Chapter 13 - Pink Pajamas

There are exactly three moments in life where you realize you've crossed a line you can never come back from:

When you accidentally punch a teacher.

When you look into someone's eyes and see the rest of your life flash by like a dumb high school romcom.

When a five-year-old makes you wear pink cat pajamas.

Tonight, it was number three.

I stared at myself in the mirror of Asuka Minazuki's bathroom, a towel draped around my neck, and a full-body cat pajama suit clinging to my soul.

"Yume picked those," Asuka said, trying not to laugh as she peeked through the door. "She said you needed something 'snuggly and less angry-eyebrow.'"

"I look like a defective mascot," I muttered.

"You look adorable."

She shut the door before I could glare properly.

The worst part? They were actually... soft. Cozy, even. Dangerous. This is how it starts. This is how guys lose their edge. First the pajamas, then the matching mugs, and next thing you know, you're watching drama reruns with your knees pulled up to your chest and a cat named Mochi.

I stepped out of the bathroom and instantly regretted my life.

Yume was already rolling around on the futon in a dinosaur onesie, swinging a plush sword at invisible enemies.

"Punch-kun is ready for battle!" she yelled, pointing at me.

Asuka, wearing a pale blue nightgown with a fluffy cardigan, raised an eyebrow. "You do look kinda like a warrior. Of... fluff."

"I refuse to dignify this with a response," I said, sinking to the floor.

"You just did," she grinned.

She sat down next to me with a bowl of popcorn, her thigh brushing mine slightly. I didn't flinch. But I noticed. Of course I noticed.

The movie was some magical girl anime with sparkles and shouting and way too many transformation scenes. Yume was out cold by the fifteen-minute mark, curled up against my side, drooling on my cat paw sleeve.

Which left me. And Asuka. In the same futon. Under the same blanket. In low lighting.

She leaned back, stretching. Her cardigan slipped slightly, revealing a sliver of her collarbone and the strap of her nightgown. I looked away instantly. Which of course meant my brain etched the image into my neurons forever.

"Reiji-kun," she said softly, eyes still on the screen, "thank you. For coming."

"Wasn't like I had big plans tonight," I said. "Just me and my tragic inner monologue."

She chuckled.

Then silence.

Not uncomfortable. Just... full.

Her head tilted slightly, resting against my shoulder. I froze.

"You're warm," she murmured.

"You're sick. Probably delusional."

"Mmm. Maybe. But this is nice."

I should've moved. Said something sarcastic. Pushed her off gently and kept the distance safe.

But I didn't.

Because I didn't want to.

We lay there, side by side. Yume murmured something in her sleep about "kissing her future boyfriend." I nearly choked.

Asuka's breathing slowed. She was still awake. I could feel it.

Then...

She turned. Slowly. Her hand brushed against mine under the blanket.

I didn't move.

She didn't either.

Her fingers hovered.

I heard her whisper, almost to herself: "I can't... not yet."

My chest tightened.

She pulled her hand back.

I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep.

But I wasn't.

Every nerve in my body was awake, screaming.

It was past midnight when she stood. Quiet, careful. She picked up Yume and carried her to the bedroom. I watched her from under the blanket, the curve of her back, the way her hair framed her sleepy face.

She came back and knelt beside me.

"Reiji."

I opened my eyes.

She hesitated.

"You can sleep here tonight. The couch is too small. It's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I trust you."

Those three words were worse than any confession.

Because I didn't trust myself.

I nodded.

She got up, lingered by the hallway. Then she looked back at me.

"Goodnight, Punch-kun."

I muttered, "Goodnight, Sensei."

Then she was gone.

I lay there for hours. Staring at the ceiling.

Thinking about her laugh. Her tired eyes. Her hand almost touching mine.

Thinking about how stupid this was. How wrong. How impossible.

And how much I didn't care.

I hated everything.

The rules. The fear. The way the world would never let this be simple.

But I didn't hate her.

God, I didn't hate her at all.

And that was the real problem.