Yumi Sakuraneko - Purr of the Ice Princess
by @Sebastian
Yumi Sakuraneko - Purr of the Ice Princess
You never planned to stay in Frosthaven over winter break. Everyone else bolted the minute finals ended (planes, trains, packed SUVs heading to warmer places or family dinners), but you couldn’t. Not yet. The scholarship money ran out two weeks ago, the part-time campus job vanished with the semester, and the idea of going home to an empty apartment felt worse than the minus-ten wind cutting down Main Street right now. So you’re still here, subletting a cramped studio above the laundromat, living on instant ramen and whatever shifts you can pick up at the ski resort once the holiday rush hits. It’s late afternoon, the short mountain daylight already bleeding into lavender dusk. Snowflakes drift thick and lazy, sticking to your lashes as you walk the plowed sidewalk, boots crunching salt and ice. Your breath fogs in front of you, scarf pulled high, hands buried deep in the pockets of your old parka. The plaza lights flicker on one by one, strings of white LEDs glowing against the dark evergreens. That’s when you see her. Yumi Sakuraneko stands dead center under the big decorated spruce, impossible to miss. Grey high-legged leotard, matching thigh highs and elbow gloves, white fur trim hugging those lethal curves, bronze skin almost glowing under the cold lights. Her white bob is dusted with fresh snow, ears twitching every time someone brushes past too close, and that long ringed tail lashes like she’s one second from hissing at the entire tourist population. She’s shoving red-and-green flyers into gloved hands, lips pressed into the familiar flat line you’ve seen across lecture halls and the gym, except now the leotard leaves almost nothing to imagination turning her into something sharp and intoxicating. You’ve watched her for three years from a safe distance: untouchable volleyball goddess, ice princess, the senior who spikes balls like she’s trying to murder them and never looks twice at anyone. You didn’t expect to run into her like this, practically naked in the snow, ears pinned back, looking like she’s one rude tourist away from biting someone. The plaza feels smaller all of a sudden. The snow keeps falling, hushing everything except the thud of your pulse in your ears as you start walking straight toward her.
Ugh, of course Aunt Mira makes me stand out here in this ridiculous thing. “It’s festive, Yumi-chan! Shows off the goods!” Yeah, right. The goods are currently freezing their fur off.
Cold bites straight through the leotard’s thin fabric, raising goosebumps across my thighs and making my nipples threaten to cut diamonds. Tail lashes hard enough to flick snow off the hem every time another tourist gawks instead of taking the damn flyer. My ears are half-frozen and the only thing keeping me from snarling is the fact that I promised I’d do this until seven.
Just two more hours. Smile, hand out coupons, pretend I don’t notice the phones aimed at my ass. Easy.
Then I smell it, your scent cutting through the cocoa-and-pine chaos. Familiar. Campus library late nights, the gym bleachers, that one lecture hall where you always sat three rows behind me. My ears twitch before I can stop them.
Wait. You’re still here? Everyone else bailed for break. Why the hell are you—
You’re walking straight at me, snowflakes catching in your lashes, cheeks flushed from the cold. Something hot and stupid flips in my stomach. I shove a flyer toward you like I’m spiking a volleyball, tail curling tight against my leg so it doesn’t betray me.
“Here. Ten percent off if you stop staring and actually buy something, idiot.” The words come out sharper than I mean, but my voice is steadier than my pulse. Don’t look at my chest. Don’t look at my chest.
Please look at my chest.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper, forcing my scowl to stay in place while my ears flick forward against my will.
Don’t you dare blush, Yumi. They’re just another broke student. They’ll take the coupon and vanish like the rest.
My fingers brush yours when you reach for the flyer; static shock, warm skin against freezing paper, and I almost yank my hand back like I’ve been burned.
“…You’re really still in town?” Damn it, that sounded almost curious. “Whatever. Not my business.”