Sleeping Beauty and the Witch’s Fever. Part One

When I returned after washing the tea set, Shigure-san had woken from her nap.
Perhaps the sound of water had roused her.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“…No, it’s fine… I wasn’t asleep…”

Though Shigure-san said she was fine, her face was clearly flushed, her eyes were moist, and her breathing was heavy.
Sweat trickled down her neck. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet. This called for a period of rest.
Might as well get the housework done while I’m at it. Cleaning and such.
I bit down on a hair tie and pulled my hair up high.
　Feeling eyes on me, I turned to find Shigure-san staring at me with dazed eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“Ponytail…”

“Eh? Oh, right.”

It is a ponytail, after all.

“It suits you. You look cute.”

Hey.
Please don’t suddenly start flirting. It makes me happy.
Shigure-san removed the towel from her forehead and sat up.
　To put it bluntly, she was barely dressed.
One button on her pyjama collar was undone, revealing a glimpse of her décolletage through the fabric.
Her usually pale skin was tinged with a faint pink, making my heart race. It felt like I was seeing something I shouldn’t.
Forcing my eyes away from her smooth collarbone, I said,

“Is there anything you want me to do?”

“It’s fine. You can leave whenever you like…”

This person really is stubborn.
If only she’d just accept it and be a bit more dependent for once.
I’m the one who’s always clinging to her, so it’s only fair.
Or maybe she’s thinking some overly serious thing like, as an adult she can’t be dependent on someone younger, or that if a working adult leans on a schoolgirl, it’s the end of her as a person.

“Work busy?”

“Well, fairly so…”

“I see.”

Not denying it means it’s not just “fairly so”, I suppose. Is it “quite” or “extremely”?
Either way, there’s nothing I can do about it.
Oh dear. If only I could say, “Just quit your job, I’ll support you.”
But that’s impossible.
　I’ve got a decent nest egg from my idol days. Probably enough to get through uni on my own.
But it wouldn’t be nearly enough for the two of us to live on, and anyway, Shigure probably likes her job.
That job as a designer, giving shape to formless things and delivering them to someone’s heart.
Honestly, that’s the Shigure I like.

“What about you, Ibara?”

“Eh?”

“School. Made any friends?”

The unexpected question caught me off guard.

“Your insomnia’s getting better, bit by bit, right?”

“…Yeah, I suppose.”

As my illness improved, the time I spent holed up in the infirmary gradually decreased.
I even had a fair few chances to chat with classmates in the classroom. But when it came to friends… that was another matter entirely.

“There’s one girl who often talks to me… but that’s about it.”

“A friend?”

“I don’t know. Can’t say. But she’s a cute girl.”

“I see. It’d be nice if you got on well.”

The words spoken so casually sting my heart.
It’s alright.
It’s alright to become friends.
Even though I deliberately added that unnecessary extra word, “cute”.
At times like this, I realise it all too well.
I care about Shigure-san’s friends, and I feel jealousy too, but Shigure-san doesn’t.
　Our feelings aren’t equal.
The scales are tipped heavily in my favour, plain for anyone to see.
This is just hypothetical, mind.
Suppose we ended things because someone else came along (which won’t happen).
I’d probably sob my eyes out, fight tooth and nail, and likely end up brandishing a kitchen knife.
I just hope Shigure-san manages to escape. From me.
　But I’m sure Shigure-san would just say something like, “If it’s for Ibara’s sake,” and slip away without a second thought.
There’s that much weight difference between our love, and it’s another invisible wall. Not that I want Shigure-san to become heavier, mind.
But sometimes, I feel uneasy.
I placed my palm on Shigure-san’s forehead.
Hot. Seems she still has a fever.

“Mm…”

　Today, Shigure-san seems unusually frail.
I worry she might have some serious illness, and seeing her in pain makes my heart ache, but it’s not just that.
An impulse different from pity or concern is stirring ripples in my reason.

“Over here.”

Shigure-san grabbed my hand.
She gently pressed my palm against her cheek.

“Mm. Ibara, your hand… so cool, it feels nice…”

Shigure-san’s cheek was hot, soft and squishy like freshly boiled mochi.
Like a baby. Even though she’s an older sister.
Completely defenceless, melting, not a shred of tension left.
　My thumb touched her lips.
Soft and hot.
Her damp breath brushed against me.
I slipped the tip of my finger, just a little, just a tiny bit, into the space between her lips.
Shigure-san looked puzzled, asking, “What?”
Whether it was a physiological reflex or not, her tongue, hot enough to burn, flicked and licked my fingertip.
　A shiver of forbidden sensation sent a thrill down my spine.
A devil whispered in my ear, “Aren’t you being invited?”
But no, that’s not it.
No, devil. She’s just naturally like that. It’s nothing like that at all.
Well, I am feeling rather aroused.
　I am feeling rather improper.
I know I shouldn’t be thinking such things about Shigure-san, who’s suffering with a cold.
Yet, the needle of my emotions swings wildly of its own accord.
Swaying left and right between reason and desire.
A single unfastened button catches my eye.
I must fasten it quickly. For my own sanity.
Today, I must be a gentle angel, not a little devil.

“Your button’s undone…”

The moment I leaned in to fasten it, a thick, intense scent hit me.
The smell of sweat.
Shigure-san’s scent. My absolute favourite smell.
Sweet and sour, making the back of my nose tingle.
Oh, this is bad.
Desire swells inside my head.
　I want to squeeze her. Touch her. Lick her, and devour her whole, crunching right from the top of her head.

“Ibara…?”

Shigure-san gave me a puzzled look as I swayed closer.
But I couldn’t stop. I wanted to bury my face in her chest right now and take a deep breath.
But.

“Ibara, sorry—”

Suddenly, Shigure-san pushed my shoulder away and turned her head to the side.
Guh, ghoh, she let out a series of heavy coughs.
In that instant, my head cleared.
Am I an idiot? Shigure-san is suffering, and here I am getting all worked up on my own? Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

“I’ll fetch a cold towel.”

“Mm…”

Her reluctant voice tugged at the devil inside me.
I managed to pull my hand free and rose from the bedside.
I soaked a warm hand towel in ice water and wrung it out tightly.

“Shigure-san. Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

“It’s alright…”

“Aren’t you hungry? You only had jelly this morning, right?”

She did drink some herbal tea with honey, but it couldn’t have been very nutritious.

“Shall I warm up some instant rice porridge?”

“Hmm, I’m fine for now…”

“Right then, let me know if you get hungry. Anything else?”

Shigure-san looked around with moist eyes, finally glancing down at the pyjamas she was wearing.
The cotton fabric had soaked up copious amounts of night sweat, clinging to her skin.
With a dazed expression, she murmured.

“…Change of clothes…”

“Eh?”

“I slept and sweated, so I think I want to change.”