Episode Eleven

The sound of running water ceased, and Ibara returned.
She wore a fluffy, pastel pink hoodie she’d brought from home, paired with shorts. It was just as girly as expected. Her slender, bare legs were dazzling.

“Thanks for the shower, Shigure-san. Oh, there was a pillow after all.”

“Want to use it?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll use it. I didn’t bring one.”

　Ibara pressed a hand to her mouth as if suddenly realising something.

“Could it be for your boyfriend? Oh dear, that would be a bit much.”

“No, it’s not. An old female friend used to have it. The girl who modelled for that painting earlier.”

“Ah, I see…”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s a nice pillow, this one.”

It was probably some sort of high-end memory foam pillow. I’d used it myself and found it so comfortable I gave it to her for her birthday.
Since that girl stayed over at this house so often, I thought she’d need a pillow.
It was too good to throw away, so it’d been stored away until now.
Ibara flopped onto the bed with a plop.

“The pillow smells like the chest of drawers.”

“That’s the anti-mould agent.”

“And this one smells like my sister.”

She pulls the top sheet up to her nose and sniffs.

“I’ll sleep well.”

“Idiot.”

Even if she’s going to insult me, couldn’t she find some other words?
Thinking this, I sighed at myself and picked up my change of clothes.
Entering the washroom, I gasped. A yellow-green undergarment lay on the lid of the upright washing machine.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the bra size and couldn’t help but groan. Blimey. For a high schooler.
After removing my make-up and stepping into the bath, an unfamiliar scent brushed past my nose.
This citrusy lemon scent I’d caught when we met on the morning commuter train.
──The scent of Ibara.
　Thud.
I banged my forehead against the bathroom wall.
Am I alright? This is a bit creepy.
I really am losing it. Getting teased by someone seven years younger of the same sex about liking it or it smelling nice, and then getting all weirdly self-conscious about it.
Pathetic. Is this what being an adult is?
Enough, enough, I thought, dousing my head with lukewarm water.
Quickly, since it was bedtime, so as not to wake myself up.

　Changed into nightwear and returned to the room.
Ibara suffers from insomnia, and me lying beside her is part of her treatment, so to speak.
It’s like artificial respiration – there’s no reason to feel embarrassed or ashamed.
Dried my hair with the hairdryer and went back to the room.
Ibara had dimmed the room lights, closed her eyes, and was lying on the bed.
　…Could she already be asleep?
In the room dyed a dark indigo, I approached, muffling my footsteps.
I sat down on the bed as quietly as possible and peered at her well-defined face.
Her eyes were loosely closed, her breathing regular.
As I stared at her long lashes, her eyelids opened without a sound.

“You could have been asleep.”

“I was just closing my eyes. Waiting for you, Shigure-san.”

“Still can’t sleep?”

“Mm…”

In the dimness, she gave a small nod.
Her right hand, emerging from beneath the quilt, touched the hem of my jacket.
Ibara gazed at me with eyes that seemed almost desperate.

“Hurry.”

Her voice was pleading, or perhaps praying.
Not knowing how to respond, I slipped into bed.
　Within the futon warmed by body heat, she pulled my arm close.
Through the sweatshirt, I felt the gentle rhythm of her pulse.
The towel fabric she wore, and the soft, fluffy warmth beneath it, were felt without reserve.

“…Think you’ll sleep?”

“…Don’t know. But…”

　Ibara pressed her cheek to my left side, where my heart lay.
Closing her eyes, she whispered as if dreaming.

“…I can hear your heartbeat.”

“Well, I am alive, after all…”

“…What time do you get up in the morning, Shigure-san?”

“Around seven, I suppose…”

“…Then… I’ll wake you up…”

The steady thump of her heartbeat reaches me.
The tension in my body begins to unravel, melting away.
Whether I could sleep or not soon proved a needless worry.
Ibara’s slightly warmer body feels comforting against my cold skin.
The soles of my feet and the tips of my fingers feel vaguely warm.

“…Good night, Shigure-san.”

She’s started calling me by my full name now.
Not that it matters.

“…Good night, Ibara.”

Her exhaled breath tickled my skin.
Ibara, wrapped in her fluffy pyjamas, looked a little like that enormous stuffed sheep I’d left back at my parents’ house.
　Perhaps that was why. Why the sensation of holding her felt so comforting.
Why I’d been overcome by the illusion that a missing piece had finally clicked perfectly into place.

On a chilly October night, we fell asleep huddled close together.
Until everything dissolved into the night, I listened only to Ibara’s breathing.