[Creative Award 2026 Entry] Nameless Low-Grade Fever Chapter 6: The Temperature of Where Things Are Placed

The morning air had hidden the rain from yesterday somewhere, and it was beginning to dry. Only a faint scent of water remained at the base of the Ariake building, and the pavement shone dully in places. As Shuri adjusted the sleeves of her work jacket, she felt the still-damp breeze pass against the nape of her neck.

Today's venue was a site where they would enter from the perimeter of the exhibition hall that opened toward the sea, working their way back through the corridors, waiting areas, and narrow paths for moving equipment, rather than inside the large hall itself. It was a morning with more equipment left at the edges and temporary shelves remaining in the corners than prominent signs.

Shuri put on her gloves in front of the workbench. The fabric was dry, but she felt as if the sensation of yesterday's rainy day still lingered deep in her elbows. Even when she tried not to remember, the single moment when her body tilted on the wet floor suddenly came back to her.

“I’ll check the perimeter. Don’t touch the inside yet.”

Sakuya Masago's voice reached her from down the corridor. Today, his voice echoed in a slightly narrow space rather than under the high ceiling. Even though there was no name called, Shuri's body naturally turned toward him.

“Yes.”

After answering, Shuri immediately looked away. She hadn't yet managed to put away the words that remained from last night. She didn't dislike them. The sound of her own voice saying that was warming up slightly deep in her chest, along with the scent of the drying pavement.

In the perimeter corridor, long, thin components waiting to be cleared away were lined up against the wall. Signpost pillars, folding reception desks, cables for floor lights, and removed guidance panels. In a place slightly removed from the glamour of the front, only the tools of the backstage were placed quietly.

“Bundle those pillars first.”

Sakuya said.

“Three at a time?”

“Four. I’ll handle the weight.”

Shuri bundled the pillars four at a time as instructed. Although the metal was lighter than it looked, its length made it difficult to handle. Just a slight sway at the ends made it feel like they would hit the corridor wall.

“Don’t stand them up too much.”

“Yes.”

“Lay them down, and keep them away from the wall.”

Sakuya's instructions were short. But today, she heard more in that brevity than before. He was checking the weight. He was confirming the distance from the wall. He was looking not just at Shuri's hands, but at the places where Shuri might have trouble next.

Shuri tilted the pillars to an angle close to the floor and threaded the zip ties through. The coldness of the metal transferred to her fingertips. When she adjusted them so as not to tighten them too much, the bundle of pillars settled as if taking a small breath.

“Is this okay?”

“It’s fine.”

With just that reply, the tension in Shuri's shoulders eased slightly. It wasn't that she had been praised, but just knowing it wasn't a redo made her morning body feel a little more accustomed to the site.

Sakuya picked up the next bundle, moving the heavier side toward himself and turning the shorter side toward Shuri. The movement was so natural that Shuri pretended not to notice for a moment.

“This side is light.”

She said, and then looked at him. Sakuya looked away slightly as he placed the end of the pillar on the floor.

“Because the lengths are different.”

“Is it really just that?”

Her voice came out quieter than she expected. She didn't mean to accuse him. She just wanted to ask.

Sakuya didn't answer immediately. The wheels of a cart rang out briefly in the back of the corridor, and the sound hit the wall and returned.

“Maybe it’s not just that.”

Shuri looked at the zip tie in her hand. Something slowly spread deep in her chest. She should have been used to him not answering clearly, but today, there was a temperature in the ambiguity, not a way to escape.

“Is that so?”

“Does it bother you?”

It was that way of speaking again. Asking first if it bothered her, confirming where to place his words so as not to get too close.

Shuri thought for a moment. It bothered her. It probably did. But she didn't dislike it. She still couldn't say that kind of answer well.

“Just a little.”

Sakuya nodded. He didn't deny it, nor did he smile.

“Then, I’ll keep it to just a little.”

Shuri couldn't reply to those words. She felt as if she had learned for the first time that there was a kindness that could be adjusted like that—'keeping it to just a little'.

The work progressed to the back of the perimeter. The light coming in from the corridor windows was white, creating long, thin strips on the floor. The humidity from after the rain had already faded, and in its place, the smell of dry dust and metal began to mix into the air.

Shuri stacked the guidance panels. The arrows and information papers that had been on the front were peeled off, and now they were just plain white boards. When the arrows were gone, she didn't know where to go.

“You don’t have to align the direction of those.”

Sakuya said.

“But won’t they collapse when we carry them?”

“They won’t. You just need to align the corners.”

“I want to make them neat.”

“I bet you do.”

At that reply, Shuri closed her mouth slightly. 'I bet you do.' He already knew what Shuri cared about. Whether that made her happy or scared, she couldn't judge in the morning light.

