Episode 7: I Think I Might Be Falling for You

July arrived, and the sunlight burned our skin as if stabbing us.

　Ever since the mid-term exams ended, having gained a connection with Mizuki, I made a point of regularly dropping by her house to watch over Tasuku’s growth, careful not to let the fragile thread we’d finally woven snap.

I’d learnt how to make milk and change nappies, and holding Tasuku, whose neck was now steady, no longer frightened me at all.

　Tasuku’s face changes noticeably every time I see him.
His features are sharp and handsome. His wide, parallel double eyelids and soft, fine hair resemble Mizuki’s so much – Tasuku really is adorable.

Now five months old, Tasuku has apparently started weaning, though only once a day. As I can only visit in the evenings, I haven’t yet seen him eating properly.

　When I whinged, “I want to see Tasuku eating,” Mitsuki sent me a video, and that’s where, quite unexpectedly, I saw Mitsuki’s mother for the first time.

Having given birth to Mitsuki at sixteen, she was young and beautiful.
It’s rather rude of me, but I’d been slightly bracing myself, worried she might be some stereotypical delinquent parent, chain-smoking and hanging around pachinko parlours.

　That was a huge prejudice.

Her appearance was nothing like the neglectful mother I’d imagined; Mizuki’s mother looked like a neat, ordinary woman.

In the video, Mizuki’s mother spoke to Tasuku in a loving, gentle voice while feeding him mushy rice porridge with an orange spoon, carefully guiding it to his small mouth.

　Though eighty percent of the rice porridge ended up being spat out onto the blue silicone bib, Tasuku’s reluctant expression was fresh and endearing in its own way.
Perhaps Mizuki’s mother had unavoidable circumstances, needing to work even at night.
Thinking this, my anger softened just a little.

　At school, Mizuki remained unchanged, propping her cheek on her hand and sleeping between lessons.
The shifting interests of high school girls, where trends change at a dizzying pace, were as fleeting as the wind. Before long, the rumour that Mizuki had a child had died down, forgotten by everyone, remembered by no one.

Had I not met Mizuki that day, I would never have believed such a rumour myself.

　I’d heard beforehand that today’s PE lesson involved swimming, but my period coincided, so I couldn’t join in and instead joined the ‘self-study group’ in the gym.
Though we called it self-study, we were really just messing about. Leaning against the gym wall, we sat chatting while watching the students playing badminton or volleyball.

　What surprised me was how keen Maki seemed; she genuinely looked forward to the pool session and, unusually, came to school without any make-up on.

Since there was no designated swimwear, most of us just wore the swimsuits we’d used in middle school. Maki brought a bikini so flashy it looked like something from a gravure shoot – I thought she’d definitely get told off for it, but I deliberately didn’t comment and just said, “That’s cute.”

　Quite a few people were in the gym.
Whether every single one of them was genuinely on their period was questionable, but the PE teacher couldn’t possibly check by making students remove their underwear, so even if it was a lie, they had no choice but to believe it.

I spotted Mizuki sitting cross-legged at the edge of the gym floor. Taking the plunge, I walked over and sat down beside her.

All my classmates are engrossed in badminton or volleyball, completely oblivious to us.

“Are you studying too, Mizuki?”

“Ah, yes. You too, Nana? What about Yamada-san?”

Yamada-san is Maki.
Everyone in the year is scared of Maki, the most flamboyant girl, and avoids calling her by name.

　Truthfully, Maki is flashy but not exactly a delinquent, so there’s nothing scary about her at all. Yet in class, she’s treated like that person whose name mustn’t be spoken.

Poor thing. She’s actually easy-going and easy to talk to. A bit daft, though.

“Maki went to the pool. I’m bored, so come with me.”

I gently moved my shoulder closer, bumping it against her slender one. This was the most I could manage right now.
　With every fibre of my being, I focus on the cells where our shoulders touch.

“Nana, that ponytail suits you. It feels fresh since you usually wear your hair down.”

Mizuki said this, gently stroking my tied-up hair.

I want to touch it too.

But I couldn’t casually reach out, so I just stared at Mizuki’s face.

