Volume 3 Episode 08

 I hugged Miyagi.

It was just two weeks ago—not that long—but the vivid memory is already fading. The feeling of her in my arms is becoming uncertain, almost impossible to recall.

That day, Miyagi stayed quietly in my embrace, but I feel like it won’t happen again. Thinking that, I realize I should have etched the sensation of her more firmly into my memory.

If only I could store that memory alongside her cut-off shirts and blouses in the chest. Thinking like this, I must be pretty messed up. It’s depressing.

It’s not quite midnight, and I’m solving practice questions in my room. I roll my pen across the desk. It tumbles past my notebook and stops against a textbook.

With final exams approaching, I’m spending more time at my desk. It feels like all I do is study—and since that’s true, it’s not just a feeling.

Add the university entrance exams to that, and it’s understandably draining.

I don’t hate studying, but I want the ordeal of exams to end soon. Yet once it’s over, graduation—and my promise with Miyagi—will come. Right now, I don’t want to stop seeing her.

I touch the pendant she’s been touching less often.

It’s usually checked or touched by her—either by her order to unbutton my third button or by her doing it herself—but the frequency has dropped. As she touches it less, I’m made to cook more.

I don’t exactly want her to touch the pendant, but not having her touch it feels unsettling.

This thing, like a cursed item I can’t take off, keeps binding me. It makes me think about pointless things.

I lightly slap both cheeks to clear the stagnant air.

Standing, I slightly open the curtain. 

Rain pelts the window, driven by the wind.

The rain I heard before studying has grown louder, mixed with gusts of wind. In the quiet room, it’s almost scary, and I wish it would turn colder, become snow.

I sit back down and pick up my phone.

What’s Miyagi doing right now?

Since the first time I went to her house, I’ve never seen anyone else there. I don’t know what her parents do or why they’re never around. And I don’t know if Miyagi, who’s easily scared, feels afraid on nights like this.

I open the messaging app and bring up her name.

After a moment’s hesitation, I call her.

The ringtone sounds twice… three times.

On the sixth ring, I’m about to hang up when her voice comes through.

“…Sendai-san?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What’s up at this hour?”

I’m stumped by her question.

To be honest, I called for no reason.

But telling her that might make her mad.

“The weather’s bad. I thought you, being a scaredy-cat, might be trembling.”

I say it lightly, tying it to the reason for the call.

“I’m not that scared. I only dislike ghosts… I mean, horror movies and TV stuff. Rain and wind don’t bother me.”

She’s scared of ghosts, but a bit of wind and rain doesn’t seem to faze her, and she doesn’t sound frightened over the phone.

“Oh, what about thunder? You okay with that?”

Searching for a topic, I ask about thunder that might come.

“I don’t like it, but it’s not scary.”

“Not liking it but not scared?”

“…Is that bad?”

“Not bad.”

As I say that, the conversation stalls.

When this happens, I don’t know what to talk about with her.

I just wanted to hear her voice.

I was just a little worried.

I’m not going to say that, and I don’t even think it.

Probably—definitely—I don’t think it.

But I don’t want to end the call I made.

“Are you alone at home now?”

I fill the silence before impatient Miyagi cuts me off. But no sound comes from the phone.

Not a great question.

Miyagi rarely talks about herself. Even when asked, she dodges.

“…Yeah,” her small voice comes just as I start regretting the question.

“Are you always alone at night?”

“My parents are hardly ever home.”

I suspected as much, but it’s the first time I’ve heard her talk about her family.

I don’t know why she answered, but it’s rare.

“Both working?”

“What’s with you? Don’t you have something to talk about?”

It seems like a question she didn’t want, her voice lowering. Sensing she wants to change the subject, I admit honestly, “Not really.”

The conversation stops, leaving only the sound of rain and wind from outside. I have other questions, but asking about university makes her visibly annoyed. If I mentioned it now, she’d probably hang up.

It feels unbalanced.

