“It’s not that we don’t fight. He just never gets mad, no matter what I do,” I explained. “And there’ve been many times I thought he might yell at me, but he never does. And it’s not like he’s holding back either.”
“Yeah, it just doesn’t work out long-term if you’re actually mad and hiding it. They pretend it’s fine and try to go on with their life, but these things pile up and then they blow up at you out of nowhere.”
“Right? That’s why I get annoyed pretty often, but he never escalates or fights back. He’s always so nice...or—”
“He’s really chill? Or he could be in love with you. One or the other.”
“Huh, I don’t know about that. Surely there could be a third option.”
Now that I was talking about this, Nishikawa’s behavior really was strange. I knew him pretty well by now; ascribing our lack of fighting to his bottomless kindness didn’t feel right. And it wasn’t like he never experienced anger.
Ozaki-san easily kept the conversation going with me. As we enjoyed ourselves, the alcohol tasted better than ever. By the end, we had forgotten about this being a “sampling,” and we drank a few highballs together. At least, I was pretty sure we did.
I didn’t remember leaving the restaurant.
When I woke up, I was on the sofa in the living room.
The first things that hit me were a headache and a sick feeling in my stomach. I instantly scrunched my eyes shut again. As I moaned and writhed in pain, I heard a voice.
“Oh, are you awake, Sacchan?”
I recognized it as his, of course.
“Let’s see... Oh, you are awake. Want some water? Minami said you should have a sports drink. Think you’re up for it?”
Hearing that, I finally opened my eyes. He really was there. He must have slept in the living room with me, because there was a blanket on the other sofa.
“Yeah...” I mumbled.
Pathetically, that was all I could say at the moment. He brought me a chilled beverage with electrolytes from the fridge. I somehow managed to sit up. The cold, easily absorbed fluid worked wonders for my dehydrated body and brain. After I downed it in one go, I immediately felt better. When I turned my head, he was still there between the sofa and the table.
“How did I get home last night?” I asked.
“With the help of a pretty lady.”
“Oh... You don’t sound bothered.”
“I’m not. It’s the truth.”
Despite what he said, he seemed bothered. It was like, for once, he couldn’t bring himself to look at me. It was especially odd given how he’d spent an inappropriate amount of time staring at me otherwise.
“Really, I’m...” he continued. “I’m not mad. It’s not my place to be anyway.”
He took the empty bottle from my hand and brought me a new drink from the fridge. As I reached out to take it, he brushed past my hand and placed it on the table.
“It’s fine. I’m really not angry. Oh, but if you’ll be coming home late in the future, I’d appreciate it if you at least sent me a message. I’ll worry otherwise.”
“Okay,” I said, but I didn’t know whether he heard me, seeing how quickly he left and headed back for his own room.
However, as suddenly as he’d left, he came right back, placing himself between the sofa and the table again. He looked down at me in the very literal sense, given our respective positions.
“Sorry, I worded that poorly. I was worried because you hadn’t come home, that’s all. I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”
Wrong way? I came home unconscious, and he looked after me—what could I possibly say?
“No, it’s all right. I mean, I really messed up.”
“Then while we’re here, let me apologize for one more thing. I paid for your tuition.”
“My tuition?”
“I mean, you know how there’s a long period when you can pay your tuition at our college? I told my parents about what happened the other day, and they paid for the both of us—for the next semester.”
My head hurt. Not because of the tuition or because of what I’d said about ending our arrangement, but because I was hungover. I could hardly think. There was nothing I could do if they’d already paid. I nodded.
He stood up, took the file that contained all the yet-to-be-signed contracts, and placed one of them on the table. He offered me a pen; I went ahead and signed it.
That was about all I could do. I fell back onto the sofa. Talking made me feel like puking, so I responded to his words of concern with as few gestures as possible and fell asleep.
When I woke up several hours later, I pulled out my phone from my back pocket and noticed two messages. One was from Ozaki-san.
“Sorry about that! I let your roommate look after you!”
The other one was from Fujieda. It appeared in our private chat, which we rarely used.
“Can you maybe NOT ruin Kadzuki’s night?”
A few days later when I told Ozaki-san what happened, her raucous laughter filled the restaurant.
It was like a comfortable, pleasant nightmare.
My life was a comedy of errors. A future that I’d never thought possible had become a reality, and it wasn’t one I could really complain about.
We spent every day together, we attended classes, and I kept up with my monthly reports to Kasumi-san. I received my paychecks without delay, which had by now accumulated to an amount I never thought would belong to me.
He was way too nice to me. Even I was beginning to realize that this wasn’t due to his good upbringing, but when I asked myself why, I couldn’t think of anything.
Truthfully, I didn’t want to know.
Thus, my peaceful days continued.
The only significant difference was an increase in his piano lessons. The third Tuesday of the month used to be my day off, but then he told me he’d start going on the first Tuesday as well. When I asked him why, he told me it was because he didn’t know if he could keep practicing once he found a job. Then again, since my “work” for him was something of a vacation already, an additional day off didn’t change much for me.
The weeks came and went uneventfully. These were the most peaceful few years I’d ever experienced, and I doubted I’d ever feel this secure again.
The semester Nishikawa’s parents had paid for came to an end, and when it was time to pay for the next one, he persuaded me to keep going. He told me that I might as well graduate at this point, that a completed degree would get me a better salary at future jobs. He’d caught me hungover again, so I didn’t have the fight in me to disagree. Once more, I’d missed my chance to end our contract. I wondered if he’d been waiting for this moment. Then again, I didn’t really mind if that was the case.
As our junior year came to an end, everyone I knew who had been enjoying their idle university life quickly switched into job-hunting mode. That included me. I decided to give up my struggle, realizing there’d be little difference between quitting and graduating now.
The end of both my contract and my student life were on the horizon.
He didn’t tell me to work for one of the Nishikawa businesses, and I didn’t ask him if he could set me up either. That was for the best. Once our arrangement was complete and we went our separate ways, I suspected we would never meet again.