeko says, crossing her arms.
“I am shocked, truly,” Kafka says, her expression not changing at all. “Would you care to play a game?”
“Somehow, I think you’d cheat at it.”
“Well, there’s no fun playing by the rules. You need some fun sleight of hand to make it exciting — the thrill of being caught or getting away, it’s a rush. You should try it sometime. I’d let you slap the back of my hand if you spotted it.”
“Definitely not interested.”
Kafka shrugs, spreading her arms out on the couch’s backrest. “We’re in for a few long days of this, sweet Himeko. We’ll have to find some way to entertain ourselves.”
“I can manage on my own, thank you.” Himeko picks up her book and leaves. As she walks down the corridor, she hears the swell of music as Kafka flicks through the Astral Express phonogram before settling on the ancient recordings with violins and orchestras, rising tensions and shivering strings. The music echoes throughout the train for hours.
Himeko makes her coffee, she runs the maintenance checks, she walks the carpet-lined hallways to make sure the cleaning drones have done all of it before Pom-Pom exhausts themselves trying to do it. Pom-Pom who, for that matter, is hiding out in Welt’s room, anxious about the new passenger. She makes sure they are eating and resting before circling back through the ship.
In the lounge, the music is still playing, Kafka’s discarded her jacket on an armchair as she is following the rising trumpet with precision in her fingertips, eyes closed as she traces the rhythm out like a player herself.
“It’s a waltz,” she says without opening her eyes, taking Himeko by surprise — but of course, she’s got the heels on, Kafka probably heard her coming long ago. “Composed by someone called Shostakovich, if research is to be believed. There’s a dance that goes along with it, something like…”
Kafka sweeps across the floor, executing a series of perfect steps that Himeko is somewhat familiar with — she’s been to her fair share of banquets and celebration fests in her time as a Nameless.
“You could do that smoother. You are messing up the third movement.”
“Why don’t you show me the proper way?” Kafka offers out her gloved hand, the palm turned up.
Himeko tilts her head with a sigh. “Is this some change in tactics? Some delirious attempt at seduction?”
“If it is, you seem immune to it. What’s the harm? We are both bored.”
She’s got a point, as unwilling as Himeko is to admit it. Nothing needs doing, she’s just been looking for busywork to stay on the move.
Against better judgment, Himeko puts her hand in Kafka’s, but makes it clear that she is leading, seeing how Kafka is butchering that step. She holds her waist gingerly, fingers barely skimming the fabric of her shirt. They are not a smooth pairing, Kafka’s eyes fixated on her, stepping on her foot, trying to take charge of the movements.
“Can you at least try?” Himeko snaps.
“Maybe if you put some effort in.” She adjusts Himeko’s grip on her waist. “It’s hard to feel that if you won’t properly hold me.”
The adjustment brings them terribly close, their breasts touching, but it does stabilize the dance. In fact, it flows smoothly, Kafka surrendering to Himeko’s lead without complaint, moving with perfection.
“You were intentionally bad,” Himeko says.
“My schemes are working at least,” Kafka says, her smile showing a glimpse of teeth.
“Peculiar plotting.”
“We’ll see what it results in.”
They shift into a lower tempo as the song smoothly segues into a new one, and technically, Himeko could peel off and finish this little charade right here and now. She tells herself she’ll just ask one more question then she’s done.
“Why music like this?”
“You’re surprised?”
“A little.”
“Don’t be. See, there’s the wordlessness of it. The dramatic tension shivering. Composers who lived and died so long ago we cannot fathom it, people who lived lives vastly different from ours, and yet their creations are here, performed with precision, surviving because they touched upon something true then.”
“And what’s that truth?”
“Who knows.” Kafka closes her eyes briefly, inhaling with the swell of the orchestra. Himeko notices her body mirroring the breath, realizing that they are synchronized. She doesn’t know how to feel about that. “Some things cannot be put into words, only lived through. Music and divine horrors go hand in hand there.”
