Chapter 2: Florence Nightingale (Part 4)

My eyes shot open as I looked at her, mouth slightly agape, in complete disbelief. I tried to shape it into something like a joke or sarcasm but no, I didn’t misheard. It was real, and as she tilted her head in annoyance.

“Are you really—”

“Do you need a countdown, Shimizu? Three, two—”

“Eh—no, no, no. I can—I just need a minute—”

“One.”

"Wait, what kind of roleplay is this? Are you suddenly wanting to realize my kinks?"

I think I'm astounded at my sudden raw honesty. For me, nothing beats a sharp and beautiful woman that spoils you with her implicit kindness, if that's what she calls it.

"Don’t make me smack you with the ladle, Shimizu. We're too old to beat around the bush."

Femme fatale.

Swallowing once, I let out a quiet laugh as she held up the spoon with theatrical disdain.

It felt ridiculous. This wasn't just a dream. This is Shimizu Itsuki getting spoon fed by the most beautiful girl in the school he's just watching across his mitarashi dango stall.

I thought that she redrew the lines immediately after I stepped on it. Now, she's the one crossing it without hesitations. I have avoided extra interactions with people for a long time, and never would I expect it would be Kousaka-san being next to me today. She wasn't the far-off beauty anymore, and the fact was surprisingly welcome.

And just like that, she scooped a spoonful of rice porridge and brought it to my mouth. Umami flavors reached me, amplified by the hunger I've been enduring for a whole day. There could be dramatic music swelling in the background, or time slowing down. But we both didn't have that.

Because we're not expecting anything from each other.

This is just callous efficiency, from two people who refuse kindness.

But I'm glad that someone stayed and made it for me.

I chewed slowly, eyes fixed on the blanket covering me. My thoughts scrambled like static, and something in my chest tensed and didn’t let go.

"It's good, actually."

"Okayu and miso are two simple meals, and whether I'm an expert or not would make a difference." she replied nonchalantly.

She continued feeding me slowly, and each time she did so, a wave of comfort started washing over me. I felt my throat relax bit by bit; my muscles lightening one after the other; my vision growing less blurred with each bite and my eyelids gradually anticipating a long, deserved sleep again.

"Did you already take your temperature?"

I nodded.

"What did it say?"

"39.6 degrees. But I can feel it gradually easing, don't worry."

She gave me a quick glance, but didn’t comment on it. It was as expected, considering how strangers usually didn't pry on personal things. Though I wasn’t sure if I should be concerned about her not giving any concern.

But that quickly changed.

Without warning, she reached over to the dusty medical cabinet I just threw beside my futon earlier and picked up the thermometer I’d used earlier.

“Give it,” she said.

“Give what?”

“Your temperature, I’ll check it myself.”

"Eh? No need,” I said quickly, suddenly feeling like I wanted to scurry away from her. “I already told you. It’s going down.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You expect me to trust your half-conscious self?”

"I know you're cynical towards other people, but I'm telling the truth."

But logic didn't seem to matter here, and neither did my words. She reached toward me, lifting the thermometer slightly as if preparing to place it under my arm. Instinctively, I pulled back, clutching the blanket closer to my chest like some kind of flimsy shield.

After a few moments of our back and forth, she seemed to realize that I'm not going to surrender myself. Kousaka-san's hand froze mid-air. And in the worst of all timings, her eyes narrowed into thin slits, eyebrows sharpening in an oddly perceptive way, like she just pieced something together without me saying it.

“…You don’t want me to touch you,” she concluded flatly.

".........."

The thermometer clicked lightly as she toyed with it between her fingers.

"Should I take that as a yes?"

That caught me off guard, honestly. I guess she really can read people's minds now.

“No,” I muttered, “but I might die from embarrassment.”

She gave a dry, unimpressed look. “Then what? Are you going to combust if I go anywhere near you? To be clear, I'm not trying to seduce you with a thermometer.”

“I know that!”

“Then stop being weird and lift your arm.”

“I’m not being weird. You’re the one barging into my apartment and taking care of me like we’re—”

I stopped myself, but it was too late when I realized my mistake. Kousaka-san already stopped dead from whatever she was trying to do just earlier, and I was left scrambling for the best possible explanation for the candid slip of the tongue.

“Like we’re what?” she asked quietly.

I stared at her. She stared back. And suddenly the fever didn’t feel like the hottest thing in the room.

