#but maybe i can get someone excited about a tsukutabe fic coming?

[sapphoscompanion]

hiii! I'm writing some things about Tsukutabe (the brainrot is real) and i need a little help choosing what to focus on... here are three snippets of future possible fics! What should i write first?

The magnet stuck to the freezer with a satisfying clack. Nomoto clapped her hands. "All done!" she beamed.

Kasuga turned to look at her and shot her a tiny smile. "Same here", she said as she folded the last of their cardboard boxes.

They'd been at it for a week: as soon as they started to put things away, it was time for bed, or, worse, for work. Nomoto was particular about the furniture arrangement, while Kasuga simply went along with her girlfriend's choices, and that usually meant reassuring Nomoto that everything was fine, and that, really, nobody would notice if one of the dishcloths hung a little lower than the others.

"But I want every detail of our new home to be perfect!" Nomoto had said, and Kasuga had simply smiled.

It didn't help that as soon as they were finished with a box, another one would pop out seemingly out of nowhere. Kasuga had almost wanted to put them away in their storage closet without even opening them, but she had endured for Nomoto's sake. She knew she would cherish her memories of them decorating their home together.

"There's still a lot of work to do, though," Nomoto mumbled, resting her hands on her hips and surveying the living room from her spot in the kitchen.

Kasuga frowned. "Don't tell there's another box..."

"Oh, no!" Nomoto apologetically waved her hands in the air. "I meant, look at all this empty space we have to fill," she explained, gesturing toward the area next to Kasuga, near the window.

For a moment they stood still, while they both realised they had very different opinions about "emptiness". Kasuga thought it was a perfectly fine way to keep your living space: it was tidy, convenient to clean, and peaceful. Nomoto thought it was sad, like there was something missing, a hole that could be filled with colours, tiny cutesy objects, and maybe even new kitchen appliances.

"Let's go buy something from the store, then," Kasuga said

"But we can leave it like that, if you like," Nomoto said at the same time.

***

As the car engine shut down, Kasuga swiftly retrieved her keys, then turned to Nomoto at her left. "Are you okay? We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Nomoto replied with a nervous chuckle, and her grip on the safety belt tightened.

"I'm serious, Nomoto-san."

As Nomoto looked Kasuga in the eye, she saw only earnestness and care. Oh, how lucky she was to have met her, she thought.

"I just don't understand how you're so calm and I'm the one sweating... it's you that's meeting my parents, after all," she managed to say.

Kasuga put a gentle hand on Nomoto's thigh. "You should know by now. I'm not calm at all."

***

Sayama squealed.

Time stopped as everyone in the room turned to look at her, and she and Nomoto had to apologise several times before their coworkers resumed their hustle as usual.

Sayama scooted closer to Nomoto and whispered energetically: "You kissed?!"

"Yeah..." Nomoto mumbled, looking at her hands while she felt warmth creep up her ears and cheeks.

Sayama clapped (once, slowly and being careful not to make any noise) and cheered for her (whispering, without making sudden movements). "Ah, Nomoto-san, that's amazing!"

Nomoto nodded.

"You know, that means you're one step closer to..."

Nomoto's eyes widened as she looked up to her friend. "No! Stop, Sayama-san! Please, do not finish that sentence."

"Why?" Sayama asked, cocking her head to the side.

Nomoto sighed. "Even simply... kissing... was a great deal for both her and me. We're taking things slow, one at a time."

"Ah, I understand," Sayama nodded solemnly, "not at all like those lesbian movies you watch."

"Exactly."

Sayama rubbed her chin, and looked in the distance. "Still... have you ever desired to...?"

A tiny "eh?" was all that Nomoto managed to say. But Sayama didn't seem to realise the weight of her question.