When she opens her eyes, there’s something in her gaze that sends a shiver down Himeko’s spine, something she cannot put her finger on. Her hand drops from Kafka’s waist and she steps back, ending the dance. If Kafka is disappointed, she doesn’t betray it at all, merely continuing to follow the music, her fingertips dancing on the air. Himeko retreats to her cabin but she hears the music playing, soft and muted through the walls, for hours.
The following day, Himeko can’t find her coffee beans. She keeps them in an airtight container, puts them on the same shelf for decades, grinding a handful up each morning to steep her morning cup. They should be in the same place as always. She rifles through all the adjacent shelves, knowing she wouldn’t put it anywhere but where it belongs, before leaving to look through the entire length of the train for the target of her ire.
She finds Kafka in the lounge, reading the book Himeko was reading yesterday, folding the upper corner of the page as she closes it to greet Himeko with a wry smile.
“Is it not enough already?” Himeko says. “Fine. I capitulate. You are under my skin. Do you like it?”
“I have not a single clue what you are accusing me of.”
“Don’t play coy. It doesn’t flatter you at all.”
“My bad,” Kafka says, not the least bit apologetic. “I thought we were finally going to play a game together. I believe I saw a chess board when I was poking around Welt's cabin...”
“Don't go into other's rooms uninvited. Don't mess with our belongings without asking." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Do I need to put you over my knee to get you to behave?”
Something sharp flashes across Kafka’s face. “Is that an offer or a threat?"
"Do you want to find out?"
"Color me intrigued. Didn’t know you had it in you, Himeko.”
The air is electric between them, a static charge that makes the fine downy hairs on Himeko’s arms stand on end. It’s only them in the lounge. Only the stars to witness them. She changes her stance, relaxing her arms and sitting down on the couch opposite Kafka, mirroring her smug smile.
“Come here then.” Himeko doesn’t know what is possessing her, but she pats her lap. “Let’s play your game. I’ll show you what I’m good for.” Mostly, she wants to call Kafka’s bluff.
And it slowly dawns on her as Kafka peels herself off the couch that maybe, there is no bluff. Maybe it’s all just mutual escalations looking for something in the other. Either way, she is sick of that smug smile, sick of how it haunts her day and night, and she would set moons ablaze to wipe it off Kafka’s face right now.
Kafka stops in front of Himeko, their knees touching. “Well?” she asks after a few moments. “Cold feet? There’s no harm in quitting while you’re ahead.”
“You’re not getting away that easily.” She tugs at Kafka’s chest harness, the smooth leather warm from her body heat, pulling her down so she’s straddling Himeko’s lap. It draws a laugh from Kafka, her smile wide and mean. It's far past enough to push Himeko's buttons.
She holds Kafka’s loose ponytail in a firm grip as she runs a hand down the curve of her spine. She pauses, almost asking herself if it’d be worth stopping here, if maybe she should — and before the thought can coalesce into a fully finished sentence she lets the palm of her hand fall down hard on Kafka’s ass.
Kafka doesn’t jump, doesn’t whine. She sighs happily. She’s been wanting this. All this time, all these little provocations and annoyances, she’s been angling to get something like this out of Himeko — it’s crystal clear to see now. Himeko breathes in through her teeth and — she shouldn’t, she should take her hands off Kafka and walk out the room, she should — she hits her ass again. And again.
Each time, Kafka makes a point to let out a noise of pleasure, but she doesn’t speak. It’s at least something. Himeko can take that, the little advantage. So she knows how to shut Kafka up.
The nylons of Kafka’s stockings break, laddering down the back of her right thigh. Underneath her skin is shining red, and Himeko can’t stop herself from touching it. Her finger traces the rip, from the bottom up, sliding her finger under the edge to feel just how hot the skin is. The rip widens, continuing up under Kafka’s shorts.
She drags her trimmed fingernail over the raw skin, finally drawing a noise she likes to hear, a hiss between teeth.
