Episode 34 — And, Eventually, the Heart Too

Summer is accelerating. A glaring, blazing sun, and the humidity of the rainy season with only the rain removed. It’s still early July, but the temperature alone seemed to have arrived at summer break ahead of schedule.

The classroom, still saturated with the atmosphere of a previous era, has been left behind by a Reiwa-era climate — the feeble air conditioning, the wooden floor heavy with moisture — it was like sitting inside a steam room. Students were rolling up their sleeves, fanning themselves with flat erasers, small and valiant efforts visible everywhere. The only cold things in the room were the inadequate draft from the air conditioner and the smell of deodorant that the sports club students had been taking turns spraying after PE. Me, at the far end of the humanities spectrum, couldn’t even benefit from that — and sat hunched up, wilting.

And however summer-like the climate, the end-of-term exams couldn’t be skipped, with summer break arriving early. The homeroom teacher repeated from the podium:

“Finals are next week — anyone who fails will be coming to school through summer break.”

As if to at least cool the students’ hearts if not the room, the words hit like cold water. An entirely unnecessary form of consideration.

And yet — even as I muttered that complaint silently — there was another part of me, happy that because of the finals, I’d be having a study session with Shion.

I can only engage with things I love, so studying anything except modern Japanese is deeply, fundamentally beyond me. And modern Japanese is mostly a matter of instinct anyway, with almost nothing to actually study — so putting it together, studying in general is deeply, fundamentally beyond me. And yet, Shion only has to attach herself to it and something positive springs up. Strange.

Shion colours my world — not just with her sound but with every part of her existence — remaking the whole world in vivid colour. Even now, at a pace that threatens to use the teacher’s voice as background music, I can only think about Shion.

I feel, with renewed force, how right it was to never make friends before now. Because one friend alone makes my heart this loud. This full. If there were several people like that — I couldn’t bear it.

Most people in this classroom probably have multiple people they’d call friends, and if they’re all walking around carrying this intensity of feeling for several people at once — that’s an extraordinary thing, I thought.

I’m too clumsy for that kind of capacity, and probably always will be. Friends — for a while, maybe for life, maybe forever — just Shion is fine, I thought.

And with that, I caught myself thinking about Shion yet again and turned it into something like self-reflection. In the middle of mentally laughing at myself, homeroom ended, the class rep called the bow, and after-school arrived.

I gathered my bag standing up, in a hurry — when, unusually, the person in the seat in front of me called out.

“Ogawa-san.”
“…What is it?”

I registered the face of the person in front of me for the first time. The kind of clear, defined features that said centre of the class without words. A fresh, wholesome look like someone out of a sports drink commercial. Objectively cute — and yet my heart didn’t move at all. My heartbeat was quiet, and that quiet seeped into my expression, and I found myself asking with a puzzled look.

Unaccustomed to negative responses, perhaps, the person in front stumbled into their answer.

“Well, um. We were talking about having a class party after finals, and I thought maybe Ogawa-san would want to come.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, you never really seem to talk to anyone, so. Before summer break starts, if you got to talk to everyone a bit more, maybe you’d fit in a little better, you know.”

Remarkable. I’m looking at well-intentioned nuisance dressed up in a school uniform — too twisted a thought, even for me. Probably the person in front genuinely means well, which only makes my own poor character and the difficulty of refusing more apparent.

How to handle this. While I was wrestling with it, unable to meet their eyes, letting my gaze drift — a single girl came through the classroom door, catching my wandering gaze like a net. Scattering beauty as she went, and though my eyesight isn’t that sharp, the outline alone was enough to tell me who it was, and my heart leapt.

As if in response to the speed of my heartbeat, Shion came toward me at a quick pace, positioned herself between me and the person in front, turning that slender, slight body my way.

“Uta, let’s go.”

In a tone that brooked no argument, she took my hand and held it tight, and started walking. At the edge of my accelerating field of vision, I saw the person in front go wide-eyed.

I threw the minimum of words over my shoulder.

“Sorry — I’m not going!”
“O — okay.”

Deeply awkward — but Shion was carrying the awkwardness away with us, so it was all right. My heartbeat was anything but peaceful, but I found even that sound dear. Yes — this is all I need, I thought. Feeling the soft warmth of the hand holding tight to mine, I thought that.

Then, cutting through that small sentimental moment — just past the classroom door, Shion murmured:

“No cheating.”

In the slightly clumsy pronunciation of a child trying out a word they’ve just learned. And yet the violet-indigo eyes looking at me carried something urgent in their depth.

“Isn’t cheating a word you use with a romantic partner…?”

For some reason I answered with my eyes averted, like someone actually being accused of cheating and making excuses.

“I don’t know about that, but I really, really hated seeing you talking to someone else.”

Saying that — as if to convey the displeasure — she held my hand tight. Winding her fingers through mine, deep enough that knuckle met knuckle.

“Sorry.”
“Today is the study session day, and I was scared you’d go play with someone else.”

Shion’s usually even, transparent voice was wavering slightly. That small change was something enormous, and I knew it — so I squeezed her hand back, firmly, to reassure her.

“It’s all right. My only friend is you, Shion.”
“…Really?”
“Really.”

I said it again. Shion nodded once, reassured — and then, despite being nearly the same height as me, looked up in that upward-glancing way of hers, and asked:

“Then — today’s study session. I want to do it at your place…”

Shion’s large house and my apartment. An empty room. Before any complex or awkwardness about that could form —

“That’s fine.”

The words outran the heart. I knew the heart would catch up eventually.