“This...is my room.”
Toriko only let go of my hand once the door was closed behind us. Did she think I was going to make a break for it if I had the chance? She seemed super tense, and her hand was all sweaty.
As for me, I surprised myself by actually calming down a little once I was inside the room. The moment we entered Toriko’s room, something in the air changed.
A single bed with the blankets pulled back. A laptop placed diagonally on the desk and a power cord stretching out towards the power strip on the floor. A pile of thick, English books covered in sticky notes, possibly textbooks or research material for one of her university courses. A closet that was half-open, its contents a mess. Near a little box full of cosmetics, there was a container of body cream and an eye shadow palette that wouldn’t fit inside it.
“It’s a good room,” I said, voicing my opinion without meaning to.
“Yeah?” Toriko sounded bewildered.
I realized that, ever since I’d entered Toriko’s house, there had been something that felt off that I wouldn’t normally notice.
Mom’s work room and Mama’s bedroom had both been dusted despite their owners being gone. If I thought about who was cleaning them, it had to be Toriko. When I thought that she’d been living in this house all alone this whole time, keeping her deceased parents’ rooms clean, before I could think she was tidy or a neat freak, I got this vague sense of unease about it.
When you live alone in a big house, there’s bound to be things you don’t notice, and spots that get left uncleaned. That’s how it was with Kozakura’s place, and it was to be expected. And yet, despite having taken a look around the apartment, there had been no such oversights here.
This home was a grave, and Toriko the crypt keeper—that’s the image that I was getting. The sudden feeling of resistance I’d felt when we were in the bedroom might have come from that mental association. Even if it weren’t the place where her parents had once slept, it was almost like flirting in front of a Buddhist altar.
After entering Toriko’s room, I finally got it.
This room has color. It’s the room of a living person.
I turned to look behind me. Toriko was staring at me with a torn look on her face.
I feel like this is the first I’ve seen of the living Toriko since I entered her home.
Her expression looked uneasy, without composure. She wanted me, but also feared rejection.
Despite the way she’d been breathing heavily through her nose as she led me here by the hand, now Toriko was just standing there awkwardly. As if once she’d dragged me into her room she didn’t know what to do anymore. Maybe as we entered what remained of the domain of the living inside this house of the dead, Toriko had come back to life.
I crossed the room and sat on the bed. Toriko’s bed. Then I looked up at Toriko.
Not knowing what to say, I just patted the spot beside me on the bed. Toriko wandered over and sat down next to me. It was the same position as we’d been in in the other bedroom, only we were about a hand’s width closer this time.
Toriko couldn’t bring herself to look at me. Honestly, I think the ability to suddenly find my composure at a time like this was one of the worst parts of my personality.
“Toriko... You really do want to do it with me?” I asked, eliciting a nod from Toriko.
“Is it something that’s really important to you?”
“Yeah... It’s important,” Toriko replied bashfully, and suddenly I found myself thinking how cute she was, and how dear she was to me.
It wasn’t a big deal—at least not to me, that is—but just how much had she agonized over it? Letting her imagination run wild and worrying about all sorts of things that she didn’t need to. Trying to be considerate of me, yet at the same time unable to overcome her own desire... Her internal turmoil was palpable. The awkward lust she had for me was dazzling to behold. The way Toriko was now, there was no way she could think of sex, romance, and love as separate things. They were part of one big thing, all mixed together, and directed at me. Her earnest feelings overwhelmed me—but, you know, it didn’t feel bad.
I feel like I had started to interpret that feeling of “I don’t dislike this” in a more positive way. There was no getting around the fact that there was a difference in intensity in the way we felt about each other, but I was thinking that, maybe, I didn’t need to feel bad about that or use it as an excuse.
It would take courage, of course, but I wet my lips—then made up my mind to say it.
“I-If...I say okay, what’re you going to do?”
Toriko covered her mouth as if she was about to cry. “Be happy...”
Were her eyes moist because of excitement, or was it because she was overcome with emotion?
If she’s gonna look that delighted... I’d feel way too bad for her if I turned her down now.
“Erm... I don’t know if I’m going to be any good... But is that still okay?”
Toriko just nodded mutely, unable to utter anything more in response. I finally found my resolve.
“Well, then...”
I fidgeted awkwardly as I spoke. How does this kind of thing get started?
“...Okay. Umm, go for it?”
The way I said it wasn’t sexy or cool at all. But it was apparently good enough. Toriko reached out and placed her hands on my clothes.
“G-Go easy on me,” I said, just to be safe, but I’m not sure Toriko even heard me. Her right hand, beautiful all the way down to the tips of her fingers, and her translucent left hand were both trembling with nervous anticipation.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Ow...!”
“Oh! Sorry.”
“That hurts.”
“Oh...!”
“Hey, I said that hurts.”
“Huh? No way?!”
“Um...”
“...”