“You’re enjoying this,” Himeko says, low and controlled, not entirely accusatory.
“Guilty as charged.” Kafka’s breathing is heavier than usual. It’s not horrible to hear, all things considered.
“The others may have relaxed their guard around you.”
“And you clearly haven’t.”
“I am relaxed. I just wanted to remind you.”
“Consider me reminded. Now do it again but harder.”
And she does. This time it draws a moan from Kafka, and Himeko despite herself, despite knowing better, enjoys it. She breaks out into a cruel smile, yanking on Kafka’s hair to get her to look at her. There’s a flush to her cheeks, just a tint of redness.
Kafka braces herself on the backrest as Himeko strikes her ass again with the palm of her hand, the sound of skin slapping on skin — a beat for their breaths, both getting heavy — and then another strike.
It’s strange, seeing Kafka like this, whatever sharp retort poised on her tongue bitten back long enough to ride whatever sensation it is Himeko is stirring in her. It’s heady to watch. Addictive.
Himeko pauses after she loses count, stroking Kafka’s ass gently.
“Don’t do it again,” Himeko says, voice thick. She’s more affected than she would like Kafka to know, but her voice betrays her.
“That’s a difficult one to resist if this is the punishment.” Kafka laughs lightly, taking great care as she climbs off Himeko’s lap. They look at each other for a long moment before Himeko breaks it, turning her head away.
Kafka leaves, and Himeko sits on the couch for a long time, watching her hands, trying to process what she just did. Trying to process how it made her feel. Trying to find a way to quell the rising desire to do it again.
By lunchtime, she's been alone for hours, and it's unsettling. Himeko opens a text conversation with Kafka, turning the words over for minutes before shaking off the hesitation.
Perhaps we should talk about what happened.
It doesn’t take long for three bouncing dots to appear.
Don’t get it in your head that you need to apologize. I got what I wanted. And: Is there more where that came from?
Himeko wrinkles her nose.
Come to dinner with me tonight so we may clear the air.
Order or offer? Either way, it's not like I have anything else to do with your pesky little rules on here.
She clears the little jaunt with Dan Heng and Welt, who give a cautious approval, before she sends Kafka a time and arranges for a sky-taxi to pick them up. No diversions. No distractions. Just a quiet dinner to sort things out, nip it in the bud and move on before it becomes anything… Unwieldly.
“Don’t try to run,” Himeko says as they get in the taxi. Though it would solve a lot of her problems, she also has a kind of responsibility to keep an eye on Kafka. For the moment.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The automated ride over to the restaurant is quiet, though Kafka sits with her legs crossed in such a way that Himeko can clearly see the rip in the nylons she caused, and how Kafka hasn’t bothered fixing it. Himeko turns her head to look out the window, at the skyscrapers stretching down deep, low past the cloud layer they’re driving over. It’s not a favorite stop of hers, but it is convenient. Lots of places to get lost, were it not for the problem sitting next to her.
At least there’s a good restaurant that never does her wrong.
Kafka sits down at the table opposite her, an exaggerated groan as she pulls the chair in while keeping eye contact with Himeko as if to say, that’s all your doing. That’s what you have done to me. And of course, she’s smiling, wicked and amused.
“You can drop the theatrics,” Himeko says, unfolding the napkin and placing it over her lap. “You enjoyed it. You asked for it.”
“And what a way for you to fulfill that. I’ve been so sore. And I’ve been wondering what else you might have for me.”
“I don’t repeat mistakes if I can help it.” With a gracious smile, she accepts the menu from the waiter. “I intend to have a full three-course dinner. With the wine pairings. You do what you wish. We are paying separately.”
“As you say.” Kafka watches her, and it’s almost the same as on the Express. Well, no, there’s something else there, something so intense that Himeko doesn’t hold eye contact for long, focusing on Kafka’s chin, cheekbone, earlobe, anywhere but her eyes. “You didn’t invite me out just to avoid me, now did you?”
“Fine.” Himeko interlaces her fingers underneath her chin. “I apologize for what happened this morning.”
