The room was dark, lit only by the blue flicker of the paused TV—a gentle afterglow that left the corners soft and the world outside completely forgotten.
After everything that happened (and didn't happen), I found myself sitting on Mochizuki Haruka's sofa—empty-eyed, mind still replaying recent events, the taste of adrenaline and embarrassment mixing in equal measure.
So this is what post-movie awkwardness feels like, huh?
It wasn't exactly how I'd pictured the night going, but there was something kind of nice about this tired, lived-in atmosphere. A little awkward, a little sweet, undeniably real.
From the distant bathroom, I could hear the faint sounds of Haruka brushing her teeth and rinsing her mouth—mundane, domestic noises that somehow made everything feel more intimate than fancy lingerie or forced "movie night" energy ever could.
And then she emerged—finally, mercifully—in actual "home clothes." Short-sleeved comfy shirt, beige shorts, bare legs, hair loose around her shoulders. She was finally herself again, all pretense gone.
"Haha, sorry. This is the kind of thing I usually wear at home," she said sheepishly, running a hand through her hair.
It was the first time all day her smile felt completely natural. The tension was gone, replaced by something soft, simple, and strangely vulnerable.
Honestly? It suited her way better than that silly see-through nightgown ever could. Defenseless. Down-to-earth. Cute in a way even she didn't seem to realize.
"Want something to drink? I'll grab you one," she offered.
I nodded, tongue dry from all the nervousness. "Iced Coke, please."
In times of existential crisis, there's nothing that can't be solved by ice-cold carbonated sugar.
She returned in record time—Coke for me, yogurt drink for herself. She sat right down beside me this time, so close our thighs nearly brushed.
She stabbed her straw into the bottle and took a huge, contented gulp.
"Is yogurt actually good?" I asked, teasing.
She turned, cheeks puffed around the straw. "Mmm? Oh, you mean this? It's pretty good."
For the first time since I'd arrived, she just… grinned. A natural, unconstrained smile.
"I got into the habit when I was dieting in college. Yogurt for dinner—it filled me up without messing with my weight. Even now, I still drink it out of habit."
She demonstrated with another long, theatrical sip.
"Want to try?" she offered, holding the bottle out.
I smiled and shook my Coke. "Nah, I'll stick with this. Wouldn't want to find myself hooked on something only kids drink."
She gave me a playful "hmph" and set the yogurt down, finishing it off in a few more sips.
She stood up to throw away the empty bottle. That's when it happened.
"Mochizuki-san, something just dropped out…?"
She glanced down, and—to our mutual horror—there, next to where she sat, was a small, shiny, very unmistakable square package.
Oh.
She snatched it up instantly, but not before I caught a glimpse. The look on her face was halfway between "please let the Earth swallow me" and "can I go back in time by ten seconds?"
"Ah, that's…" Her face instantly flushed pink.
I couldn't help it—I laughed, not cruelly, just caught up in the ridiculousness of it all. "You really were prepared tonight, huh?"
Her hands fidgeted at the hem of her shorts.
"O-of course I was! I… I stocked up everywhere. Just in case. Really—everywhere…" she mumbled, voice so tiny it could barely escape the room.
Everywhere? Was this woman a boy scout in a previous life? Be prepared—even for love disasters, apparently.
For a second we just looked at each other, dissolving into matching, sheepish laughter. All the earlier embarrassment faded into something warmer and far more real.
With the worst of the cringe officially survived, we were finally able to just… relax. Snuggled together on the sofa, we unpaused the movie, which had been waiting patiently in the background for us to finish our little sitcom of errors.
About an hour later, well past midnight, I realized Haruka had gone suspiciously quiet.
I glanced down, and there she was—completely out, curled up with her head against my shoulder, sleeping like a baby. All that stress and preparation must have completely wrung her out.
A soft snore, delicate and almost childlike, rose and fell with each breath. It suddenly took me back to our first "date"—her dozing off next to me on the train, finding peace just by being close.
She always seems to let down her guard when she's with me, doesn't she? Or maybe I'm just a natural sleep aid…
I carefully draped my arm around her, settling in as the end credits rolled. Her sleeping face was so peaceful, so defenseless, that I couldn't help feeling my own eyelids droop.
Is sleepiness contagious? Or is it just that, now, everything finally feels right?