Episode Five: The Price of the Rain
Getting soaked in that downpour, letting my body chill through — that was probably the mistake.
I’d had a bad feeling about it. A shivery kind of chill had lingered even after my bath, running down my spine. I’d wanted to believe it was nothing, but as the night wore on, the wrongness in my body only got worse.
In the end, I couldn’t move from the bed at all.
“…38.5 degrees.”
Yui-san took the thermometer back, her well-shaped brows drawing together. Her gaze, standing there at the bedside, looked like it wanted to say something, and I ducked from it, pulling the duvet up over my mouth.
“…Kanata, you haven’t eaten dinner, have you. What do you feel like? I’ll go buy something.”
“It’s fine, I don’t have an appetite…”
“You need to eat at least a little. Your fever might climb higher once night sets in properly, and if it does, you’ll need to take something for it.”
The voice falling from above was gentler than I expected. Yui-san lowered herself onto the edge of the bed and leaned in to check my face.
That worried look was a relief. I’d braced myself, half-expecting to get scolded instead.
“…What can you manage? Rice porridge?”
“I hate rice porridge, it doesn’t taste like anything…”
“Then how about zōsui?”
“Mm, that I could…”
“Okay.”
That was all she said before she was already on her feet, the bedsprings creaking under the shift of weight.
“…Yui-san…”
My voice came out so weak calling her name that it startled even me, and she turned back, hand already on the doorknob.
Lonely — there was no way a look alone could say that.
And yet, somehow, I found myself hoping it would.
Some part of me believed she’d notice anyway, the way she always seemed to, even when I couldn’t admit to feeling helpless.
“…I’ll be right back, don’t worry.”
She waited to see me give a small nod before pulling the door shut, quiet, with a soft click. After that, only the tick of the wall clock filled the room. It was supposed to be my own room, the one I’d lived in for two months now, and yet somehow, tonight, it felt achingly empty.
Fever-fogged, my thoughts drifted in scattered directions.
This was the first time I’d caught a cold since moving in with Yui-san. We kept to separate rooms, so there shouldn’t have been much risk of passing it to her, but as luck would have it — good or bad, I couldn’t say — today was Saturday, and the clinic would be closed tomorrow too.
It was around the time I’d normally be eating dinner, and yet I couldn’t even tell whether I was hungry or not.
The stretch of minutes until Yui-san came back felt genuinely endless.
“Kanata, coming in, okay?”
At the sound of the door opening, I turned toward it. Strange thing, the human nose — the instant the good smell of bonito dashi reached me, my stomach, which shouldn’t have had any appetite left, gave a small, hungry growl.
It smelled wonderful.
I pushed myself up against the headboard, and Yui-san set the tray down on the side table before sitting on the edge of the bed.
A beautifully made egg zōsui. One glance told me it wasn’t from a packet.
“…Yui-san, you can actually cook…”
Honestly, I was floored. We ate out or ordered in most nights, so I’d never once pictured her cooking for herself.
“Not doing it isn’t the same as not being able to,” she said, easy as anything, and without missing a beat, scooped up a spoonful of zōsui and brought it to my mouth.
“Here, open up.”
“…Thank you for the food.”
The flavor of the broth spread through my mouth, and I thought, genuinely, that it was delicious. Being fed like this was a little embarrassing, but between the fever and the haze, it felt like being in a dream, and I let myself be led, chewing obediently at her urging.
“It’s good…”
“Yeah? Good. You can leave the rest if you want.”
Now that I thought about it, this kitchen, for someone who apparently never cooked, always had struck me as a little too well-equipped.
“Yui-san, you never cook, so… how come you’re actually good at it…?”
I wondered if maybe she cooked for the women she brought home. I could almost picture that, too.
But the words she said next, her expression not shifting a bit, weren’t anything like what I’d imagined.
“Grew up in a single-father household, so I learned to handle stuff around the house on my own, more or less. My dad was busy — barely home at all, even when I was a kid.”