I’m too focused on her, and it’s not reciprocal.

But complaining won’t make her talk about anything she doesn’t want to, and the silence drags on. If it continues, she’ll likely hang up, even without university talk.

I don’t want to be hung up on, so I say, “Guess we should hang up.”

Good night, I start to add, but she cuts me off.

“Sendai-san, talk a bit more. It’s not that I’m scared, but it’s noisy outside.”

She adds, “Never mind, forget that,” but I quickly counter, “No take-backs. I’ll talk more.”

“What about?”

“You don’t have to answer, but is there a reason you don’t want to be called by your first name?”

It’s something I’ve been curious about, safe enough to ask.

“Only friends call me Shiori.”

As I thought. We’re not friends. The expected answer isn’t satisfying.

“So, if we were friends, I could call you that?”

I toss another question at the unsatisfying answer, but she doesn’t reply. Instead, she says, “Hazuki,” my name, rarely used by her. My heart thumps, but her words pause oddly, followed by a question.

“—Who calls you that? Just friends?”

“Friends, yeah. And parents. You can call me that too.”

“I’m neither.”

“Knew you’d say that.”

Like greeting someone in the morning, what she says in these moments is predictable, like a fast-food menu item. Denying friendship is a constant for her. I’m not hung up on being friends, so her denial doesn’t bother me, but it’s not exactly refreshing.

“Sendai-san, are you wearing the necklace?”

“Yeah.”

“Touch it now.”

“Myself?”

She’s touched it one-sidedly before, but never told me to touch it. I ask reflexively.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

It felt so natural that I complied, like it was obvious—but this isn’t the time for orders. It’s not worth refusing, so I decide to go along. I place my hand over my hoodie, where the pendant rests, stroke it lightly, and say, “Touched it.”

“Directly, not over your clothes,” she says immediately.

“Did you put a surveillance camera in my room or something?”

“No way. You’re not touching it properly. Touch it directly.”

“I will, but…”

I slip my hand under the hem of my loose hoodie, touching the pendant’s chain directly. Maybe because the room is warm, neither my hand nor the chain feels cold. I slide my fingers slowly, as Miyagi does.

Ignoring the slight resistance under my fingertips, I stroke the chain along my skin toward the top of the pendant. It’s not ticklish, but it doesn’t feel like I’m the one touching it.

Feeling unsettled, I exhale softly.

“Are you touching it properly?” Miyagi’s voice comes through.

“I’m touching it,” I reply.

Her voice makes me feel a little strange.

It’s my own fingers, but it feels like she’s touching me.

It’s a little hard to breathe. My fingertips overly sense the chain’s tiny ridges.

“Really?” Her voice brushes my ear, vibrating my eardrum.

It feels like I can hear her breathing, and I cut everything off with my own voice.

“Want me to send a video?”

“No need, and you can stop touching it.”

As I stop stroking the chain, Miyagi keeps talking to prevent me from speaking.

“I’m hanging up, Sendai-san.”

“Okay. Good night.”

As I say it, she replies with a “good night” so soft it’s almost drowned out by the rain and wind.

✧✧✧✧✧

I had a dream I hadn’t seen in a while.

It doesn’t feel good.

I know why I had it.

It’s because I fell asleep after hearing Miyagi’s voice yesterday.

The dream stems from the last day of summer break, the same one I’ve had a few times since the second term started.

To be specific, it’s a replay of what happened that day. Sometimes there’s a “continuation” that didn’t happen in reality, but not today. Either way, it’s not a pleasant dream to wake from—one I’d rather not have.

Obviously.

Kissing a former classmate, lifting her T-shirt, touching her skin directly. Her touching me back, over my underwear, but still touching my chest—

No way I can go to school cheerfully after that dream.

I sigh.

Like when I hugged her, the sensation of Miyagi is fading, and I didn’t expect to have this dream again as that feeling slips away.

It’s like I want to redo that day and continue, which is depressing. Even if I wanted that, Miyagi would never allow it, and even if my rationality is more fragile than glass, I probably couldn’t do it again. —I think I couldn’t. So all I can do is feel depressed.

I pick up my phone, my alarm, and check the time. It’s late enough that I’ll be tardy if I don’t get ready, but I don’t feel like moving.

I don’t want to go to school.

I consider skipping and going somewhere, but change my mind. A call from school to my house would be a hassle.

I turn on the air conditioner and crawl out of bed.

“Cold.”

I ruffle my restless hair and start getting ready for school—brush my teeth, put on my uniform.

I get ready, skip breakfast, and leave.

I’d rather not see Miyagi at school. But on days like this, I’m likely to run into her, and my steps feel heavy. Still, walking brings me closer to school, and I pass through the gate.

I thought I might pass Miyagi on the way to class, but it doesn’t happen. I reach my seat without incident. On days like this, I’m genuinely glad we’re in different classes.

As usual, I go to Umina’s desk, talking about clothes in magazines she wants or a hot actor in a disappointing drama—conversations that feel substantial but aren’t.

I’m not into drama talk, but clothes and accessories are kind of fun. Umina and I don’t share fashion tastes, but I don’t mind exchanging info about new shops.

Today, though, I’m not in the mood.

I go through two classes without my mood lifting and pull out my gym clothes.

I’m not sensitive to cold, but winter PE is a class I’d rather skip.

Just moving to the changing room is chilly, and the gym or field is worse. Still, I can’t skip, so I leave the classroom with Umina and the others, who look even less enthusiastic. We walk the frigid hallway to the changing room, put our bags in lockers, and take off our blazers.

Next to me, Umina lists complaints about PE. I nod vaguely while unbuttoning my blouse.

“Hazuki, did someone give you that?” she asks as I’m halfway through taking off my blouse.

I know immediately what she means. The only thing she’d say I “got” is the pendant.

“What’s that?” I pretend not to know.

I didn’t intend to strictly follow Miyagi’s order to “never show it to anyone else.” But getting caught would be trouble, so I avoided Umina’s eyes. I’m not sleep-deprived or tired, but the dream distracted me.

Glancing at her, Umina’s face looks like a kid who found a fun toy.

Definitely trouble.

“This.” She reaches for the pendant.

I instinctively want to swat her hand but hold back. Swatting would seem weird. It’d make things worse.

“Bet you got it from your boyfriend.”

Her fingertips touch the chain.

Anyone’s hand should feel similar, with the same warmth and texture as when I touched the chain yesterday. But it feels shockingly wrong. I’ve never thought anything of her hands before, but I don’t want her touching it.

“I told you, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

I say lightly, playfully tapping her hand. She lets out an exaggerated “No way!” and pulls back. I quickly finish taking off my blouse and put on my gym clothes.

“You never wore stuff like that at school before, Hazuki. It’s gotta be from a boyfriend.”

“If I had one, maybe. But you can’t get gifts from a nonexistent boyfriend.”

“Then who’s it from?”

“Not a gift. Mariko, back me up.”

I turn to Mariko, changing next to Umina, for help. She grins.

“Nah, you got it. Wearing something new like that? Totally a gift.”

Mariko’s not helping at all, and Umina jumps in eagerly.

“Right? It’s not even Hazuki’s style.”

“Yeah, you don’t like long chains, do you?”

Asking Mariko was a mistake. The situation’s turned against me, and it’s hard to recover. Their words are mostly true, and excuses will only dig me deeper.

I don’t wear accessories at school, and I prefer short chains. This pendant isn’t something I’d wear if Miyagi hadn’t given it to me.

“Tell us. Who’s the guy? From our school?”

Umina tugs at my gym clothes.

“Ugh, it’s for luck.”

Unable to come up with a convincing excuse, I make up a vague reason.

“Luck?” Mariko eyes me suspiciously.