“Tsk. You enjoyed it.”
“I think you enjoyed it even more.”
“Why of course.” Kafka crosses her legs under the table, her foot bumping against Himeko’s shin. “I had a lot of fun. Good investment time, delicious payoff. What else can one ask for?”
The appetizers come in, delicately arranged on the fine porcelain plates. After the waiter gives a lengthy explanation of the wine’s origin, he leaves, and Himeko fingers the delicate glass stem. “Fine. I’ll bite. What about this is so enticing to you?”
“You spend unnumerable years following a script, you too end up needing new creative ways to blow off steam. I’ve always been a great handler. I have been yearning to be handled for a while. See the other side of the coin. And now with my role played for the moment, I have all the time in the universe while I wait in the wings for my next cue.”
Himeko hums. “Melodramatic way to describe a simple desire.”
“No appreciation for my artistry? That stings, Himeko.”
“Good. Savor it.”
“You do know how to inflict hurt.”
“I’m not… Unfamiliar.”
Now that gets an eyebrow raise from Kafka, and only a tiny part of Himeko regrets mentioning it.
“Do tell.”
“Isn’t much to tell, is there? I like new flavors. I like people. Both teach you lots of things about yourself and what you like in life.”
“I like collars and leashes,” says Kafka, not entirely off-handed, not entirely serious. She can’t be, right? She can’t possibly be serious. Right?
“Like a dog?” Himeko asks.
“For the right woman, I can even bark. Woof.” She smirks. “Of course, she would have to put in the time taming me.”
“I feel sorry for her.”
“I’m sure can end up seeing some great benefits to the arrangement.”
Himeko delicately puts the cutlery on the plate to signal being finished, and wordlessly a waiter appears and whisks it away. She takes a few sips of the wine as they wait, silent, the words turning over in both their heads.
The reasonable thing, Himeko figures, is to play this verbal little game and then drop it, ignore it, go back to normal. Nothing sane could possibly come from it.
The only problem is… She is intrigued. Despite knowing better. Despite knowing that Kafka is trouble on two legs, there’s a certain thrill to it. Embarrassing. She’s not young anymore, she should have calmed down and not be so easily lured in by the promise of what hangs between them, but she is who she is. She wants the adrenaline rush, the novelty. She wants… Terrible things.
After the main course is brought to them, Kafka cuts into the tender meat that parts easily to reveal its rare insides. “You’re calculating the risks,” she comments, cutting the meat into smaller pieces. “It’s fascinating watching the cogs of your mind turning as you over-think it.”
“Admittedly, you on a leash would be a safer prospect than having you running around free.”
Kafka laughs. “So righteous in your thinking.”
“Practical. You’re troublesome.”
“That’s why I need someone to make me fall in line,” Kafka says, the suggestion in her voice impossible not to notice. “Or whatever it is that you want. I’m pliable.”
“You’re trying to win me over.”
“It’s only a sparring match because you want it to be.”
And Himeko wants it like that because that is safe, and whatever it was that Kafka pulled out of her earlier was… It was… Wickedly delicious. And Himeko cannot stay away from that. It’s got a pull on her like a star about to go supernova. She’s just trying to buy time. And the moment she realizes that, she also knows that is what Kafka has been getting at. Stars.
“Maybe you would look good tied up,” Himeko admits, pressing a single finger to the tension point building between her eyebrows, “but would that shut you up?”
“You won’t know until you try.”
“You are infuriating.”
“Then you have a reasonable cause, don’t you? It’s logical. It is, as you say, practical.”
Himeko empties her glass of wine and pushes the empty platter away from herself. Kafka catches the waiter’s attention and has him clear the table for the dessert, but not before changing her own order to match Himeko’s.
“Why me?” Himeko asks when they’re alone.
“I want to see what there is worth knowing about you.” It’s as opaque an answer as she could expect out of Kafka, all things considered. It still stirs something in her, something just as indiscernible rising.
