Episode 1: Having Such a Shameless, Calculating Childhood Friend Is Just Too Convenient!
Out of nowhere, I’ve started thinking that my life — Sukue Yotsuka’s life — is way too convenient. Like, there’s a limit.
…Ah, wait, hold on. Don’t get the wrong idea.
I don’t mean anything vulgar like winning the parent lottery and being born into some rich family, or blowing up on social media and becoming a successful influencer, or getting reincarnated in another world with broken cheat powers. Nothing like that.
I mean, well, how do I put this.
It’s a lot more mundane than that… but for me, personally, it’s an extremely convenient situation.
◇◆◇◆◇
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you—”
It’s spring, after school, sunset light falling through drifting cherry blossoms.
A black-haired girl is singing the birthday song with weird enthusiasm, and I’m sitting across from her at a table in the family restaurant.
Two plates in front of us.
Matching chocolate cake. And matching melon soda, colored a green so lurid it’s practically toxic.
Today’s my birthday.
At a volume just barely too quiet for anyone else to hear, she’s giving me this needlessly extravagant celebration.
“Happy birthday, dear—”
She stops singing right there.
“…C’mon, c’mon, Yotsuka, sing too!”
“Oh, uh, right…”
I clear my throat.
“Okay, from here — ready, happy birthday, dear—”
“—us,” we sing together.
“Happy birthday to you.”
“Happy seventeenth birthday, Yotsuka!”
“Thanks. And… happy birthday to you too, Makina.”
My childhood friend, Uzuide Makina, and I, Sukue Yotsuka, share the exact same birthday.
So doing a little birthday party every year at the family restaurant by the station has become a tradition for us.
“Mm… yeah, the chocolate cake here really is the best! Doesn’t even taste like restaurant food! Want some, Yotsuka? Here, say ah.”
“Huh, it’s fine, we ordered the same thing—”
Makina tilts her head to one side and peers up at me through her lashes.
“It’s your birthday. Don’t hold back. C’mon, c’mon.”
“It’s not about holding back, it’s— mmph.”
Before I can argue, the fork is pressed against my mouth with zero room for negotiation, and my lips get forced open regardless of my opinion on the matter.
Having achieved her objective, Makina’s face melts into a satisfied grin.
…Anyway, back to the point. What’s so convenient about all this, you ask?
Well.
Let’s see.
Take right now, for instance — which direction do you think I’m facing while getting cake shoved into my mouth?
Straight ahead?
You figured she was doing the “say ah” thing from across the table?
Wrong.
Correct answer: left.
I’m facing left.
…Why does Makina, at a four-person table in a family restaurant, insist on sitting directly next to me?!
Are you my girlfriend?! No, you’re not?! You’re my childhood friend, right?!
And the knees! Our knees are touching!!
Knee pressed flush against knee, and in the freezing air-conditioned restaurant, Makina’s body heat is scorching hot right there and nowhere else!!
Fine, whatever, I’ll concede the point of sitting next to me. But why are you sitting THIS close?! Is someone else supposed to be joining us?!
Argh, do I smell like sweat or something?! Now I’m self-conscious!!!
But on the other hand, Makina smells kind of nice—
“Something wrong, Yotsuka?”
“—! N-nothing.”
She peers over at me, looking puzzled, face close enough that I could probably count her eyelashes.
Unable to take it anymore, I snap my head toward the scenery on my right instead.
Cherry trees line the street outside, scattering petals.
“Oh, Yotsuka, hang on—”
Makina rests her left hand against my cheek and turns my face — which had been pointlessly fixed on the street noise — back toward her.
“There’s still cake on your mouth, see? Hold still, I’ll get it.”
“Oh — wait, really? Thanks.”
She’s always been like this. Ever since we were kids, whenever I was in trouble or made a mess of myself, she’d reach out without a word and just take care of it.
This straightforward, warm kindness of hers is something I love more than I can stand.
And then — her other hand, her right hand — there’s no napkin in it. Nothing at all.
(Wait a second.)
Her pale index finger brushes gently across my mouth, wiping away the cake.
That finger, still carrying the faint slick trace of it against my lip, moves without hesitation toward her own glossy lips—
Makina’s lips part, unguarded.
Her lips close softly around the fingertip.
A small, damp sound reaches my ear, and she narrows her eyes, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
“Ehe. A little indecent, I know, but it’s fine since it’s you, right, Yotsuka? The cream’s too good to waste…”
“Ah, um, your li—”
“Hm? What’s wrong? Did you not like it? I figured you’d be fine with it since it’s you.”
“No, it’s not that I mind, it’s just… that’s not the issue…”
Makina gives me a shy, bashful smile.
Kiss.
…Kiss?
The sound is still stuck in my ears.
At the edge of my vision, I can practically see my own ears turning red.
It hurts. My heart hurts.
Well, “hurts” doesn’t even begin to cover it, honestly.
And the worst part — the absolute worst part — is that Makina isn’t even doing this on purpose.
To her, she just wiped cake off my mouth.
Licked the cream off her finger because it was a shame to waste it. That’s all.
…Please, have mercy.
Seriously.
Do you even know what you’re doing to me?
Do you know that I—
That I am completely, hopelessly, catastrophically in love with you, Makina —
that I want to stop being your childhood friend and become your girlfriend instead?!!!