“Like uh…”

It felt like she wasn't accepting anything less than a justifiable, logical, rational and ethical reasoning.

Lesson learned: don't make far-fetched statements in the face of an authoritarian.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I muttered. "I'm sorry."

“Then let's settle this back and forth, shall we? Else, I'll be the one wiping you down.”

“No, please don't. I surrender.”

In the end, I let her do what she planned. She just held my wrist steady and slid the thermometer into place under my arm, with nothing out of the ordinary happening in between. Real life is mundane, and somehow, has so many ways of disappointing me.

Looking back, the contact we just had earlier made me expect the worst. The last one that touched her stepped down from her classroom representative position, and the last one that joked on her nursed a neck injury for a month.

The Kousaka Akari right here didn't react, which made it worse.

“…See?” she said quietly. “No one died.”

“Give it a minute,” I muttered under my breath.

Getting touched by the opposite gender, the most beautiful woman in the school even, has sent me spiraling into this state of mess. My heart raced, my face was flushed, and my brain couldn't keep up with what I was feeling.

I was just glad that my fever has affected my features for her not to see the uneasiness beneath.

Even as I watched her carefully take another step away, it still feels like something's wrong. Something is wrong but I can't figure out what.

Am I even okay? Maybe I should've stopped her, really.

I'm such an awful person, for feeling like this.

As Kousaka-san returned and sorted the contents of the medicine cabinet, I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall. A thought occurred to me suddenly and I decided to ponder over it.

For six years, no one had ever taken care of me. I convinced myself that wanting to be cared for was a weakness.

For six years, no one had ever fed me, especially this way. I wasn’t sure which one of us was more foolish.

Her face might’ve screamed disdain, but her eyes said that she wouldn’t leave me starving and freezing to death.

It was something I wished for ever since I was thrown into this apartment and left me with nothing but dented pride and routines—eat, work, study, pretend, sharp enough to cut emotion out of the equation.

I’d forgotten what it was like to be taken care of. And now, in the middle of this worn-down room, with my stomach growling and my body on the verge of burning out, the gesture hit too deep.

"38.3 degrees. Let's just finish this meal so you can take your medicine."

"Medicine?"

"...Of course. I bought some because just in case you didn't."

Nevermind. I was just glad that she had what I gave up in the name of helping others.

Her fingers brushed my chin accidentally as she raised the next spoonful.

Finally, I looked at her. I saw not the student Class 2-1 distanced themselves from, but just the girl who is helping me in this difficult time. I guess no amount of rumors and of her being a violent delinquent could erase this image of her right here. Kousaka-san was kind. She was gentle, patient and understanding. She treated me well in spite of everything, and despite being a stranger to me in every sense of the word. For me, it's the real her, and there's no denying that.

It's just so strange, finally realizing her actions were genuine and weren't calculated.

In addition, I saw something else hidden beneath those furrowed brows. Concentration? Maybe. That screamed loud enough and it prompted me to dive into the quiet.

Her lips were slightly cracked into a thin line, giving the spoon curt blows as if it's going to burn my tongue without.

A weight pressed on my chest. It’s not about our proximity to each other, it was the way she was acting—as if she’d already done this before. Feeding someone too weak to lift their head. Taking care of someone who must’ve been pinned in a hospital bed.

Those hands of hers…I was witness to how destructive they were, and now, it shows that they were also tender enough to bring a sick man into healing.

I wanted to ask, but today felt like it would be a little bit too personal, so I decided on a safer option: a snide remark.

“…So,” I muttered, clearing my throat, “you gonna leave now and pretend this didn’t happen?”

“Why? Scared I’ll eat all your food while you’re asleep?”

“That, or you’ll beat me up while I'm asleep.”

She snorted. “Idiot. Just rest and don’t—”

“—don’t get used to this?” I finished.

She clicked her tongue, annoyed that I echoed her. But she didn’t deny it.

“…and lock your door next time,” she muttered, finally dropping the spoon back into the bowl.

About the things that I shouldn't get used to...I didn’t know if she meant the food…or her. Anyhow, I didn’t dwell deeper into it. It's pretty understandable since for the first time in a long while, someone stayed beside me when I was sick.

Even if she came in through the door I forgot to lock.

And that thought became the leeway for my consciousness to slip again.

Ah, I wonder how I will react if we return to strangers again tomorrow…