Volume 2 Episode 08

I played at being friends with Miyagi, went to her house, and kissed her.

That was all we did yesterday, and the five-thousand-yen bill she gave me now sits inside my piggy bank. Five thousand yen—the price of a kiss. And as a price, it was far too much.

I didn’t want it.

I told her so more than once after the kiss, but Miyagi wouldn’t take it back. Forced into my hands, that bill made the piggy bank just a little heavier, and today I’ve come to Miyagi’s house without having slept well.

To put it simply, I was short on sleep and my head wasn’t working properly.

Not enough to doze off, but my eyelids were heavy, so I lay down on Miyagi’s bed. As soon as I closed my eyes, her scent—which I normally didn’t notice—filled my nose and woke me up again, though I should have been sleepy.

It was unbearable.

There were plenty of reasons I couldn’t sleep.

Listing them wouldn’t make up for the lost hours, so I didn’t bother going through them one by one—but to put it roughly, it was Miyagi’s fault. Even now, during our study break, I couldn’t even nap because of her. With the room’s owner not around, I couldn’t complain either, so I rolled over.

By now Miyagi was probably in the kitchen, pouring cider and barley tea into our empty glasses.

Ever since I told her I disliked carbonation, she had offered me nothing but barley tea, like a parrot stuck on one phrase. She never asked if I wanted anything else, or what I actually liked. After more than a year together, she could have shown a little curiosity, but then again, I had never asked her either. Maybe that made us even.

I squeezed my eyes shut and strained my ears. Footsteps echoed down the hall.

A moment later the door opened, and Miyagi’s exasperated voice reached me.

“Sendai-san, don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m awake.”

Answering while still sprawled on her bed, I heard the clink of a glass being set on the table.

“Your eyes aren’t open.”

“It’s a break. I don’t need to open them.”

I curled my body and turned toward her voice.

“Sendai-san, get up.”

The voice was closer than I expected, and then—pat—her hand touched my cheek.

I opened my eyes to find Miyagi sitting in front of the bed.

Just like yesterday, Miyagi—who insisted we couldn’t be friends—touched me carelessly.

Always moody, yet doing as she pleased.

Yesterday she had tried to leave me behind, apparently unhappy with me. I had gone along with her “let’s pretend to be friends” game, making sure not to upset her, and still she got offended. I still didn’t know what I’d done wrong.

In the past, she had told me flatly that we weren’t friends. This time, she had gone further—saying we would never be friends in the future either, and even calling me disgusting.

That, I couldn’t laugh off.

And the fact that she herself seemed completely unbothered was infuriating. But the truth was, the word friend never did fit us.

I couldn’t even say what part didn’t fit.

The air, the distance, everything between us felt misaligned.

The word friend looked like the closest thing and the farthest thing at once, never sitting snugly between us. A puzzle piece too small and too large at the same time, with no place to fit.

“The workbook’s not finished yet,” Miyagi said quietly, letting her hand slip from my cheek down to my neck. Before I could say it tickled, her palm stopped at my collarbone and pressed lightly there.

“You start without me.”

“I don’t get some of the problems.”

Though she was the one who had brought up the workbook, Miyagi stayed facing me without moving. The problems she needed to solve were on the table behind her, but her eyes looked the other way.

If I hadn’t run into her at that bookstore, we would never have been friends—or even spoken. We would have gone all the way to graduation without ever touching like this.

We were never the type to become friends. Still, I once thought that if our relationship settled into something like friendship, that would be for the best. Now, I doubted we’d ever end that way.

I placed my hand over Miyagi’s, still resting on my collarbone.

“What?” she muttered in a low voice, trying to pull away. I held on tight and asked:

“Are you nervous right now?”

“...Right now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

“...Not right now.”

“But?”

“What about you, Sendai-san? Are you nervous now?”

“Not really.”

When she was close, I was aware of her, but my heart wasn’t pounding loudly enough to notice. I didn’t feel the urge to walk through town holding her hand either. And yet, somehow, being at her side had become my place—and I felt no dissatisfaction or discomfort in that.

