Episode 21: I Don’t Want Anyone Else Seeing Hiyori Like This…!

Monday morning.
A cold rain that had started on the way to school wrapped the whole building in grey.

The damp, the smell of wet uniforms.
The noise of students crowding into the entrance hall.
Right in front of me as I arrived: a particularly conspicuous cluster of people.

“…God, this is the worst. I held my blazer over my head and everything, completely useless.”
“Whoa, Asahina, you’re completely soaked.”
“You okay? You’ll catch a cold~”

That voice stopped me in my tracks.
At the centre of the crowd: Hiyori, drenched to the skin.

“Ugh, freezing. The vest’s soaked through and it weighs a ton — taking it off.”

Shivering, Hiyori dumped her blazer at her feet like a sodden rag she’d been using it as, and stripped off her vest on the spot.
What that left was a single white blouse.

(…!)

I caught my breath without thinking.

The blouse, heavy with rain water, clung to her body like a second skin.
Thanks to the black camisole underneath, the critical details weren’t visible — but through the white fabric her arms showed a vivid skin-tone, and the cold had raised goosebumps that were clearly legible through the cloth.
Around her waist, the clinging fabric traced the hollow of her navel and the curve of her waist in raised relief.

And above all — the moment she twisted and said “cold~” — the blouse pulled taut against her back, and through the thinner layer of the camisole, just below the shoulder blades, the outline of a bra strap and the small ridge of a hook-and-eye clasp came into sharp, unambiguous focus.

The male students around us seemed to swing their gazes toward her back all at once.
Or maybe they were simply surprised to see a flashy classmate soaking wet. Maybe that was all it was.

But somehow, to my eyes, every one of those gazes looked like nothing so much as a thick, viscous desire, crawling slowly over her wet body.

(…stop, stop, stop — stop it—!)

“— STOP!!”

I pushed through to her, threw my own umbrella aside, and threw myself over her back, covering her.
My body, shielding her defenceless back from view.

“Maya? Morning~”
“Don’t ‘morning’ me, you idiot! Why are you stripping off in the middle of everyone?!”
“Huh? Because I’m soaked through…?”
“Your back! The shape of the hook is showing right through!”

I hissed it into her ear, and Hiyori said “seriously?” and tried to reach back and feel for herself.

“Never mind that, we’re going to the nurse’s office, right now!”
“Why?!”
“To borrow a tracksuit! The school ones they lend out are fine!”
“Those smell weird, I hate them.”
“Stop being fussy! You’ll catch a cold!”

Ignoring her protests, I snatched up the wet blazer and vest and hauled her by the arm, setting off at a march.
The students around us turned to stare.

I gripped Hiyori’s wrist tight and half-fled down the corridor.
The chill of her body temperature, transmitted through our joined hands.
But somewhere deep in my chest, in complete contrast, something smouldered, hot and unmanageable.

◇◆◇◆◇

The nurse’s office was empty at that hour of the morning.
The school nurse was probably at the staff briefing.
In the quiet, ruled entirely by the sound of rain.
I pulled the regulation dark-red tracksuit from the lending shelf and shoved it at the bedraggled Hiyori.

“Here! Put it on, no complaining!”
“Ugh, is this colour not deeply unfashionable? And it smells like… a plaster or something.”

Grumbling all the while, Hiyori reached for the top button of her wet blouse.
But her fingertips were trembling in small, rapid shivers, and she couldn’t get a grip on the buttons.
The only sound was the repeated click, click of plastic against fingernail.

“…Ugh, fingers won’t work. Can’t do it.”
“…Oh, for — here, let me.”

I couldn’t watch any more. I pushed her hands aside and reached in myself.
Her fingertips, when I touched them, were cold as ice.

As I undid button after button, the line of her throat, her white collarbones, the valley of her chest came gradually into view.
The wet blouse peeled away and dropped to the floor.
What remained was a black camisole, soaked through and plastered to her skin.

“Ugh, this feels disgusting.”

Hiyori grimaced and, without a moment’s hesitation, grabbed the hem of the camisole and pulled it up over her head in one motion.

Whoosh.

The wet bundle of fabric hit the floor.
For an instant it felt as though the air of the nurse’s office, filled with nothing but the sound of rain, was stained through with the warm musk scent of Hiyori’s heat.
And what appeared before my eyes, in that moment, was the near-entirely exposed upper half of Asahina Hiyori.

Skin with a translucent, almost luminous whiteness.
Wrapped around it: a sophisticated piece of lingerie edged with delicate black lace.
That black, against the pale skin flushed slightly pink with cold, seemed to assert itself with a violence that was almost aggressive.

(…!)

I could have just handed her a towel.
Or since she was wet, offered to dry her off — that wouldn’t have been strange at all.

And yet.
My gaze was drawn to her chest like iron to a magnet, and I could not move.

The shadow of her cleavage through the gaps in the black lace.
A bead of water caught in the hollow of her collarbone, tracing a thin line down under gravity toward her chest.
All of it too vivid, too beautiful.
Forgetting even ordinary movement, I stood there transfixed, staring.

“…Hey, Maya.”

A soft laugh dropped down from above.
I came back to myself with a start and looked up. Hiyori, half-undressed, was peering into my face.

“You don’t have to stare quite that hard, do you?”
“Wha—?!”

Time seemed to have stopped.
I became conscious, only then, that my gaze had been nailed to her all this time.

Hiyori narrowed her eyes with amusement and poked the tip of my nose with one cold finger.

“What? Don’t tell me Maya was looking at me just now with that kind of look?”

(Was I looking? No — was I transfixed? That couldn’t be — surely—!)

“D-don’t be ridiculous! It’s just that Hiyori’s underwear is so… so gaudy, I was surprised, that’s all! Come on, hurry up and put it on!”

I yelled it, face blazing, and yanked the tracksuit over Hiyori’s head with unceremonious force.

“Ow. You’re so rough.”

The face that emerged from the tracksuit collar was stifling a giggle.
She worked her arms through the sleeves, and when at last that black lace was hidden from view, I exhaled a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

“Mmm, warm~”

Hiyori, sleeves dangling well past her hands in the oversized tracksuit, pressed herself snugly against my back.
Through the borrowed tracksuit, I could feel her body warmth slowly returning.

“Hey, I’m a bit wet too, so…”
“This tracksuit still smells. Like disinfectant.”
“If you hate it that much, take it off then.”
“No. …Hey, next time lend me yours.”

Hiyori brought her face close to my ear and whispered in her most coaxing, cat-like voice.

“Yours would smell like Maya. That’s definitely better.”
“…………?!”

“Right, we’re going to be late for homeroom — let’s go.”

Hiyori peeled herself off me in one motion and opened the nurse’s office door as if nothing whatsoever had happened.
Then she turned back and pointed at the floor.

“Oh, Maya. Grab those for me while you’re at it?”
“…Sorry?”
“They’re all wet and gross. See you later!”

She waved her hand lazily and swept out like a departing storm.
Left behind: me, and — abandoned on the floor — the black lace camisole and blouse.

“…………”

(Why do I have to carry Hiyori’s wet clothes…!)

Face still crimson, I pinched them up and stuffed them into the very bottom of my bag where nobody would see.