Episode 25: This Has Gotta Be Laughing Through Tears
Despair.
The “major incident” had struck, out of nowhere, on the shinkansen.
Right at this moment, my suit pants were, spectacularly, torn.
Our appointment with the client was in an hour. No time to stop at a clothing store. And besides, my underwear would be exposed to the entire world for however long that shopping trip took.
No, more precisely: stopping to buy something would almost certainly make me miss the appointment.
But charging forward as-is would basically be a crime. Showing up to a business meeting with my underwear on display, that’s the end of me as a working professional. As a woman, as a human being, honestly, just the end.
Should I just tell the client honestly that I’ll be late?
But how would I even phrase that? “I’m terribly sorry, my pants split open” — there’s no way I could say that out loud, it’s too humiliating. This is an important appointment, it’d tank the impression completely. Not to mention I’d absolutely get branded a pervert and we’d lose the deal for sure.
Make up some other, more plausible excuse? My head was in full panic mode, and no reasonable excuse for being late would come to me.
Oh, I really did it this time.
This was the suit I’d bought back when I was fresh out of college, at my thinnest.
Thinking “it’s a little snug, but should be fine,” wearing it without checking properly, that was the mistake. I had a feeling I’d put on a little weight lately.
But I didn’t want to admit it, so I picked these pants anyway. Completely, entirely my own fault. I wanted to curse myself for avoiding the scale all this time.
No choice left. Desperate times.
I’d ask Hanamori. Even if it was a long shot.
I made my way back to my seat. A suspicious figure, crab-walking with a hand pressed to my backside. I could feel the other passengers giving me wary looks. Their stares stung.
Sorry, please don’t look. I bowed my head internally, pleading, as I made my way forward.
“Hey, so, Hanamori-san.”
I poked her shoulder quietly.
Hanamori took out her earbuds and looked at me. Her expression was cold. Not a single eyebrow twitch. Like looking at an ice sculpture.
“…What.”
Her voice was cold too. Below freezing. This particular seat might as well have been Antarctica.
“Um… my suit pants kind of tore. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare pair of pants, or a skirt, on you, would you?”
“Kind of tore” was, honestly, underselling it considerably.
Hanamori’s expression turned even colder.
Excuse me? What is this person even saying, that kind of face. Her eyes were practically screaming “are you okay in the head.”
Fair enough. We’re already mid-fight, and now I’m asking to borrow her pants or a skirt out of nowhere, she’s probably thinking, what is wrong with this woman. What kind of nerve does she even have.
But the situation was the situation. No other option.
Whatever pride I had left had already torn apart along with the pants.
“…I do have one spare.”
“Whaaat!? Seriously!? Really…!?”
The demon from a moment ago suddenly looked like a goddess. A halo practically shone behind her.
Hanamori answered coldly. Then looked at me, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
A doubting gaze. Completely unconvinced.
“Did it actually tear?”
“Eh, yeah, tore, or, well, split, I guess.”
“Show me.”
…I’m sorry, what did she just say?
“Eh? Um…?”
“I said, show me.”
Hanamori’s voice stayed cold.
She was suspicious. Convinced I was probably lying just to manufacture an excuse to talk to her.
Unsubstantiated claims, rejected. Present evidence.
“As a working professional, as a businessperson, you need evidence,” she’d said — that had literally been me, teaching her that during OJT.
The seed I’d planted myself was now sprouting in the worst possible way.
Right. Desperate times.
“F-fine.”
We headed for the restroom. I followed silently behind Hanamori. Her retreating figure looked unnervingly cold. I felt like a prisoner being led to execution.
We stepped into the restroom. Thankfully, no one else was there.
Tentatively, I showed Hanamori the “evidence.” Slowly moving the hand covering the area away.
Suit pants, torn clean down the middle. My underwear peeking through.
Silence.
A heavy, heavy silence.
How much time passed, I couldn’t say.
I could feel Hanamori’s gaze from behind me. What kind of expression was she making. Angry? Exasperated?
Tentatively, I turned and glanced back at her.
Hanamori was looking down. A hand pressed over her mouth.
“…Pfft.”
A small sound escaped her. Her shoulders were shaking.
“…F-fufufu.”
“Eh?”
“AHAHAHAHAHA!!”
The next moment, Hanamori burst into full-blown laughter.
Doubled over, clutching her stomach. Tears streaming down her face. When was the last time I’d seen her smile like this?
Actually, I think this was the first time. Hanamori, laughing this hard, over anything.
“Ahaha, Asami-san, this is amazing, this is really something!”
“H-hey, don’t laugh!”
“No, no, there’s no way I couldn’t laugh, hah, ahahaha! It’s split right in half!”
Hanamori kept laughing.
Was someone else’s misfortune really this entertaining to her? Genuinely, her personality is the worst.
“Asami-san, you really do have bad luck, huh.”
“I know that already!”
“And on top of that, that color of underwear—”
“Don’t say it!!”
Seriously. Why, of all days, did I have to pick this color today.
“AHAHAHAHA!”
Hanamori kept laughing. Wiping tears, holding her stomach. She’d completely hit her funny bone at this point.
I had no choice but to laugh too.
“…Hah, hahaha.”
Before I knew it, I’d caught the laughter too and burst out as well.
The two of us laughed. In the restroom, the two of us, laughing hysterically.
Two working adult women. One of them with her suit pants torn open. What an absurd sight this must have been.
What even is this. Why is this so funny. A moment ago this was the worst possible situation.
Hanamori’s laughing face was cute.
She’s this cute when she laughs. Tears welling at the corners of her eyes, cheeks flushed.
“Haah… it’s been a while since I laughed like that.”
Hanamori said it, wiping her tears. Her expression seemed, somehow, a little softer now. The ice from before had vanished completely.
“Alright. I’ll lend you the spare skirt.”
“Thank you, Hanamori-san.”
“Don’t mention it. But Asami-san, next time, please actually check your size first.”
Hanamori said it, and burst into laughter all over again, doubling over.
She could only be enjoying my crisis situation at this point. Her personality really is the worst.
Traces of her laughter still lingered at the corners of her eyes.
That smile was, somehow, dazzling.
Hm, something’s welling up in my eyes too.
Hanamori’s figure blurred.
My chest felt full, and warm somehow.
I decided to call this laughing through tears.
Yeah. It must be laughing through tears.