I released her hand and brushed her lips lightly with my fingertip.

“Were you planning on kissing me today too?”

I asked quietly. She answered just as quietly.

“...Would it be bad if I was?”

“Who knows.”

This was right.

This was wrong.

If everything could be divided neatly into those two categories, life would be simple. But there were things that couldn’t be classified. What lay between Miyagi and me belonged mostly to that unclassifiable realm.

Answers blurred like mixed colors that couldn’t be separated. Too vague, too unstable. Try to sort them by force, and they felt like they would shatter and vanish. Better to leave them uncategorized.

Besides, even if I told her it would be bad if you thought that, Miyagi wouldn’t listen.

“Miyagi. I’ll teach you the parts of the workbook you don’t understand.”

I sat up and looked toward the table.

Once I explained the problems she was stuck on, we would do some prep for the new term, and studying would be done for the day.

That was what I thought—but Miyagi stood first, rummaging in her desk, and pulled something out.

“Here.”

She said it bluntly, holding out a five-thousand-yen bill.

So much for the workbook. I sat back down on the bed and looked at her.

“I don’t need it.”

“Take it.”

“You think giving me money makes it okay, don’t you?”

“I don’t think that’s wrong.”

Her words were both right and wrong—unclassifiable words.

Five thousand yen was necessary to bind us together, but during summer break, it wasn’t. I was already being paid under the name of “tutoring fee.” Anything more was too much.

“If you want to order me around, then go ahead. Lately I haven’t been teaching you much anyway, so let’s say tutoring fees include the right to give orders.”

It sounded arrogant, but the truth was Miyagi asked “I don’t get this” far less often now. When the new term came, her grades would surely rise.

“That’s separate. Just take it.”

She placed the bill on my lap with a matter-of-fact look.

This five thousand yen was different from the one before summer break.

From the way things were going, it was the same kind as yesterday’s bill. The command to follow would likely lead to a kiss. And for something like a kiss, I didn’t need five thousand yen. If she just counted it under tutoring, it would be easier. Being handed money separately made it feel like something trivial was being treated as heavy.

“I don’t need it.”

I said it firmly, and Miyagi’s eyes wavered.

I saw the unease in them and exhaled deeply. She probably just didn’t want to be rejected after coming this far.

I folded the bill into quarters and set it on the bed.

“I’ll take it. So give me your order.”

My voice was flat. Miyagi looked relieved.

In the end, it would be nothing major.

For all her bossiness, Miyagi had a cowardly streak.

“Then...”

As if prefacing a command, she stared at me. After a long pause, she finally said the words I had heard so many times before:

“Don’t move.”

I knew she would.

Whatever she did next would be exactly what I expected.

“Miyagi,” I called, looking at her.

Though it was evening, the light streaming through the window was still bright.

The sun baked the town with heat closer to midday than dusk.

“Shouldn’t you close the curtains?”

Whether they were open or closed was a trivial matter, and it wasn’t as if anyone outside was staring into this apartment. But today, even trivial things bothered me.

“Be quiet,” Miyagi muttered, annoyed. She shut the curtains and turned on one of the lights. Then she stood in front of me, as I sat on the bed using it as a chair.

I inevitably found myself looking up at her, and Miyagi’s hand touched my hair. She combed through it—hair that was neither braided nor tied—then, with a face that seemed unsure of itself, she leaned in to press her lips toward mine.

I really couldn’t understand her at times.

The other day, she had brought her face close as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Yet today, she hesitated, as though afraid. She had forced five thousand yen on me and prepared herself for a kiss, but now she acted uncertain, like this was her very first time.

“Close your eyes.”

Looking at Miyagi, who was as hesitant as a stray cat wandering in front of someone’s house, I heard the rough command. But I didn’t close my eyes. Instead, Miyagi covered them with her palm. The bright room went suddenly dark, and a soft sensation fell against my lips.

It was no different from yesterday.

