Episode 2

“Right this way, the seat at the back.”

I settle into the booth they’ve shown us to and take in the atmosphere of the place. First time here, but it’s exactly my kind of space. Antique-style tables and chairs. Background music drifting at just the right volume. Every detail of it feels considered.

Seriha orders a galette and hot coffee. I order a BLT sandwich and iced tea, and let my eyes drift, downcast, toward the person across from me.

I meet a pair of large eyes and look away immediately.

In the window I’d turned to instead, Seriha’s reflection beams back at me — full smile, watching me the whole time, visibly enjoying herself.

When I’d grudgingly accepted what might as well have been a death-sentence message and met her at the entrance, she’d greeted me with the same smile as always, as though nothing from last night had happened at all.

I came to lunch for the sake of future working relations. We’re on different teams, but we’re on the same floor — there’ll be times we have to deal with each other. For my continued existence at this company, maintaining an awkward dynamic with her is not a wise strategy.

It’s only an hour. Lunch outings aren’t exactly unusual. And if she’s going to act like nothing happened, then I can do the same — treat last night as if it never occurred, get through the meal, and be done with it.

“It’s not even that far from the office and there are still empty seats — nice. I never knew this place was here.”

It’s just past one o’clock, but there are a few open spots at both the counter and the tables, and for this part of town it’s unusually quiet inside.

“I’ve had it bookmarked for a while, but this is actually my first time coming. It was a place I’d been wanting to try, so I’m glad I got to come with you, senpai.”

“Apparently there are a few sister restaurants nearby, and the pancakes there look absolutely incredible — look at this.”

She thrusts her phone toward me. My eyes land on a photo of fluffy pancakes stacked in layer after layer. Five tiers, each about five centimetres tall — crowned with a mountain of cream and fruits packed in with barely any room to spare.

I like sweet things well enough, but…

“That is… something. Are you the type who likes sweet things, Ichikawa-san?”

“I do, quite a lot actually. Though maybe not quite that much.”

“Ah, I know the feeling. It’s delicious at first but you can never actually finish all of it.”

I’m not at the age where cream sits heavily yet… or so I’d like to think. No — I’m still fine. I’ll commit to that.

That’s true, she agrees, and then gives a small cough. Those usually wide-open eyes lower to half-mast, and she leans toward my ear.

“I’d love to go eat there with you, senpai. Could you keep your schedule free for me?”

White, slender fingers close around my hand and don’t let go. My reflex is to pull away, but they press down like a pin through fabric against the table, and the sensation of our fingers tangled together sends a small jolt through me.

The background music I’d been half-listening to seems to blur — to recede somewhere far away.

The awkwardness is mine alone. Last night was some dream conjured by exhaustion, nothing more. We had a nice lunch together and that’s all. After this, the same life as always resumes. That was what I’d been telling myself.

“W-wait a moment—!”

“That reaction is way too cute. Are you sensitive, by any chance?”

She laughs quietly, a soft smile on her face. And yet, in contrast to that expression, her hand still presses mine calmly, steadily into the table. White fingers travel back and forth through the gaps between mine, as though searching for where they settle best.

If a member of staff saw us like this, I could never come back to this restaurant. I’d been so pleased with the atmosphere and the quiet, too.

I make sounds that don’t quite become words — um— and hey— — and squirm, and then, with one smooth motion, the hand lifts away and I’m free.

The ambient sounds of the room seemed to come back into focus.

Sorry for the wait. A pleasant server sets the iced tea and coffee on the wood-grain table, followed shortly after by the BLT sandwich and galette, gives a small bow, and steps away.

That was close. I don’t think she saw.

“Look at this — this is going to be delicious!”

I lift my bowed head to find Seriha snapping photos of the food in her usual bright way, perfectly cheerful, as though nothing has happened.

…Wait, what about just now—?

The sensation of being left behind. Not a dream — it can’t be. This is reality, surely.

“Is something the matter? Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

“Y-yeah…”

“We can talk — later.”

A beat of silence. Cold sweat traces its way down my spine.

“Can I have a bite of yours too, senpai? Let’s share~!”

That familiar, guileless smile. Again I catch myself half-believing I must have imagined everything.

She folds a piece of her cut galette and brings it neatly to her lips — the same bright Seriha as always, and yet. The eyes that drift toward me every so often seem to carry something in them. A warmth that doesn’t quite go away.