150 - Story About Buying My Classmate Once A Week

Chapter 150 The glass sits on the table with condensation forming, and barley tea that remains untouched. Miyagi doesn't drink the second glass of barley tea she asked for and says nothing. We are spending a Sunday that seems the same as always, yet somehow different. "Hey, the earrings. When should we go buy them?" I bring up the nonchalant topic, referencing the promise that's been hanging in the air since Thursday. Though I'm curious about Utsunomiya, I want to direct my emotions elsewhere. "I haven't decided yet," Miyagi says, wiping the condensation off her glass with her fingertip. "I see." "Whenever is fine with you, right?" "Sure. Do you have any particular earrings in mind, Miyagi?" "Isn’t Sendai-san the one choosing them?" "That's the plan, but I figured I’d hear any ideas you might have." The earrings are something that reminds me of my promise with Miyagi, holding a special significance for me. When I pierced her ears, it was as if I was marking Miyagi as mine. Even if it’s no longer the pair she wore then, I want it to hold a special meaning. That's why I want to buy them with my part-time earnings, not with money that my parents occasionally provide. Miyagi isn’t the type to genuinely desire something beyond my budget, but even so, I want to have the chance to buy her earrings with significance. If there’s a specific pair she wants, I want to know beforehand. If I mention using my part-time job money, she'd probably just say not to bother, so I won’t tell her that. "...Nothing special, do whatever you like, Sendai-san," Miyagi replies tersely. "Then, show me your earrings." "Why do I have to show you?" "I thought it might help when choosing." Today, too, her earrings are hidden by her hair. I know what they look like, but I want to see them. "I’ll show you when we go to buy them." I didn’t expect an enthusiastic response, but this felt particularly dull. After a moment’s hesitation, I stand up and reach out to Miyagi. However, before I can touch her hair, Miyagi moves back, with her chair making a scraping sound. I stop my hand before it reaches her. My hand, left without a purpose, lands on the table, and I exhale softly. Does Utsunomiya have her show the earrings willingly, I wonder. Such thoughts bubble up, and a feeling smoldering within me grows larger. I want to touch Miyagi. A while back, in my eagerness, I might have already touched her, pushed her hair behind her ear, and looked at the earrings. But the memories from last week are too vivid, making me hesitate. And Miyagi’s reaction seems overly pronounced. "It’s not something to be surprised about," I say lightly, smiling. I don’t want to weigh down the seemingly calm atmosphere. But at this rate, I feel I’ll never be able to touch Miyagi again. "It’s not like I intended to do anything weird," I say, reaching out slowly this time. Miyagi doesn’t pull away. With a deliberate intent to reach out and touch her, my hand connects with her for the first time in a week. Though I grabbed her arm at Utsunomiya’s house, at that moment, I only wanted to bring her back. Just touching her hair makes my heartbeat loud enough that Miyagi could likely hear it. I’m surprised by my own tension over such a trivial matter. I gently comb through her soft hair, tucking it behind her ear. Tracing the cool metal of her earring with my finger, I feel her earlobe. Miyagi almost grips my hand, but stops. Our eyes meet, yet she doesn’t voice any complaint. My hand, which could easily have been grabbed, isn’t. The act of touching, something done countless times, now bears a different meaning, not being dismissed with a harsh voice. Taking advantage of Miyagi's lack of resistance, my actions grow bolder. My fingers slide from her earlobe to her neck. Pressing firmly against her throat, I let them glide downward. The smooth skin feels pleasant, reviving memories of last week. Remembering Miyagi’s voice from that time makes my chest tighten, and thoughts of Utsunomiya fade away. Slowly, I touch her collarbone. Stroking the bone, Miyagi’s body shivers slightly, and finally, she captures my hand. "Don’t touch anywhere other than my ears," she says, clutching my arm tightly. "I know." Allowing her to pull my hand away, I sit back in my chair and gaze at her. Miyagi neither stands up nor glares at me. And clearly, my heartbeat is fast. Such a small matter, but something different from usual. As the sky changes from night to morning, our relationship subtly shifts its hues. Yet, there’s a part of me that wishes for a dramatic change that surpasses this gradual transformation. If nothing changes after what happened, there might never be a trigger for change. However, if things remain as they are, Miyagi will stay here as a roommate throughout our university years. If forced to change, Miyagi might run again and never return. "I think I’ll head back to my room soon," Miyagi says in an indifferent tone before I can settle my feelings. "Wait," I protest. "I won’t." "Why not?" "Because I feel like Sendai-san might do something weird." Miyagi stands up. Before she can return to her room, I grab her arm. "What kind of weird thing?" "Put your hand over your heart and think about it." If it means placing my hand on Miyagi’s heart, I’m willing to ponder deeply. Such silly thoughts fill my head as I hear Miyagi’s displeased voice. "Sendai-san, let go." I release her arm, only to grasp her hand. "That’s not what I meant." I understand, but I don’t want to let Miyagi return to her room just yet. Our feelings don’t align. Still, the only reason we remain together is because of the word "roommate," which I left lingering this past Sunday. For me, it’s a constraining term that I’ll eventually want to do away with, though I’m hesitant to eliminate it right now. Still, I long to return to a relationship where touching is natural. To put it plainly, I’d like to at least kiss, but doing so now requires the courage of approaching a stranger. After some thought, I choose one act from the ones Miyagi might permit, and press my lips to her fingertip. Her hand stiffens. "Miyagi, is this something weird?" There’s no response, but she doesn’t run away. Relieved that she remains before me, I kiss the second knuckle. Her finger twitches slightly. I press my lips hard enough to feel the bone beneath the soft skin, and Miyagi utters my name with a voice harder than any bone: "Sendai-san." It’s better not to go any further. Kissing, even if not on the lips, should be enough to feel satisfied and let it end. That’s what I think, yet unable to stop myself, I let my tongue glide over her finger. Miyagi touches my hair. The hand that usually seizes or pulls my hair is still. Cautiously, I press my lips to the back of her hand. This is something we’ve done countless times before, at her command. It's no big deal for us. I briefly separate my lips and then reconnect them. As my tongue glides over her smooth skin, Miyagi tries to pull her arm away. After all the times she ordered and made me do this, I don't want to hear her say it’s unacceptable today. I grip her hand firmly and give her fingertip a gentle bite. Silence. Even a small sound would be enough, like last Sunday. As if trying to sink my teeth into her skin, I press my tongue against her finger pad. I lightly suck on her finger as if drawing blood from an imaginary wound, and Miyagi kicks my leg. "Enough already." A low voice reaches my ears, and I release her finger. Looking up, I see Miyagi frowning with a crease in her brow. "I knew you'd do something weird. Sendai-san, you always make things lewd." "You think that was lewd?" "Is it wrong if I do?" "Even though you've ordered me to do this countless times," I retort. It wasn’t just obeying orders — Miyagi has initiated such actions herself on occasion. I didn’t expect her to label something we've often done as "lewd" today. Hearing such words on a day like today makes it sound as if Miyagi, like me, is linking today’s actions to last week’s Sunday. "That’s kind of irritating," she mutters with a sullen voice, stepping on my foot. She hits just the right spot, causing a rather sharp pain. "Should I stop doing it altogether?" I ask, pulling my foot away from under hers. "As long as you reflect on it properly, that's enough," she says, before retreating back to her room without looking at me.