After his dad and Haruko left and the front door clicked shut behind them, the house settled into quiet. The usual state of uneventful boredom.
Seiji finished his last bite, poking at the empty plate with his fork.
"And that is that."
No more food. No more reasons to get excited about life.
He sighed. The fridge hummed in the background, and the baby's soft snores drifted from somewhere. Nothing else moved.
Except for Yumi. She dropped a spoon, and the way her gray leggings shifted over her hips as she bent down to pick it up... He didn't mean to notice, but it caught his eye anyway.
Seiji blinked.
Yumi moved differently today, with some sort of smooth and sensual rhythm. The kind that's impossible to ignore. Her sweatshirt slipped off one shoulder as she bent, the strap of a camisole peeking out underneath. She didn't pull it back up.
And when she straightened, a strand of dark hair clung to her sweat-dampened neck. She didn't brush it away either.
Why?
Seiji's fingers froze around his fork.
Don't look. Don't fucking look.
His eyes snapped up anyway. Yumi was watching him, a slow smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It wasn't the kind of smile that used to mean shared jokes. Today it felt different—like there was something charged about it, like she knew exactly what was going through his head.
"Seiji," her voice was soft, and—playful, maybe. "You look stumped. What is it? Need a hand with anything?" She leaned against the counter, arms crossed like she was waiting for him to say something. Waiting for him to say anything. Waiting and wanting…
Seiji's mouth felt dry. He opened it, but the words came out wrong. "Nah. Got... gotta study." His voice cracked. Awkward.
Her smile slipped. Just for a second. "Right. Well. That's too bad." She pushed herself off the counter, her leggings whispering as she moved. "I'll be in the living room."
She walked past him, and her shoulder brushed his. It wasn't an accident—the touch was close enough to linger, and firm enough for him to feel it. The scent of vanilla—warm, familiar—hung in the air after she'd passed.
Seiji stayed for a moment, frozen, until he realized he was holding his breath.
Phew!
He went upstairs. Unsteady. Confused.
He leaned against his bedroom door after closing it.
"Was that all just my imagination? Is something wrong with me today?"
He struggled to think. Many things were wrong with him, but what happened in the kitchen wasn't about him. It was Yumi. She was different.
"Just taking the baby for some air!" Yumi's voice drifted from downstairs. Relief flooded Seiji. He was finally all by himself.
He thought back to the breakfast. Everything felt the same. He came downstairs, he sat down. Everyone looked the usual self. Even Yumi. Then… Did anything happen then? Oh yes, he grabbed her hand when she tried to steal that last piece of bacon off his plate. Who wouldn't?
She made that pitiful "ouch" sound. And looked at him. With different eyes. Was that when it started?
"Could it be?" Seiji touched the amulet. "Is it possible? That'd be insane."
He sat down and opened his textbook. He tried to read, but every time he tried to focus, Yumi's shape resurfaced in front if his eyes, blocking the pages. The gray fabric clinging to her hips, the hints of her breasts behind the sweatshirt, the deliberate brush of her shoulder. Even thinking about it made his breath unsteady.
Fuck!
He got up and felt the cold floor against the soles of his feet. It felt good.
"Cold is good. What else is cold? Cold water. That'd be good."
He went downstairs, consumed in thought. Before he could turn into the kitchen, he saw Yumi on the sofa, baby in her arms.
Damn! When did she get back?