“Yeah, like for exams. To pass. A short chain would stand out at school, so I went with a longer one.”

“Who gave it to you?” Umina asks with an unnaturally big smile.

“It’s true.”

“Your excuse is too sloppy today,” Mariko says, and Hamina adds, “Just tell us, it’ll feel better.”

“Forget that, we’ll be late if we don’t go.”

Annoyed, I leave the changing room without denying their “excuse” label. From behind, I hear, “She’s escaping.”

Umina’s cheerful voice rings out, calling me out for “escaping.”

I don’t dislike them, but I’m not a fan of how they tie everything to boyfriends. I touch the pendant over my gym clothes. Why did Miyagi choose this pendant?

Was it just the right length to stay hidden if I buttoned one more button after undoing two in her room, or did she think it suited me a little? I’m curious.

“The gym’s freezing. Should’ve skipped,” Umina says, loud enough to get scolded by the teacher. I let go of the pendant. Our relationship is starting to fray.

Traces are showing up at school, and we’re doing things we didn’t last year. Still, I don’t think anyone will find out about us before graduation. But I don’t know what’ll happen to us by then.

I don’t want to see Miyagi today.

Meeting her after that dream feels like I’ve done something wrong, and Umina and the others have soured my mood. But Miyagi always contacts me on days like this. So, I wasn’t surprised to see her usual message on my phone after PE.

✧✧✧✧✧

Miyagi’s room feels a bit warm even with the air conditioner on, after I take off my blazer. Still, it’s better than shivering in PE. I unbutton the second button of my blouse.

Her gaze clings to my fingertips.

I expect her to tell me to undo another, but she says nothing. She brings barley tea and soda, places them in a gap on the table cluttered with textbooks and workbooks, and sits beside me.

No orders.

She quietly looks down at her workbook.

She doesn’t check the pendant, which is a relief.

I don’t want her to touch me today.

The dream and its sensations might connect, and I don’t want that. But I’m the only one thinking this. It’s my problem, not hers. I push the dream out of my head and turn a page in my textbook.

It’s nothing, just like her acting like nothing happened. I sip the barley tea and pick up my pen. Glancing at her instead of the textbook, she speaks softly.

“Sendai-san, what if…”

She starts, but stops. And no matter how long I wait, she doesn’t continue. The conversation dies before it hatches, unbearably awkward. So, I prompt, “What if?”

She opens her heavy mouth.

“What if, like…”

“Yeah?”

“…If I applied to the same university as you, passed, and we went there together, what would you do?”

She says it in a disinterested tone.

She doesn’t look up from her textbook, her hair covering her face, hiding her expression. Her notebook shows aimless lines, betraying her restlessness.

“Don’t you remember what I said before? I said eating together would be fun, right?”

Going to the same university.

It’s true I think that, but I haven’t clearly thought about what I’d do with her. Eating together is something we already do, and I don’t have a clear vision beyond that.

It’s pointless to imagine her suddenly becoming open and walking around town or hanging out together as college students. Even if I think of something, it’s unlikely to happen. All she’d probably do is push me away.

“What if it’s a nearby university?”

I don’t know the odds, but she might apply to one nearby. Her tone stays flat as she looks up.

“Well, eating together, I guess?”

“That’s the same. Is that all?”

“That’s about all we’d do. I could do other things, but you’d probably say we’re not friends, so you wouldn’t.”

I can predict what she’d say. And I know if I preempt her lines, she’ll stop talking—which she does. As expected, she says nothing. I take her hand on the table. It’s not a tight grip, but her hand twitches slightly. Still, she doesn’t get mad.

The awkwardness from this morning’s dream stirs guilt, but I don’t want to let go.

I’m not sure if the dream made me want to touch her or if it’s simply because it’s her. I stroke her fingertips, slipping my fingers between hers. Soft, slightly damp, it feels good.

Touching her makes me want to touch more than just her hand. I wonder if she’s had the same dream.