Her slightly dry lips touched mine gently, then left almost immediately, along with the hand that had covered my eyes.

The time our lips touched was so short that all I remembered was the faint, fluffy feeling—like a cream puff. Miyagi and I had kissed several times, but she never did more than brush against me. Or rather, whenever I tried to take it further, she resisted. Last time she had even bitten me. And yet, she always looked at me with an unsatisfied expression. Just like now.

“Miyagi.”

I called her name and reached out, but before I could touch her, she gave me an order.

“Stay seated.”

She sat down beside me as she said it. But I wouldn’t have run away even without that command.

“Fine, I’ll sit. But what are you planning to do?”

She didn’t answer my question. Instead, her hand touched my thigh.

I shouldn’t have worn shorts.

As her fingers moved lightly over my skin, I regretted not choosing different clothes.

Her hand slid smoothly across my skin, but it didn’t feel like it carried any deep meaning. It reminded me of the way a doctor touches a patient—clinical, detached. Even so, being touched made me focus on the sensation.

Somewhere between unpleasant and ticklish.

That was how my mind categorized the feeling her hand gave me.

Her hand traveled down my thigh to my knee.

I grabbed her hand, which continued without hesitation.

“Didn’t I tell you not to move?”

Her voice was controlled, emotion suppressed, and she shook off my hand.

“It tickles, I can’t stand it.”

When I gave the reason for disobeying, Miyagi frowned. She looked at me with dissatisfaction, then stroked my knee.

Again, that feeling—neither simply unpleasant nor just ticklish—spread through me, and I caught her wrist. That must have displeased her, because she freed her hand and suddenly closed the distance between us.

I couldn’t even close my eyes before I felt her lips.

Her hand gripped my hipbone.

A shiver ran through me, and when I did shut my eyes, the pressed warmth of her lips grew sharper. The heat on the point of contact made me feel as if I might melt, made me want to abandon reason.

Whether or not such a command was good or bad didn’t matter—at least I didn’t mind being kissed. Still, I thought I probably belonged to the kind of person who didn’t like being kissed.

Being kissed made me want to touch Miyagi more than when I kissed her. It gave me the feeling that I was doing something wrong. The pleasure was the same, but it unsettled me, left me restless.

I clutched her arm tightly, and our lips parted. When I leaned in to follow her, her hand covered my mouth.

“Sendai, don’t try to do whatever you want.”

I peeled her hand away and asked,

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Why do you want to kiss so badly?”

Miyagi answered immediately, but I ignored it and pressed the question.

“I said no.”

Her voice was low, unwilling. But after a brief pause, she added in a small voice, as if stating the obvious:

“If you don’t want to kiss, you can just run away.”

“I can’t run, because you command me.”

“So, does that mean you don’t want to?”

“Do you think so?”

“Didn’t you once say not to answer a question with another question, Sendai?”

She threw my own past words back at me.

“Fine, then answer me. Try kissing me without ordering it.”

“You mean I should test it myself, and see what answer I get?”

“Exactly.”

I knew.

In moments like this, Miyagi always ran away.

That was why she never kissed me.

“Make dinner.”

As expected, she muttered the words to deflect.

She already knew the answer, and yet she still lacked courage.

That day when I made French toast—I hadn’t fled from the kiss she tried to give me. That alone was the answer: I didn’t hate kissing Miyagi.

“So kissing is fine?”

“I’m hungry.”

“It’s too early for dinner though.”

I tried to catch her as she kept dodging the subject, but she stood up as if to escape me.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s early.”

With that blunt declaration, Miyagi left the room. I had no choice but to follow her to the kitchen. And since she had ordered me to make dinner, I checked the fridge.

“There’s only eggs.”

I called to her as she sat at the counter.

“At least it’s not empty.”

“So seriously, Miyagi—what do you even eat every day?”

“The same sort of things I give you at night.”

“…Thought so.”

The times I had peeked into her fridge, there had hardly been any ingredients. That wasn’t a coincidence. Whenever I ate dinner here, she only gave me things like instant meals or frozen food—stuff that required little effort. And Miyagi was a terrible cook. She had no desire to improve, either.

Her diet clearly wasn’t healthy, but she had never looked sick. Whether she would stay healthy in the future, I didn’t know. But it wasn’t my place to interfere. I figured I could cook for her once in a while, but she rarely asked for it, like today.

Taking into account the fridge’s contents and the fact that I’d once made tamagoyaki, I picked omurice from my not-so-large repertoire.

I heated a frying pan and added oil.

I wished I had ingredients, but nothing could be done. I obediently fried rice with ketchup from the fridge.

I used the dying butter from when we’d made French toast to make an omelet and placed it over the ketchup rice. The omelet was overcooked, though, so even when I cut it with a knife, it didn’t ooze out the way it should have.

But once it was inside our stomachs, it was all the same.

I carried the plates and spoons over after telling Miyagi, who was watching me from the counter, “It’s done.”

It felt a little early for dinner, but I sat beside her. We said “itadakimasu” together, and the clatter of spoons against plates echoed through the room. After a bite, then two, and eating about a third, I glanced at her.

“Miyagi, your house is always empty—when do your parents come home?”

I asked one of the questions I’d been curious about, careful not to pry too far.

“It's still not time.”

Her small voice gave an answer that didn’t quite match.

The fact that she had never mentioned it before meant she didn’t want me asking. So I only replied, “I see,” and dropped the subject.

If she didn’t want to answer, I wouldn’t push further.

It was only that on nights when Miyagi feared being alone, when she thought something might be there with her, I wanted to know when that ended. Just a little.

I scooped up another bite of my failed omurice.

I hadn’t expected my small curiosity to be satisfied anyway.

I watched her quietly eat her omurice before putting another spoonful into my own mouth.

✧✧✧✧✧✧

This year, summer vacation felt shorter than last. Almost by half a week. I figured it was because I spent three days a week at Miyagi’s room.

I never would have imagined, a year ago, that I’d spend more time with her than with Umina and the others. That I’d break our first-day promise—not to meet on days off—just to keep coming here.

I closed my textbook and spoke the words that had somehow become a signal.

“Want to take a break?”

“Yeah.”

Miyagi gave a short reply and stood up.

Almost two weeks had passed since the day I made omurice, and we kept doing things that weren’t what friends did, like a bicycle with broken brakes.

“Here.”

Miyagi closed the curtains and handed me a five-thousand-yen bill.

It wasn’t something I particularly wanted to accept, but since it had somehow become part of the rules, I said “thank you” and took it.

We couldn’t become friends.

Going to see a movie together, being forced to admit that fact—that had been a mistake. Because of it, we had turned into something vague and undefined, something that wasn’t friendship. That ambiguity had become an excuse for us to touch each other.

Even if the things we did in this room increased, the rule about studying during summer break hadn’t gone away. The excuse of “tutoring” was still necessary to overwrite our agreement not to meet on holidays, so we kept on studying.

We didn’t do things like this every time.

On days without breaks, nothing happened.

On days with breaks, something did.

It wasn’t a rule we had set, but somehow it had turned out that way, with one of us giving a signal each time.

I tucked the five-thousand-yen bill I had received into my wallet and sat down on the bed. Miyagi’s usual spot was right next to me, and today, as always, she sat there without hesitation.

Even if you called what we did “not something friends do,” it wasn’t anything major. Just a light kiss, and a touch here and there, as if handling a skeleton model—that was all. And always from Miyagi. Since she had said I couldn’t, I wasn’t allowed to start anything myself.

Truly, it wasn’t anything major.

Though I had stopped coming to this room in shorts.

“Sendai-san, look this way.”

She gave my arm a gentle tug, and when I turned toward her, she added, “Close your eyes.” I had no reason to resist, so I obediently did as she said.

A few seconds after the world went dark, something soft brushed my lips and pulled away.