Shuri aligned only the corners. The bundle, not perfectly neat, looked a bit clumsy, but it was probably faster to carry that way.

“Like this?”

“Yes.”

“It feels wrong.”

“Endure it.”

“Yes.”

After the short exchange, Shuri almost smiled just a little. She didn't say it out loud, but something stiff inside her lips loosened.

Sakuya might have seen it. Without saying anything, Sakuya placed the next panel in Shuri's hand. It was a light one, not a heavy one.

Again, Shuri thought.

Placing the heavy things on his side. Clearing the path that was easy to walk through. Stepping on the wet places first. The small, unspoken distributions were increasing day by day. It was a bit too much to pretend not to notice.

“Masago-san.”

Shuri called out while holding the panel.

“What?”

“Do you always carry the heavier side?”

Sakuya stopped his hands. The light in the corridor hit the edge of his profile thinly.

“It’s normal on a job site, isn’t it?”

“Are you like that with everyone?”

Shuri had asked it. The moment she asked, she curled her fingertips inside her gloves. She wanted an answer, but she was afraid of the answer.

Sakuya exhaled slightly and turned his gaze not to the panel, but to the dry line on the floor.

“Not with everyone.”

The words echoed terribly quietly in the narrowness of the corridor, and Shuri put strength into the hand holding the panel. It shouldn't have been heavy, but suddenly her arm felt heavy.

“That is...”

The rest didn't come out. If she could have asked, 'What does that mean?', it would have been easier. But that question was much more direct than calling his name, and she still couldn't put it into words.

“If it interferes with work, I’ll stop.”

Sakuya said first.

“That’s not what I mean.”

Shuri's reply was quick. Too quick; there was no room to hide it.

Sakuya was silent as if to accept that voice. In the morning corridor, only the distant sounds of work echoed thinly.

“Then, I’ll continue.”

“...Yes.”

Shuri nodded. It was scary to put into words what he would continue. Was it carrying the heavy things, giving her special treatment, or maintaining a nameless distance?

Without knowing, Shuri carried the panel. Even without knowing, there was certainly a weight in her hands.

By the time they made a round of the perimeter corridor, the whiteness of the morning was gradually becoming transparent. Outside the window, light shone through a break in the clouds, and the building's glass brightened as if it had shed a film of water. It seemed as if the rain from yesterday remained only at the edge of the city.

Shuri dismantled a small reception desk. She removed the top board, folded the legs, and put the metal fittings into a bag. When small tasks continued, her sense of touch in her fingers became finer. The coldness of the metal, the grooves of the screws, the wood dust on her fabric gloves.

“Put that bag here.”

Sakuya placed an empty case next to her. It was slightly open so that Shuri could easily put things in.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

“Is this also just a little?”

Shuri felt her chest beat slightly after saying that. It was a voice that wasn't light enough to be teasing, but she couldn't say it was entirely not a joke either.

Sakuya remained silent for a moment, his hand still on the edge of the case.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I can’t explain everything.”

At those words, Shuri caught her breath. I can't explain everything. Whether it was work decisions or consideration, there might be things within him that didn't have a name yet.

Shuri put the metal fittings into the case. Then, a small sound was made, and that sound echoed vividly, and the air in the morning corridor changed just a little.

“I also have things I can’t explain.”

After saying it, Shuri looked at her hands. One screw was caught on the edge of the bag.

“I know.”

Sakuya's voice was quiet.

“You know?”

“You said you didn’t know.”

The sensation of the night when she lost her words in front of the closed box returned to the back of Shuri's throat. She thought she disliked herself for relying on the word 'don't know,' but her chest grew warm that he remembered those words.

“You remembered.”

“Because you said it.”

“Everything?”

“Not everything. Only what remained.”

“Only what remained.” Shuri heard those words as if rolling them gently in her palm. He always looked at what remained. The traces that floated after things disappeared, the breath that remained after she finished speaking, the reply she couldn't fully deny.

“I also remain.”

Shuri realized after saying it that her voice was closer than she thought.

Sakuya didn't say anything immediately. The light coming in from the corridor window illuminated the back of his gloves in white.

“What?”

“My voice, or how I place things.”

She couldn't say any more than that. Carrying the heavy side, opening the box, adding a little to her words—if she said even those things, she couldn't return to talking about work.

Sakuya nodded slightly.

“I see.”

That short reply sounded like it meant 'I received it.' That was enough for Shuri. It was enough, but she also felt it wasn't enough.

By the time the light close to noon illuminated the corridor, the work on the perimeter was about halfway done, and in the front hall, other sounds of clearing away echoed in the distance. Only the aftermath of that could be heard here, and small tasks continued outside the loud noises.