　Things I could do naturally with Maki – playfully hugging, holding hands – felt difficult with Mizuki.

It felt terrifying, as if my sludgy desires would ooze out from wherever I touched her and be transmitted to her.

Mizuki yawned softly.
Her pale skin seemed even more drained of colour than usual, almost bluish.

“Mizuki, are you feeling unwell?”

“Yeah. My period pains are pretty bad. I’ve taken some medicine though.”

“Are you alright? Shall we go to the infirmary?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll be alright if I just take it easy.”

To my own surprise, I touched and stroked Mizuki’s waist without any desire whatsoever.
I was a little shocked myself that I could touch this girl with such a feeling of pure affection.

“Mizuki, sleep until class ends.”

As I stroked her waist gently, rubbing it warmly, Mizuki nodded and rested her head on my shoulder.
My heart twisted. I felt like I might die.
But I pretended not to notice and kept stroking Mizuki’s waist. The faint, sweet scent of her shampoo lingered.

“…Nana, you really are kind. If someone was this kind to me, I think I’d fall for them.”

Is my heart still beating? Am I alright?
Am I still alive? Am I breathing properly?

“If Nana were a boy, I’d want you to be my boyfriend. If I dated Nana, I’d definitely be happy.”

“…Really?”

“Hehe, what about you, Nana? If you were a boy, would you go out with me?”

That innocent “if” pierced my heart.

“Well… I don’t know. …I’ve never even thought about going out with a girl.”

Heterosexual people sometimes say things like this without a second thought.
They never even imagine that the person leaning against them might see someone of the same sex as a romantic prospect.

　Falling for a straight girl is futile.
Even if I voiced my feelings, nothing good would come of it.

Hiding, secretly, just continuing to harbour these feelings. That’s the right answer.

Mizuki is straight, so she’s done nothing wrong.
It’s my fault for falling for her on my own, for hurting myself on my own.

If it means breaking our relationship, then I’d rather ask for nothing.
I still want to stay locked away in this closet.

　＊＊＊

That evening, I got home and immediately spread my notebooks on the dining table to start studying.

Even though the mid-term exams had only just finished, the final exams were already looming.

But once the exams are over, it’ll be summer holidays.
If possible, I want to find a way to visit Mizuki during the summer holidays too.

Mizuki probably… doesn’t have any time to study.
Thinking that, I feel somehow guilty about lazing around studying while idly sipping barley tea.

While half-watching the telly, an evening news programme featured a special on ‘young carers’.

　That’s Mizuki.
I stopped writing and stared intently at the television.

Mizuki is sacrificing herself for her family.

She doesn’t go out to play after school, she doesn’t have a boyfriend, she’s dedicating her one and only high school life solely to her mother and brother, neglecting even her primary duty of studying, and is prepared to sacrifice her future too.

But Mizuki doesn’t utter a single word of resentment towards the mother who made her do this.

　Watching the television, the caption explaining young carers introduced them as “children under eighteen”.

Under eighteen.
That eighteen-year-old barrier again.
So does that mean Mizuki, whose birthday is in April, no longer qualifies? Surely not.

I want to believe eighteen is still an age where it’s okay to be a child.

“…Mum, when my birthday comes, will I be an adult then?”

I call out to my mother preparing dinner in the kitchen.

“What are you talking about? Where do you find adults who can’t live on their own? Nana’s still a child. Now, dinner’ll be ready soon, so clear the table.”

“…Yes.”

Her mother said with a smile. I was glad to hear that. I didn’t want to be pushed away by the word ‘adult’ just yet.

Mizuki felt the same, surely. She never really wanted to become an adult. It was just that circumstances forced her into it.

I snapped my notebook shut and stood up.
It wasn’t my imagination that Mizuki seemed to be growing thinner by the day.

　Is there nothing more I can do for her?

Eight months until graduation.

I want to cherish this thread connecting me to Mizuki, this last thread, with all my heart.

It’s a thread that will snap once we graduate anyway.
So for now, just for now, I want her to see me reflected in those eyes for one more second.