The wait for the kiss lasted longer than the kiss itself.

When I opened my eyes, I heard her voice, annoyed: “I didn’t say you could open them yet.” Then she kissed me again.

Our lips meeting had become something normal, but I still didn’t understand why Miyagi wanted to kiss me so much.

“Keep your eyes closed for a while,” she said.

Like a dog or a cat playing, she kept pressing her lips against mine.

The more pleasant the warmth from her lips felt, the more it made me feel as though we were doing something wrong. I wasn’t aiming for some pure, proper relationship, but thinking about the five-thousand-yen bill in my wallet left me with a heavy, clouded feeling.

Even so, her lips felt good against mine, and I grabbed her arm. When she pulled back and I opened my eyes, I tugged her arm to bring her closer, chasing after her mouth. But she turned her face away. So instead I pressed my lips against her cheek, only for her to kick me.

“I’ve told you again and again not to do unnecessary things. And I haven’t said you can open your eyes yet.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

Miyagi glared at me, her voice sharp.

The right to give orders belonged to her, not to me.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” I said lightly, letting go of her arm.

Since I didn’t feel good about accepting the money, I couldn’t always obey Miyagi’s commands so easily. More than once, I had gone against them and ended up being glared at like this.

“That’s not okay.”

Her voice denied me, though it wasn’t all that harsh.

Probably, even this counted as part of our “break.”

Just an extension of killing time. I thought the days we didn’t take breaks were because Miyagi felt guilty too. This was only something for summer vacation. It would end next week.

Summer vacation, and this too.

Once the new term began, days would return to what they had been in the first semester.

It was only because we had too much free time now that things had gone so strange. We didn’t know how to fill the long hours meant for studying with someone who wasn’t a friend.

“Sendai-san, you don’t feel sorry at all, do you?”

Miyagi muttered, looking at me.

“I do.”

“Liar. Wait here a second.”

She stood, opened the closet, rummaged inside, and pulled something out before turning back to me.

“I’m coming over there, so turn your back.”

She was holding a necktie, and I immediately knew what was about to happen. That familiar uniform tie was not going to be used the proper way.

“Planning to go to school right now?” I asked, not turning away.

“I wouldn’t go to school without a reason. And it’s not me who’s going to use this—it’s you.”

“Can you even order me to do something like that?”

Before summer vacation, the five-thousand yen had been for buying my after-school time so she could give orders. But the bills she handed me after the movie had come with a different meaning. The orders now led to kisses, or touches on the body. I had assumed today would be the same—Miyagi using her right to command to do those kinds of things.

“What do you mean, ‘something like that’?”

“An order to tie me up with a necktie.”

“An order is an order, no matter what it is. If you know what’s going to happen, then hurry up and turn your back.”

Back at my side, she tapped my shoulder.

“You’re not planning to change how you use it, are you?”

“If you don’t like the tie, I’ll bring a rope next time.”

“I’ll pass.”

The contents of her orders weren’t exactly fixed.

I didn’t want to be tied up, but I turned my back to her on the bed and put my hands behind me. I had taken her money; refusing now didn’t feel like an option. Besides, if I kept resisting pointlessly, she really might show up with a rope someday.

Unwelcome as that thought was, Miyagi had a strange decisiveness to her.

Being bound with a rope she had gone out of her way to prepare—no thank you. That would be too much like some suspicious game, and I hated the idea. Worse, Miyagi seemed like the type who would do it without hesitation.

“There’s no need to go this far,” I said as she wrapped the tie around my wrists.

“Because I can’t trust you, Sendai-san.”

Her words were followed by the tightening pull of the tie. But she didn’t say “that’s enough” or “you can turn around now.”

So I turned toward her before being ordered.

“I didn’t say you could face me yet.”

Her voice was flat as she stood and went to the dresser. She came back with a thin towel, standing in front of me.

“Planning to do something else?”

“You should close your eyes.”

Her non-answer was followed by the towel covering my eyes. My eyelids shut reflexively, and she tied it tightly, pressing against them.

