Episode Ninety

It seems I have no talent for crafting stories.
Though Momono-chan asked me to write a romantic episode, I’m making no progress whatsoever.
During work breaks, I try typing something into my phone’s memo app to clear my head, but nothing comes to mind, utterly nothing.
Having promised my junior colleague I’d do it, I really ought to squeeze out at least one or two ideas.
　I search the corporate hashtag “#YourLoveStory” and scroll through a jumble of love stories.
Posts that get lots of likes are usually just gimmicky jokes, but occasionally there are ones that genuinely make you think, “Ah, that’s lovely.”
One post that started with “My wife passed away last year…” made tears well up in my eyes before I knew it.
　Momono-chan said eighty percent of it was made up, but I wonder how true that really is.
If it is, then the world is full of people with literary talent.

The schedule management app on my phone alerted me: “WEB meeting in 15 minutes.”
I rose from the soft chair in the refreshment corner.
Switching the calendar view to monthly to check other appointments, something caught my eye.
Next Monday.
　5th May, Children’s Day.
Ibara’s eighteenth birthday.
And right there, scheduled to coincide with it, were the five characters: “Hot Spring Trip!”.

“…………Haaah……”

What should I do?

†

“Golden Week, is there anything you fancy doing?”

I’d asked Ibara that on the night before Shizuku arrived.
　It coincided with her birthday, and I thought I’d ask if she had any requests.
It was just a casual thought.

“Anything at all?”

“Anything isn’t quite right, but well…”

At my answer, her large eyes sparkled brightly.

“Then, a trip.”

“A trip?”

“Yeah. I want to stay overnight with Shigure-san. Somewhere not too far away.”

“We always stay overnight though.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh, right. You’re right. A trip. Hmm, a trip, huh…”

Seeing me ponder, Ibara’s eyebrows drooped dejectedly.

“Is that no good?”

“No, no. I’m just thinking where would be nice.”

“Wherever Shigure-san wants to go is fine.”

“Really? Then would Atami or Hakone be alright? I’ve been wanting to soak in a hot spring for ages.”

“Hot springs…”

I wanted to soothe the fatigue built up from the end-of-term rush.
Ibara blinked at this choice, which laid bare the desires of a weary working adult.
Hot springs probably don’t appeal to a current high school girl, after all.
I thought that for a moment.

“Yeah. Hot springs sound really good.”

“Really? Then Atami… no, let’s make it somewhere around Izu. I’ll look into lodgings.”

“I’ll look into it. I’ve got more time than you do, Shigure-san.”

“Is that alright?”

“Leave it to me!”

And indeed, Ibara found several places.
All were lovely inns, reasonably priced, and highly rated.
Ultimately, the footbath bar sealed the deal, and we settled on a place in Izu Nagaoka. I made the reservation.
And so, we arrived at this moment.

　†

After a meeting with no waves or wind, I clocked off.
Rocked by the train, I checked the email from the booked inn to confirm the room facilities.
A ten-tatami mat Japanese-style room. Breakfast and dinner included. And a private open-air bath in the room.
This is where we’ll stay.
Ibara and I, on Ibara’s eighteenth birthday.
　Naturally, I’d arranged a birthday package and ordered a cake.
But.
Staying at a hot spring inn, bathing together, eating delicious food and cake, lazing about, sharing the same futon.
When I made the reservation, that’s all I thought it would be.
But.
Is that really all there is to it, is that truly enough?

‘How much longer must I endure?’

“The fifth of May. My eighteenth birthday.”

Those words from long ago stir restlessly in the depths of my heart.
I told her it wouldn’t do, back then.
But I doubt Ibara was satisfied with that.
Even then, she kept pressing me, this way and that.
Above all, I realised it for certain after that incident recently.
Ibara wants me.
Me, that is, everything of me.
　The “special” Ibara spoke of undoubtedly included that meaning too.
I don’t find it unpleasant.
Rather, I even feel a desire to meet her expectations. I think it’s pitiful to keep making her wait.
But Ibara is still a high school student.
Yet she’s already eighteen.
High school student. Eighteen. High school student. Eighteen. High school student…
What was eighteen like again?
　Seven years ago, I was definitely a high school student too, eighteen years old, yet I can’t recall anything, as if it’s all shrouded in mist.
But it’s certain I wasn’t a child.
And surely, she’s looking forward to this trip.

“…I suppose I could let her.”

I blushed at my own words, which had slipped out without thinking. No, no, no.
Idiot.
What am I saying?
What does “let her” even mean, in the first place?
　Why am I being so patronising? Acting all high and mighty when I barely have any experience myself.
First off, I don’t think ‘allowing’ is the right way to think about it.
It feels like there’s this unconscious desire to shift the responsibility onto Ibara, you know?
That’s not it.
It shouldn’t just be about Ibara’s feelings.
What about me?
Do I want to touch Ibara? Do I want her to touch me?
　Ibara is cute, special.
When I hold her, she’s soft, smells lovely, and kissing her doesn’t feel repulsive.
In fact, it feels rather… good.
But.
I’d never imagined what might come after a kiss.
Or rather, I’d deliberately avoided imagining it. It felt like touching a taboo.
But.
What if, on this trip, she pressed me?
　If she said she wanted to do that sort of thing.
Then, I…
I realised that I had touched my lips without me noticing, and my face flushed.

“…Oh, for heaven’s sake, am I in high school or something…”
I muttered, gazing up at the dusky sky through the car window.
Without reaching any conclusion whatsoever, night fell once more.
I had a feeling I wouldn’t sleep tonight either.