the sea could’ve sung her a lullaby

We worry too much about beauty even though we’re all masses of flesh and hair that excrete disgusting fluids and share 99% of our DNA.

Post.

Koharu scrolls until she finds Pekopeko’s comment: I love how raw you’re being lately!

Harusan is also one of the regulars, but Koharu can’t find her tonight. Good. Social media is bad and toxic. She posted that last week, but Kerochan, her other nemesis, reposted it. Kerochan is an idol who seems to think they’re friends for some reason. Koharu follows her back only because her manager forced her to.

After liking comments from regulars, then pet pictures she gets tagged in, Koharu stalks Nagumo. With a name like Nagumo Munetoshi, it’s not particularly hard. He’s not that active, doesn’t have many followers, follows musicians more than anything else, and seems to have two dogs of indeterminate breed. Most pictures seem to be with friends, though the ones taken by him have shockingly good composition, particularly shots of the beach. Koharu has to physically restrain herself from not liking his dogs’ pictures. Once she has scrolled enough, she finds a few videos of him playing guitar with a cigarette in his mouth. Tacky. Why does he play that well and can take pictures and is a nurse? It’s not fair.

It’s 1 AM and she can’t sleep. It’s disturbingly quiet in here. No sirens. No cars whiz by. No one talks. It’s so dark that this room, this center–this village– might as well be a tomb.

Her leg hurts. Her thoughts haunt her like mosquitoes. She would’ve asked Nagumo to open the window had she not been too embarrassed to remember so earlier. The sea could’ve sung her a lullaby, soft and silver, like the moonlight being blocked by the curtains.

Koharu tosses around.

And tosses around.

And tosses around.

It HURTS dammit.

Which reminds her–she didn’t post on her arts and crafts channel today. Her fuchsia suitcase containing the knitting kit isn’t too far away, so if she stretches enough, she can reach it? Maybe?

Koharu reaches out to it, slowly, like a worm, and like a worm, she recoils when a blue light flashes at her.

“...what are you doing?”

“W-what are you doing?”

“You should be sleeping,” Nagumo says. “I mean, uhh. Is there something wrong, Ms. Fujinomiya?”

Koharu huddles back on the bed. One of her suitcases was devoted solely to pillows and her favorite blanket, which she now uses as a protection ward. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? If you’re in pain, please let me know.”

“I don’t feel pain.”

That makes him laugh. Fine, that was dumb. In her defense, it’s one in the morning and she is, as a matter of fact, feeling a lot of it.

To regain some semblance of power, she asks, “What are you doing here, anyway? Walking into a maiden’s room in the middle of the night?”

“Easy now. I’m doing my night rounds.”

“Your what.”

“Night rounds. Checking in on the patients. To see if they’re asleep or doing dangerous activities like stretching out of their bed.”

Koharu sinks into her blanket. Needless to say, she can’t tell him about her plans–that she was about to pull an all-nighter knitting. “Do I have to sleep? Is that a rule here?”

“We turn off the lights at ten for a reason.”

“And you?”

“Me?”

“When do you sleep?” She asks.

He’s silent for what could’ve been a second or a minute. “I do have days off, if that’s what you’re asking. Anything else?”

“Open the windows? Maybe?”

“You’ll catch a cold.”

“I won’t.”

“So you don’t feel pain or catch colds, huh?”

Oh, great, he’s getting sassy again. “Just open the window. I’ll be fine.”

“That sea breeze is no joke.”

“I know. I–I know. I just want to… hear it.”

“Play a video of it.”

Sassy and colder than Siberia. “I want to hear the real thing because that’s why I’m here, because I can play a video of it at home, but it’s not. The same. Thing. Is it so hard to just open the stupid window?”

Nagumo says, after a moment, “If you say please, I’ll open it.”

“Please.”

“No no, ‘open the window, please’.” Not only does he raise his pitch, but he uses Hyojungo.