I grip her hand tighter.

She doesn’t grip back.

Instead, her hand tries to slip away.

“Sendai-san, I can’t study.”

I didn’t want her to touch me.

I thought that, but now I can’t believe I did. Maybe it’s okay if I’m the one touching, or maybe not. I don’t know, but I want to keep touching her and hold onto her escaping hand.

“It’s fine. I can’t study either.”

“It’s not fine. …Is this fun?”

She looks annoyed.

“Kinda.”

“I don’t think holding my hand is fun.”

I get what she means.

I don’t know why holding her hand is fun either. But I want to touch her, so there’s no helping it.

“Whether it’s fun is my call. Holding someone else’s hand here would be creepy, right? You wouldn’t sleep at night.”

“Don’t say weird stuff.”

She furrows her brow, pulls her hand free, and grabs the tissue box on the floor with an openly displeased look.

“Hold this instead.”

I’m handed the alligator-covered box, forced to shake hands with an alligator I don’t care to hold.

Its short, unsatisfying “hand” is much softer than Miyagi’s. It’s not cold, but without body heat, it’s not fun to touch.

The alligator, here longer than me, is spotless despite rough handling, probably well-liked.

I’d rather be treated this well than brushed off.

“Having fun?” Miyagi says curtly, watching me with the alligator.

“Not really.”

I stroke its nose and press my lips to it.

Unlike Miyagi’s lips, kissing the lifeless alligator isn’t fun. I wish it were her. The dream dragging me down.

“Don’t do that.”

She snatches the alligator by its tail, taking back what she gave me.

“It’s just a kiss to an alligator.”

“It’s not okay.”

“You’re cold, Miyagi. You don’t even come when I call.”

I tap the alligator’s head in her arms and sip my barley tea. About a week ago, after the music prep room incident, I called her to school again. She didn’t show.

She didn’t tell me why, but I can guess.

The trade-off condition was probably a mistake.

Cautious Miyagi must’ve thought I’d do more than touch and skipped the meetup.

“We talked about this. I said I wouldn’t come even if you called.”

She sounds annoyed.

It’s not the first time we’ve had this talk, so I get her exasperated look.

“Yeah, but if you’re not coming, tell me sooner.”

That day, she messaged me within ten minutes, so it wasn’t late enough to complain about, and I figured she wouldn’t come. Still, I can’t complain enough.

“I messaged you early. And I don’t want trade-off conditions.”

Miyagi gives the exact response I expected.

“What I did to you wasn’t a big deal, I think.”

“It might be next time.”

“It won’t.”

I won’t claim I have no ulterior motives, but I’d never do anything she genuinely hates.

Still, I know she doesn’t trust me enough to believe that. And right now, I want to touch her more, even if it costs me that trust. But losing more trust might mean I can’t even touch her hand, so I stroke the alligator’s head in her arms instead.

“…So, what did you plan to do when you called me out?” she mumbles.

“I hadn’t decided. Maybe… get you to call me by my name.”

I voice a small hope, fully aware of her likely response.

“Your name?”

“Yeah, Hazuki.”

If things go smoothly, I’ll get into a university—not the one my parents wanted, but the “college student” status I’ve been aiming for. I’ll live away from my family.

But that’s it.

It’s arrogant, I know, but I want to change Miyagi just a little, even if she won’t say she’ll go to the same or a nearby university.

—Like having her call me Hazuki.

A small change might lead to a bigger one.

“I won’t,” she says.

“Just once.”

I expected the instant refusal, and I know adding “just once” is futile. Still, it’s okay to say it, so I look at her without much expectation.

Our eyes meet, and she quickly looks away. She lowers her head. Then, she mumbles, “I’m not calling you Hazuki.”

Well, sort of. It’s a gray area, but maybe I can count it as her saying my name. My mood, which was near rock-bottom this morning, softens quite a bit. I take the alligator from her and hold her hand. This time, she gently grips back.