2.10 - A Story About a Married Teacher Who Becomes Obsessed With Her Female Student

Chapter Two: "Looking Up At The Fallen Star" - Part Ten "Mm," I said, letting out a deep sigh as I watched Togawa-san roll onto her bed. The fingers I'd used to carry my bags ached sharply. On the way here, I'd made a detour to buy various drinks—tea, juice, sports drinks—figuring that no matter what kind of ailment, she’d be thirsty. I had ended up buying quite a lot. "You can drink whichever you like," I offered. Togawa-san listlessly peered into the plastic bag, stretching her neck slightly. "You brought a lot," she observed, as if too tired to choose. "What would you like to drink?" I asked, seeking to accommodate her preference. "Hmm... Do you have any sweet juice?" "Of course," I answered, fishing out the apple juice. I unscrewed the lid and handed it to her. Togawa-san sat up and took a small sip. The breath she released afterward was slightly lighter, as if she had been revived. "Sensei, is it okay for you to be away from work?" she questioned. "It's not ideal," I admitted. "But I plan to return to school once we're done here." I had tossed the work on my desk aside and came straight to Togawa-san’s house after school ended. ...I ended up here. "Why did you come?" she asked. "Because I'm your teacher," I replied, knowing this wasn’t the answer she wanted but not able to say more. Togawa-san’s eyes narrowed, as if chastising me for being evasive. "Would you come if Yoshimura-kun or Sa-chan were sick?" She listed some classmates, wanting to confirm something—her own peace of mind, perhaps. I easily pictured Yoshimura-kun, but "Sa-chan"... possibly Satake-san, who often sat near Togawa's desk? Imagining the two students sick in bed, I responded, "I don't think so." "Then why did you come for me?" she pressed further, her eyes unwilling to let the matter drop. I understood without words what she wanted me to say, what she needed to hear. "You’re different, Togawa-san," I finally admitted, against my better judgment. The divide between my professional obligations and personal feelings widened, as I sat in her home, emotionally invested beyond the boundaries of a mere teacher. Denying Togawa-san’s special place in my heart felt like a lie at this point. I had to acknowledge how much she meant to me, even if I was running from the true nature of those feelings. Satisfied, Togawa-san closed her eyes and smiled contentedly, as if warmed by my presence. "If you keep saying things like that, I'll really fall in love with you, Sensei." she teased. "Anyway... how are you feeling?" I redirected the conversation, not wanting to engage with the seriousness of her words. "I had a headache since this morning and went to bed. I think I got a fever while I was sleeping." "You have a fever... it seems like it's quite high, did you take your temperature?" I put my hand on Togawa-san's forehead to check, and behind the sweat that was dripping from her body, there was a solid heat like her breath. The heat that was eating away at my palm was eating away at Togawa-san from the inside. "I haven't used it recently, so I forgot where it is." "What about your medicine?" "Same." I should have bought some medicine on the way instead of rushing over in a hurry. "Hmm...Is there a pharmacy nearby?" I should have at least brought some antipyretic medicine. "My headache improved after talking to you. I must have had a fever, but your visit really lifted my spirits. You know, they say illness stems from the mind? I think that's true," she explained, sounding more energetic. Her words didn't seem insincere; her voice carried more vitality than before. I recalled how comforting family visits were when I fell ill as a kid. Alone, time dragged endlessly, amplifying the torment of illness. "More than that, please keep your hand there. It feels nice," she requested, looking up at me with eyes that seemed to plead for reassurance. Was I interpreting what I wanted to see? My hand stayed on her forehead, and I watched her closely. Despite the sweat and hoarse breathing, her vulnerability stirred something other than sympathy within me, and I hated myself for it. “Does the sweat feel uncomfortable?” I asked. "Hmm... yeah, yeah." Togawa nodded twice, as if thinking of something. I should probably prepare a damp towel for her. Her shirt clung to her body with sweat, revealing her contours. Naturally, this included her well-defined bust. Something flickered in my gaze. Mori-san's words echoed and rings through my mind. The denial that it couldn't possibly be true stuck in my teeth and never made it out. Whatever I tried to say remained spinning futilely in my head. "Oh, Sensei, you're looking at my chest..." Togawa-san commented, catching me off guard with a jolt. "No, I’m not," I stammered, face heating up in a guilty reaction. "It’s fine. I don’t mind you looking," she said, smiling softly. "No, I'm not..." I muttered, my voice betraying my lack of composure. Though there were no walls, I felt cornered. "You're covered in sweat, you look like you're in pain," I justified. It wasn’t about anything else; I shouldn’t be looking at Togawa like that, especially when she was unwell. "When you look at my face, squint your eyes and blur your vision," she instructed, pulling her eyes sideways to mimic slitted eyes. "That's oddly specific, but why?" I asked, puzzled. "Because I'm not wearing any makeup, and my hair..." she trailed off, looking away slightly out of embarrassment. Her shyness brought a small, involuntary exhale of amusement from me. The unease began to ebb as I settled. "You shouldn't care about those things when you're sick," I gently chided. "But I care when you’re looking, Sensei," she pouted, her tone mixing sweetness with her usual familiarity. "No need. You're still cute, Togawa-san." "That's a lie," she pouted further. "That's how you look to me. Isn't that enough?" I replied, honestly. A hint of color returned to Togawa's pale cheeks, and she rolled onto her side, pulling her blanket over her head. "I don’t like it. But... tell me I’m cute again," she demanded, her voice muffled adorably by the bedding. I looked at her sweat, still sticky on my palm, and followed her request. "You're cute." "Now, tell me why I'm cute specifically," she insisted, emboldened by our previous exchange. "Isn't 'everything' enough?" That was the truth of it. "If you stop there, I’ll cry," she mused, a little louder, her child-like insistence both charming and disarming. Despite her demands, I found myself not minding her childish display one bit.