140 - Story About Buying My Classmate Once A Week

Chapter 140 Cup noodles or a pre-packaged hamburg steak. There's always the option of cooking something myself. After choosing from the few methods I have for today’s dinner, I decided to heat up a pre-packaged hamburg steak. It’s just me eating, so going through the effort of cooking something fresh seems tedious. This morning, Sendai-san mentioned she’d be late because of a shift at work. Not that she needed to tell me—I’ve already internalized the days I eat dinner alone. I plate the hamburg steak and prepare some rice. A salad would have been a good addition, I think to myself, but even with more dishes, eating alone is never particularly enjoyable. Meals with someone else, no matter what they are, always feel more delicious. But when I'm dining solo, the food merely satisfies hunger—it’s never as enjoyable. I shovel the hamburg steak and rice into my stomach mechanically. Even with Sendai-san, we don't really have those lively conversations, but alone, there's not even a need to speak a single word, so the plate empties quickly. Once the dishes are washed, there’s no reason to stay in the shared space any longer, so I return to my room. I grab the black cat from the bookshelf and toss it onto my bed. Then, just as clumsily, I dive onto the bed after it. Today wasn't particularly enjoyable, yet it wasn't a disaster either. But I can’t shake this lousy feeling. I’m too lazy to take a bath or change clothes. Even looking at the assignments I have to tackle feels like a chore, so I pull the black cat towards me. "Meow." It’s a stuffed animal, but I stroke its head anyway. As a Christmas gift, this black cat has become a comforting presence beside me, easing my mind whenever I pet it. As I gaze at it, I think how hearing a real meow might actually lift my spirits. I place the black cat on my chest and close my eyes. I didn't intend to nap, but shutting out the light wraps my mind in a fog that draws me towards slumber. Just for a little while. Maybe thirty minutes. Even setting an alarm feels like a hassle, so with the room’s light filtered through my eyelids, I surrender to drowsiness. I can hear myself breathe softly, and the black cat rolls beside me. In this dark shadow that paradoxically hints at light, my consciousness drifts between shallow and deep slumber. While in this half-dreamlike state, a faint sound reaches me from afar. Knock, knock. I recognize the subtle knocking on the door and sit up. “What?” I force out a raspy voice from my throat, directing it towards the door. “I bought some cake, want to eat it together?” Sendai-san’s cheerful voice rings in. “Cake?” “Yeah, cake. Come on, open the door.” At her prompting, I leave the room. As soon as the door closes with a soft click, Sendai-san grabs my arm. “I got shortcake, strawberry tart, and both rare and baked cheesecakes. Help yourself.” “Isn’t this a bit much?” “You can manage two pieces, right? I’ll make us some tea, sit down.” Despite not agreeing to eat, Sendai-san tugs me over to the table. She pulls out a chair with a smile, and I notice the white box sitting atop the table. This isn’t a convenience store purchase; she’s bought these from a proper shop. I don’t dislike cake, and there’s room in my stomach. Eating two might be questionable, but I can certainly manage one. I sit down quietly and look at Sendai-san. “…Did something good happen?” “People buy cake even when nothing special happens. Delicious food puts you in a good mood. Do you dislike cake, Miyagi?” “I like it.” “Then it’s fine. The water’s already boiling, so just wait a bit.” Saying this, Sendai-san retrieves a teapot filled with loose tea leaves and some mugs. She pours hot water into the teapot from the electric kettle we bought together, then uses her phone to precisely time the steeping before pouring tea into the mugs. “Pick what you like.” Sendai-san says as she opens the white box. Peering inside, the cakes she mentioned are nestled together. Whether or not I can finish them, I’d happily eat all four. Picking two is easy, but it feels wrong to choose before the one who bought them. “You should choose first, Sendai-san.” When I offer her the chance, she brings a plate with a shortcake and rare cheesecake and places it before me. Those were exactly what I wanted, chosen perhaps because she picked up on my gaze. “What do you like, Sendai-san?” “Strawberry tart and baked cheesecake.” She picks up the remaining two cakes and plates them. “Really, which one?” “I bought cakes I like, so I enjoy all four.” Perhaps she anticipated I’d say something bothersome, as she quickly peels the film off the baked cheesecake. Then, saying "Let's eat," she uses her fork to cut into the apex of the isosceles triangle slice and takes a bite. It’s a silent command to eat the cake on the plate, so I also say "Let's eat" and remove the film from the shortcake. Preferring to save the strawberry for last, I place it on the plate and slice into the peaked angle, taking a mouthful. The not-too-sweet cream melts on my tongue, merging with the fluffy sponge as it sinks into my stomach. “Is it delicious?” Having enjoyed three bites of her baked cheesecake, Sendai-san turns to me. “Yeah… Thanks.” I express my gratitude and crumble the cream-laden cake. I stab a generously-sized piece with my fork and deposit it into my