Episode Twenty-Eight: Interlude
I did something terrible.
I never meant for any of it to happen. After what I saw that day in the city, I’d told myself to forget it and go back to how things were with her. And then Yuna came home and I lost my head completely. Because she was still wearing the matching hairpin — hers and Fuuka’s.
I don’t know why I’ve started feeling this way about Yuna. Before we became sisters, I barely thought about her at all.
But lately, whenever I imagine her spending time with someone other than me, my chest hurts and I can’t breathe properly. I want her looking at me always. I want her smiling only at me. Those thoughts have started arriving without my permission.
“Morning~ Hasn’t your hair been a bit of a mess lately?”
“Has it? Maybe because I can’t wake up properly.”
A classmate whose name I haven’t actually learned spoke to me with their usual brightness, and I gave a self-deprecating laugh in reply. Opening my shoe locker with a head still foggy from poor sleep, I found an unfamiliar envelope inside.
“…Hah.”
I think people should be free to feel whatever they feel toward whoever they feel it toward. Even a teacher and a student, it doesn’t matter to me. Gender doesn’t matter either. If you’ve fallen for someone, you can’t help it.
But right now, I really wished they hadn’t.
I slipped the envelope quietly into my bag and made my way to the classroom on unsteady legs.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at Yuna’s face, couldn’t find the will to listen to any of the lessons. I simply stayed in my seat and somehow it became the end of the day. The only thing I can say for certain about today is the taste of the lunch Yuna made for me. That was the one thing.
The kindness of someone who kept making food for me even in the middle of all this only made things harder.
Yuna must still be holding onto a deep, sharp anger, and probably won’t forgive me. The sight of her turning that cutting gaze on me — something she had never done before — was burned into my memory like a scar.
“Ao, you working today? Walk back with me.”
“Sorry, I’ve got somewhere to be.”
I gave Tatsuka a short answer and got to my feet.
Where was it I was supposed to go. I hadn’t cared enough to read more than the first line of the letter.
“Hey, are you okay? You look rough.”
“Rough? Yeah, I guess.”
A dry laugh slipped out. I’d done something terrible, and then had the nerve to walk around looking rough — laughable, really. It was the height of selfishness.
In a quiet spot behind the school building, I turned down a confession from someone whose name and year I didn’t even know, and made my way home.
It’s been a while since a girl confessed to me. Apparently she’d liked me since last spring. I couldn’t look at her directly — crying, and yet still smiling, looking satisfied that she’d managed to say it at all.
Loving someone for a long time and being turned down must hurt terribly. I’ve never been in love, so I can’t really understand how that girl was feeling.
As for Yuna — I wonder. She likes me, I’m sure of that. I don’t know since when, but she was already like that the first time we met at home, so she must have felt it for a while before that. But does she still like me now?
That indulgent thought surfaced in my head, and I tightened my grip into a fist.
Of course she doesn’t. Because I was the one who nearly broke the family she treasures.
It’s not as though I wanted to break anything. I just saw a version of Yuna I didn’t know, and I lost all restraint. There’s no excuse that would hold up.
“Oh—”
My vision blurred without warning, and large drops spilled from my eyes and tracked down my cheeks. I don’t feel like I’m crying, and yet the tears just keep coming.
If I hadn’t done that, Yuna would still like me. There was happiness right within reach, and I ruined it myself. Thinking that, the tears wouldn’t stop.
I let the wind pulled in by a passing train at the level crossing cover for me, wiped my eyes, and kept walking toward home.
I crashed onto my bed in my uniform and by the time I noticed, it was night. Change out of your uniform before you sleep or it’ll crease. I think Yuna said something like that to me once.
Things were good back then. She liked me, and we did all sorts of things together inside this house. Now that I think about it, we never really went anywhere outside together. It’s only been about two months since we became family, so I suppose that’s just how it goes.
Going out together isn’t going to be possible anymore, so there’s no point even thinking about it.
My stomach was empty but I couldn’t be bothered to get up. Mum was at work, and Dad had sent a message to say he’d be late. Yuna was probably home, but what was she doing?
With neither Mum nor Dad around, there was no need to cook anything. Knowing how conscientious she is, maybe she was studying right now. Studying, cooking, and taking care of me on top of all of it. A level of capability I couldn’t believe we were the same age. It made me feel pathetic by comparison.
I’d slept at the wrong time and now couldn’t get back to sleep, and I still had the lunchbox to wash. I quietly opened my door and checked — a sliver of light was showing under Yuna’s. Trying not to disturb her, I made my way downstairs as quietly as I could.
After being in the dark so long, the kitchen light made me blink. I was still trying to let my eyes adjust, planning to raid the snack drawer, when a yellow shape wrapped in cling film caught my eye.
“…Idiot. You’re such an idiot.”
The strength went out of me, and I sank to the cold kitchen floor. Anyone seeing me like this would think something was very wrong — but the tears and the sobs wouldn’t stop.
Tsukishima Ao is a thoroughly terrible person, she thought. She lusted after her own stepsister and nearly acted on it in front of their family. She wouldn’t have a word to say if she’d been handed straight to the police. And yet, apparently, Yuna wasn’t going to abandon her even so.
Stuck to the cling film was a note in neat handwriting: I want to make up. And beside it, the penguin she always uses in her stamps — drawn small and sweet, head bowed in apology.