Chương 177: 67.An Unexplainable Stirring 2

By the time we'd finished with gear, the afternoon had slid toward evening. The wind off the port district was stronger than at noon, carrying salt and iron down the streets and making even the commercial district's aggressively clean glass fronts feel slightly real. We ended up walking instead of taking transit, moving unhurried along the blocks. Maki paused at a bookshop window to examine maps and transport almanacs.

I got momentarily stuck on a ridiculous motorcycle keychain at a lifestyle shop; she looked at it, said too loud, then helped me pick a more understated version anyway. At a convenience store we gathered things to justify the trip back to twenty-two—tea bags, crackers, kitchen paper, and snacks that Jess would definitely criticize before finishing. Nothing significant individually. But together, it felt like an afternoon that had been deliberately extended into something you could walk through slowly.

We eventually settled at a small corner restaurant. Nothing that came with ambient piano music—just an ordinary spot with wooden tables and glass tumblers, the kind that would fill with after-work crowds in an hour. Maki ordered hot tea. I ordered something cold. Two simple meals that weren't impressive but suited the particular off-balance mood of the afternoon. I stirred the ice in my glass and watched people pass outside before speaking.

"So what was your actual mindset coming out with me today?" Maki looked up.

"Looking at bikes."

"Too boring. Try again."

"Buying accessories."

"Even more boring." She was quiet for two seconds, clearly weighing what kind of trap I was setting. Then she looked down at her tea and said, very quietly: "... Worried you'd choose wrong on your own." Short sentence. Short enough that most people would let it pass. But this was Maki Kushima. Her words were rationed like they cost something, which meant any excess carried weight. I propped my chin on my hand and looked at her.

"Just worried I'd choose wrong?" She pressed her lips together slightly.

"What else?"

"I thought maybe there was at least a little—""There wasn't."

"I hadn't finished."

"Because I know what you were going to say."

"And knowing what I was going to say, you answered that fast?" She glanced at me, tone flat as a blade.

"Because any slower and you'd start looking smug." I had nothing for that. I went back to my food, ate two bites, then found myself watching her again. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Maki in uniform carried a sharpness—the kind that could turn and slice through your evasions without warning.

But today, in the off-white turtleneck and trousers, sitting in the slanted late-afternoon light with her hair tied up and the things she'd chosen for me nearby, she was unreasonably soft in a way that didn't suit my peace of mind. Soft enough that I was starting to admit this had been a genuinely dangerous outing. Because once I let myself call today a date, everything that could still be written off as coincidence would start taking shape.

Like how the helmet color she'd chosen happened to complement her jacket perfectly. Like how she'd remembered I found solid black too heavy, and the dark grey she'd picked was exactly the cool tone I preferred. Like how she'd already thought about what to bring back to twenty-two as cover. And like how she'd been completely composed all day, but kept showing me these brief, barely-there moments of small disorder that only I was positioned to see. That was more lethal than any direct approach.

Because you can handle a straight pitch. It's the half-hidden shit, the stuff that only leaks through cracks, that really gets under your skin. Makes you lie there alone afterward, replaying it over and over until you want to scream. … Wait. Why am I already assuming I'll be lying awake thinking about this tonight? Fucking embarrassing. By the time we came out of the shop, the sky had started bleeding into harsh orange-gold.

More people on the streets now, the commercial district louder than it had been this afternoon. Close to quitting time—the intersection suddenly packed, crosswalk edges turning into a mess of people with bags cutting every direction, like everyone was rushing toward some appointment they didn't want to keep but couldn't avoid. I had two bags in my hands, looking down to dodge a kid who nearly plowed into me just as the light turned green. Maki stepped half a pace ahead.

The next second, like something had just occurred to her, she reached her hand back. Casually. No turning around. No checking on me. Not even a token "watch your step." She just slipped her hand back beside me, natural as breathing, like something was supposed to fit right into that space. And I—like a complete fucking idiot—put my hand right into hers. It happened too fast. Before my brain could process what was happening, she'd already pulled me two steps forward. … Hold on. No. This wasn't like the showroom.

Back then we at least had cables on the ground, had "careful not to trip" as cover. This time there was nothing. This was just crossing a street. And the worst part was how natural it felt. So natural you'd think we did this every day. So natural I was half a beat late to the realization—wait, she's holding my hand. I turned to look at her. Maki still had that perfectly flat expression, eyes straight ahead, stride steady. Her grip wasn't heavy—just firm enough to guide me through the crowd.

If the tips of her ears hadn't gone slightly red, I might've convinced myself I was the only one losing my mind over this. But the red was there. Faint. Brief. Enough to prove she wasn't oblivious. Which meant she knew. She knew exactly what she was doing, and did it anyway. My breathing went wrong right there in the middle of the crosswalk. After we made it across, she let go—like a task completed. The whole thing took less than ten seconds. Criminally short. But that was exactly the problem.

Too brief to qualify as some capital-E Event, too deliberate to brush off as accidental contact. It landed in the most infuriating middle zone—natural enough that it didn't feel like a confession, clear enough that there was no pretending it hadn't happened. I walked beside her for several steps before I managed to scrape my voice back together.

"…You just—" Maki didn't look at me.

"Mm?"

"Nothing." Perfect. I lost. Because I had no fucking clue how to ask. Ask what? Ask if she held my hand on purpose? Ask if she does this with everyone she's worried might get lost? Either way I'd just be announcing that I cared, and the worst part was—I did care. So I shoved those ten seconds deep into my chest and pretended I still had basic social dignity. But I knew this was going to jump out and ambush me tonight. Three days from now. A week from now.

Next time I see a traffic light, it'll probably crawl back out just to mess with me. Cheap shot. Maki's the type who says little, shows little, does little. Which means when she actually does something, the hit rate goes through the roof. This was precision targeting.