Shuri carried the boards of the temporary shelves. They should have been light boards, but stacking many of them made them heavy on her arms. Sakuya immediately reduced the number.

“Three is enough.”

“I can do five.”

“I know you can. Three today.”

“Why?”

“There’s a long way to go.”

That reason was correct. Today wouldn't end with just the perimeter. There was the back waiting area, the equipment storage by the corridor, and finally, the check of the front edge. Conserving energy was also part of the job.

Even so, Shuri wanted to say just a little.

“I feel like only I have less.”

Sakuya stopped his hand holding the board.

“You noticed?”

“I notice.”

“Then, it’s not hidden.”

“Were you hiding it?”

“A little.”

The 'a little' that came from his mouth always bothered Shuri. Changing the weight a little. Keeping distance a little. Making it special a little.

Shuri held only three boards. Light. Being light was the heaviest thing today.

“You don’t have to hide it.”

She said it herself, and the back of her throat grew hot.

Sakuya looked at her. It wasn't long, but it was a little deeper than his usual confirmation.

“Really?”

“If you hide it, I’m even more curious.”

Saying that much, Shuri dropped her gaze to the boards. Her way of speaking might have been too close, but she couldn't take it back.

Sakuya exhaled slowly.

“Understood.”

That was all. But to Shuri, that reply echoed much heavier than holding a single board.

Past noon, the corridor was thinly filled with human heat. The light outside became stronger, and the floor by the window gave off a slightly dry scent. The metal that had been cold in the morning was slightly warm when she touched it.

Shuri moved on to cleaning up the waiting area. There were spare chairs used at the exhibition, folded cloth covers, and a bundle of empty paper cups left there. Only things that hadn't been at the front were quietly piled up.

“I can do this by myself.”

Shuri said first. She wanted to say it before Sakuya said anything.

“Understood. I’ll check the next shelf.”

“Yes.”

He really went to the next shelf. The way he pulled back—deciding not to interfere once he decided to leave it to her—was felt more clearly than before.

Shuri folded the chairs and lined them up against the wall. Every time she folded them, the metal joints rang softly. The cloth covers contained dust, and when she spread them out, they smelled of soft fibers.

There was one with a frayed edge, so Shuri separated it. Not overlooking small flaws seemed to be a habit now. If it was something she could fix, she wanted to fix it, and if it was something she couldn't, she at least didn't want to put it in the box while it was messy.

“Did you separate it?”

Sakuya's voice came from the next shelf.

“It was frayed.”

“As I thought.”

“As you thought?”

“I thought you would find it.”

Shuri stopped her hand folding the cloth cover. Being predicted like that remained deep in her chest as if tickling it.

“Is it strange?”

“It’s not strange.”

“Isn’t it troublesome?”

“It’s helpful.”

Even though they were short words, Shuri couldn't reply for a while. There was a resonance that felt like being told she was needed, rather than being praised.

“...Then, I’m glad.”

Her voice became a little smaller. Sakuya next to her didn't say anything. She thought that not forcing it to expand was like him.

In the back of the waiting area, a few unopened drinks remained. They seemed to have been placed for the site rather than as equipment for the event, and as Shuri moved the box, one of them rolled to the edge of the workbench.

Sakuya, who was passing by, picked it up silently, and instead of throwing it away, he placed it on a table slightly away from Shuri's work position.

“What should I do with this?”

“It’s one you can drink.”

“Me?”

“You were touching your throat.”

Shuri unconsciously touched her neck. It was indeed a little dry, but she had hardly noticed it herself.

“Are you watching even that far?”

It wasn't an accusing voice. It was a voice mixed with surprise and a little bit of trouble.

Sakuya immediately looked away.

“I saw it.”

“You saw it, you say.”

“I thought I needed to say it.”

The words she heard before overlapped quietly in Shuri. If he saw it and it was necessary, he would say it. Maybe he was just doing exactly that.

Even so, the drink placed on the workbench didn't look like just equipment. The transparent cap caught the light, and it had a coldness that hadn't been touched by anyone yet.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

Shuri didn't drink it immediately. She wanted to look at the temperature of it being placed there for a while. She thought it was strange, but she hated to consume something she knew he had placed for her right away.

As the work progressed, the waiting area became empty. The rows of chairs disappeared, the boxes of cloth covers were carried away, and only the fine dust remaining on the floor floated in the light. Shuri wiped the workbench last.

The drink was still there, so Shuri reached out and opened the cap. It wasn't water, but a drink with a faint sweetness, and when she took a sip, the discomfort that had remained like dry sand in the back of her throat slowly disappeared.

“It’s sweet.”

When she said that unintentionally, Sakuya, who was cleaning up the next shelf, answered.