“Isn’t this a bit much?”

Taking away my freedom so I couldn’t do anything unnecessary—

I didn’t welcome the thought, but I could understand it.

Still, giving up even my sight to her made me want to resist.

“If I don’t go this far, you won’t reflect on what you’ve done.”

“I am reflecting.”

“Too late.”

She cut me off, tugging the towel tighter over my eyes.

“Hey, that’s too tight.”

When I complained, it loosened slightly. Even so, I couldn’t open my eyes; everything stayed dark.

I had expected to have my wrists tied, but not to be blindfolded too. I wondered if this was still within the rules, but couldn’t decide. All I knew was that I had no choice but to accept it.

“Miyagi, don’t do anything weird.”

I pressed the warning, and her voice came from beside me.

“I’ll only do the usual.”

She sounded certain, but there was nothing to prove her words. Deprived of sight, everything felt uncertain, and even though she should still be right beside me, I couldn’t trust that she was there.

“You can face me now.”

I turned toward her voice.

Of course, I couldn’t see her.

Not being able to see what should be visible made me feel suddenly alone in this room. Uneasy, I tried to reach out, but the tie dug into my wrists and stopped my hands.

“Miyagi.”

No answer.

The darkness swallowed up the summer days that had once been only for studying, swallowed up even the Miyagi who should have been beside me.

I wondered pointlessly if her nights alone were this dark too, when something—probably her hand—pressed lightly against my neck, and I felt her warmth.

Relieved to know she was still beside me, I let out a small breath.

In the darkness where I could see nothing, her warmth slid up along my neck.

With no hidden intent, her hand moved down toward my collarbone, mechanically, almost indifferently.

For a moment, I thought she might do something different this time. But, just as she’d said, she intended to do the same things as always.

Even with my wrists tied, even blindfolded, Miyagi’s actions hadn’t changed. She was probably touching me just as usual.

But for me, it didn’t feel the same.

Because my sight had been taken away.

That, I thought, was the reason.

Miyagi’s hands, which should feel as familiar as ever, writhe as if they’re stealing my body heat. Those hands that once turned my anxiety into reassurance now give me a sensation that is neither comforting nor unsettling, just strange. The creeping warmth tickles, making me want to brush her away, but the tie binding me prevents it.

“You’re such a pervert, Miyagi,” I say.

I let out a long, thin breath, as if trying to release the heat crawling across my skin.

She ties my wrists and blindfolds me. To think that a former classmate would do something like this—Miyagi must be some kind of freak. She’s tied my wrists once before, but this feels even more perverse than that time.

“Be quiet,” she says, her voice devoid of warmth, and her hand pauses on my collarbone.

“If you want me to be quiet, then you talk,” I retort.

“No way,” Miyagi replies curtly.

She’s so stingy. Talking wouldn’t cost her anything, and she could at least move her mouth a little. Her silence makes me restless. But Miyagi doesn’t speak. She slides her hands in silence. I feel her warmth through the fabric. Her hand rests just above my heart, below my collarbone.

Aside from the immoral act of paying five thousand yen to issue a command that leads to a kiss, Miyagi is well-behaved. Her kisses are mere brushes, her touches only light strokes on the surface. Even those are brief, hardly worth the money, and always end quickly. I thought today would be the same.

But Miyagi doesn’t stop. Something like lips brushes against my cheek. The hand on my heart moves, stroking my shoulder. The warmth on my cheek pulls away, and I sense lukewarm air against my neck. Then something soft presses there. Again, and again, and again. With faint sounds, she kisses me, and my attention zeroes in on the sensation. It’s not so much pleasurable as it is ticklish, like dandelion fluff clinging to me. Wherever Miyagi touches grows warm, until it feels like something special is happening—and that unease spreads.

With a towel covering my eyes, forcibly blocking out light, my senses heighten. Every touch feels amplified, several times stronger than usual, and what I could once tolerate now feels unbearable. I want to push Miyagi away, but I can’t. My hands are bound, so I use my voice instead.