Koharu will show him. She’ll show him. She’ll roll onto her wheelchair and flatten this insolent country boy into a seaweed. “Never mind. I’m fine now. Leave.”

Where she expects–and, admittedly, looks forward to–more disrespect, he says, “I listen to things when I have trouble sleeping. Documentaries, thunderstorms, death metal. You could try that. Not too loud or you might wake someone up.”

“...death… metal…” All Koharu knows about it is that people rip each other’s arms to play drums. She might be wrong, though. She heard about that once. “Any recs?”

“Huh?” He blinks.

“Recommendations?”

“No, I got that, but…” Nagumo trails off. “...eh, whatever. Sure.”

Koharu tries to sit up, but it feels like traversing hell at superluminal speed. In less than five steps, Nagumo is close enough to push the stool with his foot before sitting next to the bed. It’s only then that Kohaku sees how he’s trying to blink away drowsiness. Like that ever works.

“I’ll just share a playlist with you. One moment.” Once he does, he contemplates the floor with casual… or disdainful… nonchalance. It’s hard to tell. “I really just shared music with Fujinomiya Koharu. Crazy.”

“You say that like it’s a big deal. I don’t even have two million followers yet.”

“Oh, shut up.” He clears his throat. “It’s late. Sorry.”

What he doesn’t know is that Koharu’s protection ward is almighty. She has it wrapped around her like a cocoon. “I don’t mind,” she says.

Nagumo doesn’t look at her. “No?”

“...no. Unless it’s like, fuck fuck fuck fuck. If you understand.”

He smiles. When it doesn’t reach his eyes, it’s genuine. It’s kind of weird, and sad. “I really don’t. Anyway, I’d like to at least try to keep it professional.” His definition of ‘professional’ is appalling. “How about you? Any recs? Something to keep me awake, hopefully...”

Koharu scrolls and scrolls and scrolls. “My music is weird.”

“Uh-huh. Everyone says that.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Yours is weirder than others? Really now?”

Koharu digs her finger against the screen. “Just don’t make fun of it.”

“I won’t.”

She sends him her fourth-favorite playlist to cushion the damage in case he breaks his oath. Nagumo assesses it for some time. His evaluation results are as follows: “Classy.”

“Maybe…”

“Let me guess: you learned piano as a kid?”

“M-maybe…”

“So did I. For three days. Anyway, I’ll–”

“Who’d even give piano lessons here?”

Nagumo closes his eyes in a way that implies great patience. “Ms. Fujinomiya, can you please stop that interrupting thing? But no, I got them in Fukuoka. I wasn’t born here. What I was about to say is–”

“Ohh, that explains…” She trails off because he's staring at the floor in a way that implies great patience eroding into rage. “So you’re a city boy.”

“I mean… sure. I guess.” There’s a moment of silence because he’s waiting for her to speak again. She knows. But she won’t interrupt him this time. “Done?” Koharu nods, so he continues: “I guess it’s harder to tell if you’re not a local. Anyway, I’ll listen to it later. I’ll be off in a few hours. More importantly, Ms. Fujinomiya. Are you absolutely, completely sure that nothing hurts?”

“...yeah.” No.

Nagumo stares at her, and she stares at him, and he says, “Fine,” before standing up. He walks, very slowly, towards the door. Veeery slowly.

“Aren’t you going to open the window?”

He places his hand next to his ear. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Koharu rolls her eyes. “Open the window, please. Fuck?”

“My apologies, but swearing goes against our policies. Please think about what you’ve–”

“What.”

“–done and we’ll talk again in the morning.”

“What–what?” What? “W-what? WHAT?”

“Kidding.”

He opens the window, then gives her pain meds despite Koharu not asking for them. So… she wins.

As the sea sings her a lullaby, the breeze caresses her hair. Death metal blasts on her headphones. She’s surrounded by her lucky blanket #1, painless and warm. It’s not a bad combination. At all.