mouth. Despite having eaten dinner, the cream easily slides down my throat. Opposite me, Sendai-san steadily consumes her baked cheesecake. She doesn’t bring up work. No unexpected questions or musings on what middle-schoolers are thinking these days. None of those uninteresting topics are broached. Whether she talks about work or not, either way, it doesn't sit well with me. The cake is delicious, yet something indigestible remains lodged deep in my gut. “Sendai-san, come over here.” I call Sendai-san from across the table, pointing diagonally in front of me. With a curious expression, she stands up as I add "bring your chair." She scoots it beside mine with a scraping sound. “Open your mouth.” After giving this instruction, I scoop up some cream with my finger. The silky texture envelopes my finger, and a cool sensation spreads through it. There’s a faint crease appearing on Sendai-san’s brow. I know this isn't entirely appropriate, but when I repeat my request, she opens her mouth without hesitation. I reach out and bring my finger to her lips. As my fingertip enters the parted lips, her mouth closes, and her teeth press against my first knuckle. Her warm tongue touches my finger, melting the cream away. Sendai-san often complies with what I tell her to do. Even now, although I didn’t order her, she’s licking my finger obediently. Watching her follow my words gives me a sense of relief. It’s different from the days when our interactions were based on orders, yet some elements remain unchanged. I press my finger in a bit further. She bites down slightly, as if to resist. But as I continue to push in, her tongue entwines around my finger. The sensation of her warm, firm tongue against my skin is both pleasant and unsettling. I pull my finger out a bit forcibly and grab a tissue from an open box to wipe it. “Why did you lick it?” “Because you told me to, Miyagi.” Sendai-san’s response is as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to follow my words. “All I said was to open your mouth.” “Doesn’t that mean the same thing—like you wanted me to lick it?” I can’t fault her logic; her nonchalant obedience suggests she might follow any request I make. —What if I told her, right now, to quit her job? The thought nearly slips out with my next breath, so instead, I crumble the shortcake with my fork. Forming a small bite, I bring it to my lips. Though the cake is light and fluffy with a balanced sweetness, it feels dense in my stomach now, as if the cream and sponge have turned to lead and iron. “Sendai-san, you mentioned earlier about buying cake even when nothing good happens... but there must be a reason behind it, right?” I ask, attempting to distract from the heaviness in my gut. “I just wanted to eat something delicious.” “Really?” “... I wanted to cheer you up, that’s all.” Sendai-san sighs lightly as she responds. “Even now, you don't seem too cheerful. What would it take to put you in a better mood?” “I’m not in a bad mood.” “You are. I’m not asking for a smile, but at least try to look like you’re having a good time.” Even when I'm sulking and not smiling, Sendai-san sticks around and makes an effort to lift my spirits. So, it wouldn't hurt to seem a bit happier now and then, but I’m not sure how to genuinely do that in front of her. Sendai-san is kind. Yet, I find myself unable to reciprocate and often testing her patience. “Lick it, maybe that’ll improve my mood.” I extend a finger without cream this time towards Sendai-san, who grabs my hand and draws it to her mouth. Complying with my words, her tongue flicks against my index finger, licking it clean. Even though there's no cream to be licked off, her tongue glides over as if savoring it. My finger becomes wet as she moves toward the base, her lips brushing against the back of my hand. Her lips pull away briefly only to press back against my skin. Her tongue glides along my wrist, focusing all my sensations on where her warmth touches me, sharpening the skin’s sensitivity. Each time her tongue slides across my skin, a chill runs down my spine, involuntarily causing my shoulder to twitch. My heart feels constricted, as if shrunk to half its size. Sendai-san’s tongue traces the veins from my wrist to my forearm. When I draw back my arm, it returns to me without resistance. The moment her warmth fades, I find myself longing for more. More than the cake, I want to touch Sendai-san. “Close your eyes.” I instruct, and she complies wordlessly, her eyelids softly lowering. I rise and touch her cheek. My fingers slip over her skin, tracing her lips. As I reach the center, she licks my finger. Pulling my finger away, Sendai-san grabs at my clothing, drawing me nearer until our lips meet. It’s a light touch, absent of any cream’s flavor. Feeling only softness, I draw away. Sendai-san opens her eyes, and our gazes meet. Before she can voice the thoughts written on her face, I speak up. “Sendai-san, you haven’t kept your promise about going out to eat.” I remind her of the promise she made over my earrings during Golden Week. “I’ve been really busy since the holidays ended.” Sitting down in my chair, I watch her make excuses. “You’re the one who suggested it, Sendai-san.” “How about this Sunday for that promise?” “Sure.” I answer succinctly, wiping my fingers with a tissue, while Sendai-san, as if nothing had happened, sips her tea.