260 - Story About Buying My Classmate Once A Week

Chapter 260 For Miyagi, a phrase like "switch gears" doesn't exist in her vocabulary, and even if it did, she wouldn’t seem inclined to apply it right now. Therefore, her mood doesn't change abruptly. "I'm going to put my coat and bag away, so make sure you open the door when I knock." I speak to Miyagi, whose bad mood seems likely to linger until tomorrow morning if left unchecked. "Why bother saying such a thing?" "Because you look like you wouldn't open it unless I mentioned it." Miyagi, as per my request, walked slowly all the way home. However, she wore a displeased expression the entire time and avoided looking at me both when she took off her blue scarf at the entrance and when we entered the shared space. Moreover, she tried to escape into her room, prompting me to insist she open the door when I knocked. "So what, does this mean Sendai-san is coming to my room?" "Yes, it does. I want to talk for a bit." "I don’t." Standing as a gatekeeper in front of her room, Miyagi answers coldly. "Then, what’s your reason for not wanting to talk? Depending on the reason, I might reconsider knocking today." The reasons Miyagi doesn’t want to talk to me are probably trivial. Hence, she shouldn't be able to refuse me. "I see no need to explain my reasons to Sendai-san." "When turning down my invitation to talk, it’s only polite to provide a reason." "...If you come within five minutes, I’ll open it." Reluctantly, begrudgingly—either way, her voice drifts low. "Got it. I’ll be there soon." As long as she lets me in, I don’t mind the five-minute constraint. Although I considered making tea, foregoing it should give me ample time. I head to my room, placing my coat and bag down. Leaving my phone behind to avoid any untimely interruptions, I adjust my hair briefly in the mirror, head to the shared space, and knock twice on her door. “Come in.” A voice that doesn’t quite denote a good mood welcomes me as I open the door. Ruffling the head of the black cat Roro-chan on the bookshelf, I settle beside Miyagi, who leans against the bed. "What did you want to talk about?" Her voice is cold. Even though I sit close enough to grasp her hand instantly, she doesn’t pull away. I extend my hand toward Miyagi, who looks the same as when we went out, and gently tug at her skirt, only for her to smack my hand away. "Miyagi, isn’t there something you want to say to me?" Though she allows me to sit next to her, she won’t allow any touching. I prod further. "No. Since Sendai-san wanted to talk, aren't you the one who should speak?" "I meant I want to hear what Miyagi has to say. You've been in a bad mood all day—can you say why?" "I wasn’t in a bad mood. That was normal." "If it was normal, wouldn’t you at least call the name of the person you’re with? You didn’t call me Sendai-san even once while we were with Utsunomiya." "That’s just your imagination." Miyagi states without looking at me. "It’s not my imagination. You didn’t call me." My memory is vivid. No matter how much I recall, it was only Utsunomiya who referred to me as "Sendai-san," not Miyagi. She only started calling me that after parting from Utsunomiya. It seems she consciously avoided using my name. "If not saying your name bothers you, I’ll say it now... Hazuki. That should cover the times I didn’t say it today, right?" My name is treated carelessly, accompanied by the addition of “go back to your room.” That's not it. I’ve always wanted her to call me Hazuki, and it’s uplifting, yet this isn't right. Summing all the unsaid "Sendai-san" throughout the time with Utsunomiya into this single, dismissive "Hazuki" is unreasonable. "Miyagi. If you’re going to call me Hazuki, put a bit more heart into it." "I did." "Saying you did means doing it like this." I gently pull Miyagi’s skirt again, drawing her gaze to meet mine. I lock eyes with the sulking Miyagi. "Shiori." Calling the name I was warned many times not to use, I utter it softly and tenderly, pouring all the feelings from those lost opportunities into it. Miyagi’s brow furrows in response. Not that I didn’t anticipate this reaction—it’s strangely amusing. "I never said you could call me that." "If you don’t want me to call you Shiori, then just say what’s on your mind. If