“Hey, Miyagi,” I say.

She doesn’t respond, and the warmth on my neck remains.

Fine then. I kick where I think her legs are, and the lips kissing me pull away.

“That hurt,” Miyagi says, exaggerating despite the light kick.

“How long are you planning to keep this up?” I ask.

“Don’t need to answer that,” she says in her usual curt tone, and the warmth returns to my neck.

From the size and softness, I know it’s her hand. Her fingertips graze under my jaw, moving as if searching for a vein. I want to see her face while she’s doing this. Sometimes, when Miyagi touches me, she wears this subtle expression. It happens less often lately, but I wonder if she has it now. At the same time, I don’t really want to see. Maybe it’s a good thing my vision is blocked, I think—then immediately regret it.

Her lips touch my cheek, her hand brushes my ear, sliding softly. Instead of her face, I become hyper-aware of her lips and hands again. Even though her touches seem devoid of deeper meaning, they feel more ticklish than ever. I strain my wrists against the tie, trying to stop her, but the fabric doesn’t budge. Her hands keep moving, as if testing my rationality. From my neck to my shoulder. They stroke my arm, then crawl along my side. They slide down to my thighs, touching me through the fabric.

It’s somewhere between uncomfortable and ticklish. That’s the sensation Miyagi’s hands have always given me. But at some point, something unacceptable wedges itself between those two, and I snap at her.

“Miyagi, stop.”

This is dangerous. Even if her touch is methodical, I can’t let it continue. But she doesn’t stop.

“Aren’t you done yet? Didn’t I tell you not to do anything weird?” I say.

“It’s not weird. I’m just doing the same thing as always,” she replies.

“You’re doing something weird.”

“I’m not.”

She says it with conviction. What she’s doing is, undeniably, the same as always. It’s just that our definitions of “weird” don’t align. But I’m in no mood to argue semantics, and I can’t voice the real reason I want her to stop.

“Then, let’s say it’s against the rules. Got it?” I say.

Her hands stop.

“I haven’t taken your clothes off. I’m just touching you,” she says.

“Sure, but it’s still against the rules. If you keep going, I’ll get seriously mad.”

Not taking off clothes isn’t the only rule. There’s also no violence, no sex. I follow commands, but it’s not about selling my body. Anything beyond this is a violation.

“You’re already mad,” Miyagi says.

“If you think so, then stop.”

Miyagi must know, as I do, where this could lead. We both understand what lies ahead, which is why we’ve always avoided it. Since summer break started, I’ve been too careless with the rules—undressing Miyagi, kissing her—but the final boundary should remain.

“Then, this is the end,” Miyagi says, grabbing my shoulders.

You’re still touching me. Before I can complain, something soft presses my neck. I realize it’s her lips; she gives a light bite and pulls away. But the tie and towel remain, keeping me trapped.

“If it’s over, untie me,” I say.

“Turn your back to me,” she says.

I follow, and she unties my wrists.

“Do the rest yourself,” she says curtly, and I feel her move away.

I remove the blindfold and grab the barley tea from the table. Sitting on the bed, I throw a complaint at her back as she puts the tie away in the closet.

“You’re such a pervert, Miyagi.”

“Sendai-san, you’re so loud,” she replies.

“It’s your fault for doing weird stuff.”

“I didn’t. You’re the weird one, Sendai-san.”

She says it with dissatisfaction and sits at the table. I toss the towel at her.

“No more of this,” I declare.

“No more what?” she asks.

“Tying me up or blindfolding me.”

“You’re adding rules again.”

“It’s not a rule, it’s a ban.”

“If it’s not a rule, then I can do it, right?”

I can’t tell if she’s serious, but knowing Miyagi, it feels possible—and that dizzy thought makes me panic. No way. If this happens again, I’m done for.

“No, it’s not okay,” I say firmly, finishing the barley tea.

Summer break is almost over. The little time left should pass without incident. That’s the plan. A short break might be fine, though.