A Post-Modern Literature Club (cont.) III

There, I briefly glimpsed Yukimura in a crumpled blouse—squatting next to my bathtub on the opposite side that I’d entered from. The rest of her outfit appeared haphazardly heaped on top of each other on top of a closed toilet bowl.

I didn’t bother to take a complete inventory of what she was and wasn’t wearing, since I was focused on trying to listen for Watanabe’s footsteps. Once I’d heard him opening our apartment door—probably to get to a toilet somewhere else—I finally managed to relax and get a good look at my tutor.

As expected, her expression was a bitter scowl.

“I wonder if you actually see me as a woman,” she said.

She was clearly angry with my not letting her see Watanabe and whatnot.

Unfortunately, there was no time to be playing games with Yukimura, since I didn’t know how long my roommate’s excursion would take.

So I… wait.

“Could you repeat that?”

“No. Because it’s nothing of importance to a virgin. By that I mean you.”

Then like a message written in sand, her scowl washed away—leaving only a nondescript expression.

“Um, sorry for shoving you.”

“Don’t care about that.”

“O-okay. So get your clothes on, then.”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“Is this going to be another cheap shot about them being ‘soaked with virginity’?”

“Nothing of the sort, You-kun.”

There was something off with our exchange. It was missing the blatantly aggressive, spicy, downright acidic malice I’d grown used to—even if her responses contained the typical Yukimura vernacular. If anything, she was being rather icy, and uncharacteristically so for someone who was just rambling about BL moments ago.

But I didn’t want to spend too much time contemplating. Since I had to expedite the process of extracting her from the bathroom—and therefore I grabbed blouse-girl by the wrist.

“Let’s just focus on getting to my room for now. Don’t worry about the stuff in here, I’ll gather it up.”

“And do what?”

“Study? Get changed? Mostly hide before Watanabe comes back, actually.”

“I see you’re focused on keeping my existence a secret from him.”

“I wouldn’t if you had proper clothes on.”

“Really now?”

“…I’m just keeping your modesty in mind.”

“……”

Yukimura didn’t insult me, glare at me, give a sigh, or even so much as manage a sound. She simply let her arm go limp, which had been tensed up since after I’d grabbed her.

Fine, as if to say.

It felt very unlike her.

“Okay then. On your feet, Senpai.”

I tried gently pulling her to a standing position, but my effort was met with resistance.

“…Yukimura-senpai?”

“You don’t get anything at all.”

“Come on, now isn’t the time to be cryptic.”

“Even as you’re grabbing my wrist—are you thinking about how soft it feels? How I feel?”

“What?”

“You can’t even bear to look at me. Forget it,” she said, as if I actually could.

Placing a hand on the bathtub, she stood up quickly—with the urgency of someone clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Then tapping my hand, she spoke devoid of her usual authoritativeness.

“Unhand me, if you'd be so kind.”

Her syntax was completely out-of-character.

It shocked me so much that I didn’t know what to do except obey.

“…Okay, sure.”

“Thank you.”

After glancing at her wrist for a second or two—with a wistful look that felt terribly guilt-inducing—Yukimura stepped towards the door and pushed it open.

“Your phone is somewhere in my pile of clothes. See you in your room… Kouhai-kun.”

Then she turned left, the direction opposite of the kitchen, and—

“Yukimura!”

“……”

“What you’re thinking is nowhere near the truth.”

“…So prove me wrong.”

—then she just disappeared from my sight.

I doubt I’ll ever understand this person, I thought, in the dramatic present. But I wanted to.

So I hastily gathered everything from her clothes to my mobile phone and chased after her into the corridor.

I didn’t see her as a woman?

Far from it.

I’d just chosen her over another.

She was the most beautiful girl I knew.

She is the most beautiful girl I’ve known.

Not just her appearance; she was the most—

“Yo, Mizuhara-kun,” said Watanabe Yousuke.

Without warning, like a phantom.

You could trace a line from his eyes directly to the ball of clothes I held—and plastered on his face was a wry smile. Like a predator toying with its food, or more aptly, a guy with potential blackmail material on his roommate. For whatever reason, it greatly reminded me of a middle school girl trying to annoy her crush.

“I-It’s not what it looks like!”

“Radical psychotherapy, huh? That was pretty creative, to be honest.”

“Weren’t you going to someone else’s room to piss?!”

“Oh, nothing like that. Is that what the door opening made you think?”

“…To my optimistic brain, yes.”

“Kudos to you in that case. While I can't say I'm as positive as you, Mizuhara-kun, I think I'm rather observant and also a good actor. Or do you prefer Kohei-kun?”

“I’d prefer Mizuhara-san, please.”

He started applauding—for my politeness, maybe.

“Very businesslike. Well, I don’t care, since you’re not in a position to negotiate. Hahaha!”

"......"

Oh, so it was for my naivety.

Sadly, he was right. He had my balls in his hands, so to speak. But there was something off about my jersey-wearing roommate’s demeanour, since it didn’t feel like he was picking a fight. If anything, what emanated from my roommate was just amusement—and a tinge of sympathy.

“So,” Watanabe said. “The walls in this apartment are pretty thin, and I don’t suffer from hearing loss… if you catch my drift.”

I clutched harder onto Yukimura’s panties, wet from being kicked across the floor.

“Oh God, please, don’t, elaborate, any further,” I replied, adding commas and an unnecessary dialogue tag.

“I’m glad you can connect the dots, smart guy. I really mean that. Class F status notwithstanding.”

“……”

I was dumb to assume I could lie to him so easily.

He was in 1-B, after all—part of the ‘upper half’. And Kitazawa High did not give a rat’s ass about your athletic achievements when assigning a class, so he was just one alphabet short of being a certified genius. Though this fact was starting to make me feel like all of the intelligent people in my school had dysfunctional personalities.

Rubbing his hands together with a sheepish grin, as if to apologise for bringing up the gap in our academic capabilities, Watanabe continued.

“So, Tsujimoto from 1-A was at the door earlier. Your girlfriend?”

If this were a 4-panel manga, this would be the part where my head exploded.

“A-absolutely not!”

“Oh, then your side piece. Makes sense, you aren’t half-bad looking, my dear roommate. Anyhow, she was here—looking all worked up and the like. I don’t know what you did, but since we're roommates, I did you a solid and convinced her you weren’t in. You don’t want Girl B and Girl A meeting, yes? I certainly wouldn’t. Dear roommate.”

This man was far too perceptive for his own good—though his deductions had an odd cynical edge to them. Like they came from his personal experience in carrying out an affair… not that I was cheating on anyone. I didn’t really know how to respond.

In the end I chose a simple “thank you.”

Because correcting him about the specifics would’ve been a hassle, and talking to someone while holding wet clothes belonging to the opposite sex is just plain awkward. Not to mention the fact Yukimura was waiting.

In response, he flashed me a smile that most people lose the ability to make when they get older. Radiant, devoid of any ill intent, born of authenticity.

“No worries, Kohei—let’s have a good three years. As roommates.”

No honorific.

After waving me off, rather than heading in my direction to use the toilet, Watanabe started moonwalking towards the kitchen.

Guess he lied about needing to relieve himself.

Boys and girls with dyed brown hair aside, there was something else I needed to tend to.

Her.

So pushing on the door to my bedroom, I was immediately greeted by an angel, bathing in the slanting rays of the setting sun.

Fully clothed.