Now that she mentioned it — I’d heard her talk about her father before, and her brother, but never once about her mother.
“When I was a kid and caught a cold, my dad tried making me rice porridge once. It was shockingly bad. Ever since then I decided I’d just handle things myself.”
Yui-san laughed, amused at the memory, and I found myself laughing too, caught up in it.
I pictured the president of one of Japan’s leading conglomerates, standing in a kitchen, earnestly trying to nurse a sick kid, and the image alone was enough to pull a smile out of me.
Her father was probably busy, rarely home. But one thing was clear all the same: Yui-san had been raised loved.
Because otherwise, she never would have grown into someone this kind.
For all my claiming I had no appetite, I ended up cleaning the zōsui bowl completely.
She tucked the duvet up to my shoulders, and once she’d flicked on the bedside lamp and reached to switch off the ceiling light, I found myself reaching out for her without thinking.
My arm felt heavier than usual as I lifted it, but my fingers just barely managed to catch the hem of the T-shirt she wore around the house before she could stand.
“…Are you leaving already?”
Yui-san blinked a few times. She was probably surprised, but I couldn’t spare the energy to care.
“I’m just taking the dishes back.”
“No, leave that for later. Stay here.”
I forced the words out. I just wanted her to stay. I couldn’t even say why.
It felt like being an abandoned kitten. Being alone in this room, right now, was unbearably lonely.
Yui-san let out a small, exasperated laugh and settled back down onto the bed.
See — just like I thought. Ask like this, and she’d go along with almost any selfish little request, laughing it off every time.
I held my hand out, wanting hers, and she seemed to understand exactly what I meant, her fingers slipping gently between mine.
“Yui-san, hold my hand. The whole time, until I fall asleep.”
“…Okay.”
This person is kind to everyone. Not just to me. I already know that.
I know it, and yet, once you’ve known this kind of kindness even once, by the time you notice, you’re already somewhere you can’t come back from.
Like something dragging my true self out of me, whatever spilled from my lips now was nothing but spoiled, needy little pleas.
“When I run a fever, I always… have scary dreams…”
“…You caught a cold because you came home soaked to the bone. If you’d called, I’d have come to get you.”
“But… Hayakawa-kun said he’d walk me home…”
“You really can’t say no to people, can you, Kanata. Being that easy to push around actually worries me a little.”
“I’m not easy…”
“Then why’d you go on a date with Hayakawa-kun?”
If you lived alone, he could’ve talked his way right up into your apartment, you know — the follow-up jab landed, and I had to admit, grudgingly, that she had a point.
I couldn’t deny I’d let my guard down some, knowing him from work, knowing how he carried himself on shift.
“It wasn’t a date… it really wasn’t…”
“Mm-hm…”
It wasn’t a date. That much was true. We hadn’t even held hands.
We went to the zoo together and looked at a panda. That was all it was. Nothing special had happened, and honestly, it would’ve been a problem if something had.
The one miscalculation was lending Yui-san’s umbrella to him because of the rain.
I hadn’t been at all pleased that it had left behind some kind of thread, however small, that might lead to something next.
But still, I needed to get it back. Yui-san’s Burberry umbrella.
I looked down at our laced-together fingers. Matte black nail polish, a single solid color. Short nails, neatly trimmed.
Not a single rough edge, every fingertip perfectly cared for. The hand holding mine was undeniably a woman’s, and still, I couldn’t understand why my heart kept beating this hard, this fast.
I really must have been more tired than I realized. Between that and feeling unwell, the moment I closed my eyes, drowsiness came creeping in, slow and heavy.
I drew our joined hands in close, hugging them to my chest. I’d just fall asleep like this.
With this hand here, surely, I wouldn’t have any scary dreams.
“…Good night, Kanata.”
I heard her voice, soft, saying my name.
Before I could even answer good night back, I was already sinking into the bed, and before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep.