161 - Story About Buying My Classmate Once A Week

Chapter 161 I pick up my mug, observing that it's now less than halfway full. Miyagi wouldn’t just come to my room without a reason. The only reason she’s here now is for some tea, and once she finishes, she'll leave to go back to her own room. “You like animals, don’t you, Miyagi?” I sip my tea leisurely, placing the mug back on the table. I can’t gauge how much tea Miyagi has left, but she won’t leave until after I’ve finished mine. “Not really,” she replies. “Oh? But you know about dogs, like Borzois. I didn’t know about them until you mentioned it. Plus, your tissue covers feature animals like crocodiles and platypuses.” I pulled the platypus tissue cover that had moved from the kitchen to my room towards me and stroked its head, and a hand reached out from the side and pulled out a tissue. “Those are just coincidences, both the dogs and the tissue cover.” Her voice is indifferent, making it hard to tell if she really only knows about Borzois by chance or if she randomly chose an animal-themed tissue cover. But one doesn't remember details about things they don’t care for, let alone choose an animal pattern if they’re indifferent. “So, there’s no animal you like? How about dogs?” “They’re okay. How about you, Sendai-san?” Setting down my mug, I look at Miyagi, who’s as aloof as a cat, and respond. “I think I prefer cats.” “Really? I thought since you're so dog-like, you’d prefer dogs.” As I say this, Miyagi takes another tissue and rolls the two into a small ball. “I don’t think I’m that dog-like." “I think you are.” Miyagi confidently asserts this and throws the tissue ball towards the trash can. Plop. The ball misses its mark, bouncing off and rolling across the floor. “Sendai-san, fetch it.” Miyagi points at the tissue with an almost expected suggestion. “I don’t do that kind of stuff.” “I was just saying it. It’s fine.” Her voice remains impassive, but Miyagi doesn’t move. Naturally, neither does the tissue, leaving the white clump lying in the room. “Miyagi, throw it away yourself.” "If you want it thrown away, you can do it, Sendai-san.” Not in the best of moods, Miyagi says this without looking at me. Clearly, she has no intention of picking up the tissue herself. Not that I’m eager to play a pet-and-master game, but reluctantly, I stand, retrieve the tissue ball, and hand it back to her. “Here you go.” I pass the tissue ball to her and ask, “Satisfied?” “Not really.” The tissue ball I just handed to her gets placed on the floor again. “Is there something else you want me to do?” “Shake.” The command is entirely dog-like, as Miyagi holds out her hand towards me. This is ridiculous. I don’t need to indulge her whims. Thinking that, I quickly changed my mind. I did as I was told and extend my right hand obediently, placing it on Miyagi's palm. Then I grabbed her hand and pulled her gently. Miyagi, who had let her guard down, leaned towards me, allowing me to pull her into a hug. “You're allowed to order me more, you know.” The proximity and shared warmth make my heart beat a little faster, but I pretend not to notice. “No more orders. Besides, that wasn't an order. Now let go.” Miyagi pushes against me, sounding overtly displeased, but I have no intention of letting go. “It’s practically an order. Anything but ‘let go’ would be fine, so go ahead.” Miyagi remains silent, not giving any new orders. I don’t mind staying this close; whether she orders me or not is secondary. If she hesitates, it just means more time in this intimate distance. “Miyagi.” I call her softly near her ear, and in response, a small voice emerges. “...Then let me touch your stomach.” Without waiting for my assent, Miyagi begins to touch my stomach through my shirt. Startled by her unexpected action, I push her away a little, but her hand stays latched onto my shirt, refusing to let go. “What kind of order is that?” “You just said you’d let me touch your stomach,” Miyagi retorts, pulling my shirt slightly. I had indeed told her, “Okay,” when she offhandedly mentioned earlier, “I’ll consider it if you let me touch your stomach.” I hadn’t thought she was serious. She surprises me by actually meaning it, but if our agreement is still valid and she wants to, I don’t mind her touching my stomach. “You can touch mine if I can touch yours.” “I only want to touch yours, not the other way around. You said orders were fine, so just listen.” Trying to enforce her newly stated order rather than sticking to the original agreement is selfish and immature. I don’t have to obey such orders. I know that. Yet, I find it hard to refuse Miyagi when she’s like this. “...Okay, fine. If you want to touch, go ahead.” This is a habit I've formed since our high school days. Whether Miyagi is right or wrong doesn’t matter; in the end, I accept her terms. Besides, Miyagi lacks boldness. She’ll likely stop after a brief touch. “So, what now?” I ask, releasing my hold on her. She's already begun slipping her hand inside my shirt with hesitant movements, softly patting my stomach like a child might pet a stuffed animal. It feels somewhat like being treated as a pet, but I am pleased that Miyagi is showing an interest in me. “Is this amusing to you?” I inquire, looking down toward Miyagi. She responds in a slightly muted voice. “Just okay.” Despite her terse reply, she continues to touch my stomach. Her fingers rest momentarily on my side; it tickles, but her touch and the heat radiating through them are pleasant. I thought her hand would pull back shortly, but it stays there, exploring my stomach. Her playful touch becomes more deliberate, as though caressing fine fabric. Her fingers dance across my sides, climbing slowly upward. The feather-light touch, skating over my skin, stirs feelings beyond ticklishness. Our distance remains unchanged, with Miyagi’s hand the only thing so intimately connected to me. Her hand meanders to just below my chest, tracing down in a gentle glide. “...Isn’t that touch a bit... intimate?” Miyagi’s touch wears away at the threads of my restraint, tempting me to act on what I know she doesn’t wish for. I might be fine with her touch, but it might become problematic for Miyagi. “It’s not,” Miyagi asserts, moving the hand positioned just above my hipbone. As her hand slides smoothly over my skin, I catch it, and she gives my stomach a slight press. “Miyagi. Pressing on my stomach right after eating is uncomfortable.” It’s not enough to make my meal churn uncomfortably, but it’s certainly not pleasant. “Then let go of my hand.” I release her hand as instructed, and her touch becomes lighter again. I'm curious about what Miyagi is thinking right now. I want to know if, like I feel when I touch her, she finds it pleasant and desires to continue. And I’m particularly interested in understanding why she wants to touch me in the first place. But there’s no time to delve into that now. Miyagi’s hand has ventured above my stomach, brushing the edge of my bra. Her hand pauses there, indicating no intention to proceed further, yet I know I should intervene before I lose all sense of reason. "Miyagi, that's not my stomach," I say, this time firmly gripping her hand through the fabric. “And you said it was okay to touch your stomach. What’s this about?” she grumbles, clearly displeased. "I mean, if you really insist on continuing, I won’t stop you, but I can’t guarantee what’ll happen." "What do you mean by that?" "Just that I can't promise what I might do if Miyagi keeps going." I lightly tug her hair, causing her to finally meet my gaze. Like a playful dog, I move in close and softly nuzzle her cheek. "If we keep this up, I might lose my self-control." I whisper into her ear before releasing my grip on her hand. She quickly pulls her hands away, hastily retreating from beneath my shirt. “Pervert. I’m going back to my room,” Miyagi retorts, though the actions she took were far more fitting for the term than anything I did. She picks up the platypus tissue cover from the floor and gives me a playful smack with it. “Hold on. I haven’t finished my tea yet.” I take a deliberate sip of the now-cooled tea. Miyagi simply wipes her cheek with a tissue, making no move to escape nor demanding reassurance with the promise on the earring. Still, as she stares downward, engaging in a staring contest with the floor, I can no longer make sense of her expression. “Sendai-san,” she murmurs. “Yes?” “...What animal would I be?” Her voice barely above a whisper, she asks this question. “Hmm, probably a cat,” I say, opting not to label her a stray. “A cat? Why?” “Because you’re always feeling cold, Miyagi. If there were a kotatsu, I bet you’d spend the whole day under it.” I offer a simple explanation before making a suggestion. “Should we get a kotatsu when winter comes?” “No way,” Miyagi replies immediately. As expected, her prompt answer brings a smile to my face as I set down my now-empty mug.