All this pushing and taunting sits in stark contrast to how annoyingly pleasant the dinner has been. The alcohol isn’t getting to her, but… Kafka’s ankle presses against hers under the table and she doesn’t pull back from the touch, meeting Kafka’s gaze. She is definitely getting to her.
The dessert arrives, and Himeko takes the slender spoon and taps the back of it against the hard caramelized surface on top, chin in her free hand, watching Kafka like she’s searching for a weak spot in the armor.
“You know,” Kafka says, ignoring the dessert entirely, “people like you and me, we keep our guard up. We stay moving because well, that’s how we live our lives. Nothing means anything after a while, in the best way possible, because if everything meant something, our lives would be too heavy to shoulder. We’d break under the burden of all we have seen, all we have done. All the people we have said goodbye to. But something about you makes me want to stop, for just a moment. Not many people do that to me.”
“What are you expecting to find in me?”
“Expecting? Nothing. I want to discover that myself.”
Himeko finishes the dessert, licking the spoon clean. “And what if there is nothing to discover? What if, at the end of the day, I am just a lonely woman adrift on an astral train?”
Kafka’s eyes drop down to the table, and she pushes her untouched dessert across the table to Himeko. “Then there would be two of us, wouldn’t it?”
Himeko pauses for a moment, spoon pressed against her lower lip. The lines were so clear just a few days ago. And yet… She likes this, whatever it is, whatever mess it will cause.
She dips her spoon into the dessert offered by Kafka, who smiles and raises her glass in a silent toast.
Kafka walks her to her cabin, leaning on the door jamb. Their faces are close, close enough to smell the herbal digestif they had. They were quiet for the entire taxi ride back, Himeko grateful for the dimmed lights hiding the blush blooming on her cheeks.
“Think about it,” Kafka says, her fingers toying with the lapels of Himeko’s coat. She moves close, close enough that their lips are a paper’s width away without touching, and then ghosts her mouth over Himeko’s cheek up to her ear. “I know I will be.” Her breath is hot and her voice sends a shudder down Himeko’s spine.
Definitely trouble. Terribly so.
Showered and in bed, Himeko re-opens her message conversation with Kafka. She types out something, backtracks, doing it over three times before she angles the screen away, taking a deep breath and sending off a simple: What are your limits?
She immediately closes out of the app, too strung up to sit around and wait for a reply, opening a new book in her reader. She reads the long introduction, not absorbing a single word, the academia smattering across the pages filled with references and dates to the point that it’s impossible to take in.
A notification pops up.
My, my, Himeko. You’re actually offering?
Yes. Don’t make me regret doing that.
Kafka sends her a list, and Himeko eyes through it. She responds with one of her own, and after some more messages Himeko puts her phone to sleep, dragging her hands over her face and stifling a surprise laugh that bubbles up in her.
Maybe the trouble will be worth her while, after all.
She sees Kafka at breakfast the next morning, later than their usual time. Kafka raises a cup to her before going back to reading the book she has open on the table.
The coffee beans are back in their regular place. Figures. She takes her time, grinding them by hand, setting up the drip filter, wetting the grounds just a little so that they swell up before screwing the presser down and pouring hot, distilled water on top. With the most important thing out of the way, she comes up behind Kafka and puts her hands on her throat.
“Sit still,” Himeko says, closing her thumbs and middle fingers around Kafka’s throat. “I need to measure.”
Kafka swallows under her thumb, her pulse quickening. It’s a strange rush, just how willingly she tilts her head back, the way her mouth drops open a little. Himeko could do wickedly awful things to that mouth. She could make her scream.
“Perhaps you will look good with a collar,” Himeko admits, her lips brushing the top of Kafka’s ear. “We’ll just have to see tonight.”
She lets go, her coffee finished steeping. She takes the cup and goes back to her cabin to put things in order. When an idea possesses Himeko, it’s with a focus that could ruin worlds — and she’s aching to turn that focus onto Kafka now.