Ch. 70.2 - Ch70 You’re Finally Awake? Pt2
April 30th, 9:19 p.m.
Under a starless sky, for the second time in two weeks, yet another beautiful girl lay peacefully in Harutaki’s bed.
Her bangs, normally swept to one side, now fanned softly across her forehead.
Under her slender brows, long lashes rested like delicate feathers over her closed eyes.
Her lips were small and full, tinted with a tender pink, curving ever so slightly at the corners. Just above them, a faint beauty mark added a touch of mature allure to her youthful features.
Her pale neck, elegant as a swan’s, led down to collarbones that seemed carved for daydreams, like the path a single droplet of summer sweat might trace before vanishing into vapor.
And then, inevitably, his gaze began to wander downward…
Wait.
Wait wait wait.
She’s lying flat, isn’t she!?
If gravity wins this battle, Earth’s destruction will be on him!
After a moment of serious thought, Harutaki decided to assign half the blame to the one person who could never be contradicted, Sir Isaac Newton, and the other half to Chouko herself. After all, according to the law of universal gravitation, the greater the mass, the greater the attraction.
“…Didn’t expect her to actually be bigger than Nogami-sam.”
Both girls had borrowed Ayaka’s pajamas, which made the size difference painfully, no, visibly, obvious. The contrast was almost unfair, like comparing a hill to a mountain.
To put it bluntly, and his current thoughts could not be put any other way, he wanted to kiss, to nuzzle, to squeeze, to bury his face until he couldn’t breathe.
In more poetic terms: to suffocate for a dream.
But what exactly was “the dream”?
A figure impossibly curvy yet slender, the kind of proportions no high school girl should logically possess; an elegant, dazzling face, so perfect that even “one in ten thousand” felt like an insult.
Add to that a sharp mind and a pedigree straight out of an old-money household, this was a girl seemingly hand-fed by God Himself. How could she not be called a “dream”?
If only she were perfect on the inside as well, he thought regretfully.
Then again… why did he find the contrast, her outward grace versus that secretly pervy side, even more perfect?
Still, he knew perfectly well: if he so much as touched her right now, took even the smallest liberty, or, heaven forbid, went further and later dumped all the blame on Yobitani, she probably wouldn’t even get angry when she woke up.
But that wasn’t the point.
Their relationship would shatter completely, like a mirror broken beyond repair.
So he didn’t touch her. Not even once.
Not even when she was sound asleep, completely unaware.
Not even when he knew that, upon waking, she’d likely forgive him out of gratitude for saving her from a real predator.
Because desire without affection was hollow and ugly.
That, Harutaki firmly believed, was one of his core aesthetic principles.
It had nothing to do with excuses or moral posturing. He wasn’t some saint like Liu Xia Hui, but he was a self-proclaimed scumbag who refused to be that kind of scumbag.
Bottom lines could bend, but they had to exist.
Click.
He pressed the side button of his phone. The clock read past four hours since Chouko had drunk the drugged juice.
Triazolam’s effects would have been diluted by the drink itself, and she’d only taken a few sips, half a cup at most. Her continued sleep likely had less to do with the drug and more with simple exhaustion.
Watching her breathe softly in peaceful slumber, Harutaki suddenly felt a mischievous impulse rise in his chest.
“Maybe I should… leave her a little lesson to remember~”
A harmless prank, of course.
A benevolent act of evil.
She’d thank him later… right?
…
“…Onii…”
Don’t…
“Mmh…”
Save me…
Her consciousness felt as though it were being swallowed by thick, inky mud. She trudged forward through endless darkness like an old woman with a cane, slow, heavy, almost frozen. No matter how she struggled, it was like pouring boiling water onto snow, it cooled, hardened, and vanished.
After who knows how long, her scattered thoughts began to reassemble, her disconnected limbs finally responding again.
Except…
“Ugh…”
Her neck and back were stiff as if she’d slept on a tatami mat all night. Her throat burned and ached with dryness.
So uncomfortable.
It reminded Chouko of the one time she’d caught a serious cold as a child.
It had started mild, until her idiot Onii tried to help with ice water and wet towels, which somehow made everything worse. She’d finally gone home and taken medicine, lying alone in bed in that enormous, lonely bedroom that could’ve doubled as a living room in most houses.
Even surrounded by antiques and ornate furnishings, the room had always felt hollow.
The tall wardrobe, the heavy curtains, the dark void beneath the carved canopy bed, it all made her uneasy, as though monsters lurked just out of sight.
Even with fever aches and a dry tongue, she’d known back then: what she really wanted wasn’t comfort, or quiet, or luxury.
She just wanted someone to stay by her side.
Someone to talk nonsense to her.
Someone to scold her with annoying, gentle logic.
But Onii had been stopped at that grand, unyielding door.
She knew it wasn’t his fault. But still…
Still, if it were that person, what would he have done?
If it were Hoshikawa Harutaki… what would he do?
The memory of his calm, confident face before she blacked out flickered in her mind.
Then came flashes—
Their first meeting at the school gate, when he’d teased her into thinking she was late.
Their “afternoon tea date” at Starbucks, when he’d urged her to peek at a chat log and shocked her with what she found.
Their first outing to a trendy dessert café, where his teasing jokes and dark humor had left her flustered and laughing until her stomach hurt.
“Only me eating while a cute girl watches? That’s way too awkward. Help me out here, Shihou-san.”
If it were him, he’d probably sneak into her mansion with a ladder just to see her.
If Onii had just been a little more clever, a little more daring, he wouldn’t have been that different from Harutaki.
“…Wake up.”
Mmm…
“If you sleep any longer…”
…?
“…you won’t be able to fall asleep tonight, you know.”
Hoshikawa-kun…?
Why was Hoshikawa-kun… in her room?
No, wait, this wasn’t her room. She hadn’t gone back to her apartment after school today.
“Mmh… help me…”
“Hey, you’re finally awake. Congrats, Shihou-san, ”
“Eh…?”
Chouko blinked her groggy, misty amber eyes, staring at the blurry, familiar figure beside her.
Right, she’d gone to that karaoke mixer in Shinjuku…
She’d drunk a bit of juice from Senior Yobitani, half out of courtesy, half out of pride, because Harutaki had irritated her, and she wanted to prove she wasn’t a coward.
And then…
“Harutaki… it’s you…”
“Yeah. We had a wonderful first night together.”
“…You saved, wait. Wait wait wait WHAT!?”
What… what did he just say!?
Her dazed brain lagged for a full second before her eyes flew wide. She jolted upright and looked down at herself,
Strange pajamas?
A stiff neck and sore back?
A wave of dizziness hit, and she collapsed back onto the pillow.
She didn’t really know what a “first time” felt like.
Some said it was blissful; others said it hurt too much to ever want a second.
But one thing she did know for sure,
You can’t change into pajamas without taking off your uniform.
“Uuuh…”
In that instant, all thoughts of anger, blame, or outrage vanished. Her heart and head were filled only with guilt and despair.
I’m sorry… Onii…
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