I did something wrong, tell me and I’ll fix it." I gaze intently at Miyagi, and our locked eyes disconnect. She then tugs at the braid by her ear and mutters in a low voice. "...I didn’t hear anything about buying a pencil case." "I didn’t mention it, but we had time, and adding one shopping errand wasn’t a bother, right?" Though it might have been unexpected, it wasn’t significant enough to warrant advance notice. "It’s not fine... Sendai-san, you really love your tutoring job, don’t you?" Miyagi’s hand gently pushes against my shoulder, as if to say, "move away." "It’s not that I love it." "But you love it enough to buy a pencil case as a celebration for someone’s acceptance to high school. If you enjoy it that much, you should continue to teach that kid." "That’s not what this is about." "Then, is anyone okay for you to teach?" "It’s not just anyone." "It’s not just anyone, that’s why you got that kid a pencil case and teach her, right?" What is this? This conversation. It’s nonsensical. What is this? This reaction. It lacks logic. This feels almost like— An impossible word crosses my mind. But knowing it's something not to be spoken aloud, I choose different words. “Are you perhaps upset about buying the celebratory gift because it involves my part-time work?” “I’m not upset. I just didn’t like it... Also, I found out about something you like, and you didn’t tell me.” Words spill from Miyagi’s mouth as though trying to push the words in my mind away, prompting me to reflexively respond with a "Eh?" “Sendai-san, you like teaching, right?” With a tone as if confirming there are no forgotten items, Miyagi speaks. “Yes, but…” “And you like choosing clothes too, right?” “Yes, but…” I agree, as I’ve indeed said that before. Teaching and selecting clothes are activities I enjoy. There is no mistake in those words. However, I sensed that Miyagi’s inquiry about things I like had a different intention. "Was it a lie?" "It’s not a lie, but..." There is no deceit in the word “like,” yet it isn’t entirely accurate, leaving my answer strained. Unspoken to her, Miyagi's phrase, "the things I like," all ties back to her. If it weren't for Miyagi, I wouldn't have thought to teach anyone, nor would I have considered taking on a tutoring job. The same goes for clothes—if Miyagi hadn’t been my roommate, I probably wouldn't have discovered that I enjoyed picking out clothes for someone else. So, neither answer truly satisfies the question concerning Miyagi. "If it's not a lie, why didn’t you tell me?" In moments like these, I want to speak the truth. I started to love teaching because of my feelings for Miyagi. I started to love picking clothes because of my feelings for Miyagi. That’s what I wish to convey. If I could tell the truth freely, I'd say it over and over. However, confessing this would mean vocalizing the underlying feelings I have for Miyagi, which might cause everything to fall apart. "Because it didn’t feel like something I was passionate enough to mention." Whether Miyagi would accept this evasive answer is uncertain, but I have no better words. Words like "love" create fractures in the relationship between roommates. If I want to continue living with Miyagi by my side, I must keep this word sealed until she renounces the term "roommate." "Is that really all you wanted to say, Miyagi? There's more, isn't there? You seemed upset even before buying the pencil case." To prevent further discussion about my preferences, I steer the conversation back on track. "...I don’t want to say." Miyagi mumbles this and falls silent. Despite having something to say, it seems she has no intention of sharing it. "Tell me." "Leave. I don’t want to talk anymore." With that, Miyagi pushes me away, creating distance and placing a crocodile tissue cover between us. She then starts crumpling tissues and throwing them at me. One, two— The tissue balls roll across the floor, gradually accumulating. When I see there are five of them, I grab Miyagi's arm. "Tell me, and I'll leave." Miyagi makes a face of disgust and shakes my hand off, gathering the five tissue balls and tossing them all at once. The soft missiles fall harmlessly to the floor, and she calls to me in a strained voice. "Sendai-san." With her voice, she pulls me closer. It's unclear who moved first, but soon, our lips meet. In short, we kiss—something out of the blue, untimely, unexpected… Yet, there it is—our lips, touching. Though I'd dreamed of kissing Miyagi countless times, surprise overtakes my joy. Accidentally keeping my eyes open, I see her image. Even without clarity, she's undeniably adorable. The soft sensation and warmth transmitted from her lips feel pleasant. Miyagi's tongue parts my lips, deepening the kiss. Her tongue lightly brushes and connects with mine. Our body temperatures meld and flow into each other. While I’m overjoyed, I also feel at a loss about what to do. I long to respond, to intertwine my tongue with hers, but I fear such a move might make her retreat. I want to savor Miyagi’s warmth within me as long as possible. Simultaneously, I wish to feel her even more strongly. Closing my eyes, I hesitantly press my tongue against hers. The moist warmth seeps in, turning to heat within me. When I gently bite her soft, resilient tongue, Miyagi pulls away, startled. I yearn for the vanished warmth and attempt to close the distance, but she pushes my shoulder firmly. "...I was jealous." Beyond the reach for a kiss, her small voice is heard. Yet, her words form no shape. They merely drift in, holding no tangible meaning, echoing in my mind. I lower my gaze, staring at the crocodile’s back, and reprocess each word I heard into clarity. "...Eh?" Jealous. That's definitely what she said. Though written clearly in my mind, it's odd. Miyagi would never say such a thing. Jealousy? For Miyagi to direct such feelings toward me? It might be my imagination. Or perhaps it's a jealousy unrelated to me at all. The words I thought of earlier form a meaning I dared not imagine or attribute to Miyagi. "Sorry. Can you say that again?" “...Sendai-san, you belong to me, right?” She doesn’t repeat what I wanted to hear, but instead, voices something else entirely. “That’s right.” “Then why are you choosing things for someone who's not me? Is it because you like picking clothes?” “Eh?” “For someone who belongs to me, don’t choose things for anyone else. It annoys me.” “Eh?” “I’m done with what I wanted to say, so leave.” “Eh?” It’s not that I won’t say anything besides “Eh,” but rather, that’s all I can articulate. The confusion is justifiable, given the incomprehensible situation. Summarizing Miyagi’s words reveals that just as I felt jealousy towards Utsunomiya, Miyagi also felt jealousy toward Utsunomiya. Just like how I was envious of Mio, Miyagi felt envious of Kikyo-chan. It’s unbelievable and unexpected, yet apparently true. Miyagi saying such things wasn’t something I foresaw, leading my thoughts to become entangled like crossed wires. Thus, I’m unable to determine whether the conclusion I've reached is correct. Her mood soured because I was choosing clothing for Utsunomiya. My mind isn’t equipped to readily accept that as reality. It sounds more like a bad joke, flooding my mind with more "Eh?" “Sendai-san, how long are you going to stay here?” Miyagi’s voice is dripping with displeasure. I dispel the cloud of "Eh's" clogging my thoughts, gently touching her earlobe, lightly pressing against her earring. “Miyagi. From now on, for anyone other than you—” “You don’t need to promise you won’t do it.” Interrupting my words, Miyagi says coldly, slapping the hand that touches her earring. “It’s impossible. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, now go back to your room.” My shoulders are urged insistently, but I can’t leave just yet. “Wait. I have something to say too.” “What?” “It’s the same for me. I was jealous of Utsunomiya too.” While I can’t express my love, I can at least admit this. “You’re lying.” “It’s true, so please let me choose Miyagi's clothes from now on.” If she won’t allow me to promise never to pick clothes for anyone else, then I want to promise to always choose for Miyagi. Moreover, I wish for her to always claim me as hers. Such a request is trivial. It isn't difficult. But Miyagi replied curtly, “No.” “I promise to make you look cute.” “You don’t need to say things like that.” “Then, what do you want me to say, Miyagi?” “There’s nothing I want you to say, so just be quiet.” With that, Miyagi left a mark on my neck—in a place visible to anyone.