“Do you not like it?”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“Then that’s good.”

Then that's good, he said, and didn't look at her anymore. Shuri felt the sweetness remaining inside her lips while holding the bottle.

Every time things like this were done, the place where she told herself it was within the scope of work decreased. But the word 'love' was still too close. Shuri stood there again today in a nameless place in between.

The afternoon light began to enter diagonally from the corridor window, and long shadows stretched on the floor, making the outlines of the buildings outside look a little softer. The heat of the day wasn't strong, but the temperature of people working remained in the closed space.

Shuri stacked the boxes of equipment on the cart, checking the weight and putting the light ones on top. The moment she thought she had done it before Sakuya told her, she saw him nod from a place slightly away.

“Is it right?”

When Shuri asked, Sakuya answered shortly.

“It’s right.”

Those words were a confirmation of the work, but to Shuri, they sounded like they included a slightly different meaning. Having her judgment recognized, not just receiving special treatment, but being able to stand on her own.

“Today, I understand a little.”

“What?”

“Where to place things, the weight, and so on.”

“I see.”

“More than before.”

“You’re looking more than before.”

Shuri looked at Sakuya while holding the handle of the cart.

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Not at Masago-san?”

The moment she said it, Shuri felt her ears get hot. It might have sounded like a joke, but it wasn't a complete joke.

Sakuya was silent for a moment. Outside the corridor, distant work sounds rang out, and the air trembled thinly.

“That too, a little.”

Shuri couldn't reply. His voice was low. It wasn't a denial, but words that seemed to be returned after accepting it.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not something to apologize for.”

It was his usual words, but today they echoed a little closer than usual.

Shuri pushed the cart. The sound of the wheels tracing the floor echoed straight through the corridor. She felt the presence of him walking slightly behind her. Not being protected, but being entrusted—a distance that still reached her when necessary.

That distance was a little comfortable for Shuri.

By the time the signs of evening descended from the edge of the building, the perimeter clearing work was almost finished. The mountain of equipment that had remained in the morning had disappeared, and the corridor had become a long, empty line. Outside the window, the bottom of the clouds was faintly dyed, and the light reflected on the glass turned the floor a pale pink.

Shuri did the final check by the wall. Small metal fittings, unpeeled stickers, scuff marks. The less noticeable places became more noticeable later. She had been taught that many times in her work.

“You don’t have to look there.”

Sakuya said.

“But, it’s the edge.”

“I thought you would look.”

He was checking another place while saying that. Shuri smiled just a little.

“Then, you don’t have to say it, do you?”

“I wanted to say it.”

At those words, Shuri's hand stopped. I wanted to say it. Not just the necessity of work, but she just wanted to say it. Just that changed the air in the corridor a little.

Sakuya, perhaps noticing his own words, turned his gaze to the wall. That was his habit when hiding his emotions. Shuri felt a little pain deep in her chest watching that.

“Things like that, they remain.”

Shuri said quietly.

“What?”

“Words like 'I wanted to say it'.”

Sakuya didn't answer while looking at the scuff marks on the wall. The silence lasted a long time, but she didn't feel rejected.

“Then, I’ll be careful.”

“You don’t have to be careful.”

She said it immediately. It was quick again, but she didn't want to take it back.

“Because I don’t dislike that it remains.”

Someone folded a cart in the back of the corridor. A metal sound rang out once and immediately disappeared. Only Shuri's words remained there for a while.

Sakuya looked at Shuri slowly. It wasn't straight on, but a gaze with the angle shifted just a little. It was a gaze to not bother the other person, but it was reaching her sufficiently now.

“I see.”

He said only that.

Shuri nodded. Even though it was just one word, there was something quietly lighting up in her chest. It was still too early to name it, but it was already too warm to extinguish.

When she finished the final check, nothing remained in the corridor. The evening light coming in from the window fell thinly on the edge of the floor, and the shadows of the equipment that had been there in the morning and the remnants of the wet scent had almost disappeared.

“Finished.”

Sakuya said.

“Yes.”

Shuri went to get the bottle she had left on the workbench. A little bit remained inside. For some reason, it bothered her that she couldn't finish drinking what he had placed.

“Why don’t you take that home?”

Sakuya said.

“Is it okay?”

“You opened it.”

“That’s true.”

Shuri put the bottle in her bag. Even though it was just that, she felt like she was taking something home. It wasn't the fatigue of work or the dust of the site, but the remainder of the temperature that had been placed there.

When she went outside, the night hadn't completely descended yet. A faint brightness remained in the low part of the sky, and the building's glass was emitting a pale light. The scent of rain was already far away, and the dry end of the day was rising from the pavement.

Shuri put her bag back on her shoulder. The bottle swayed slightly in her bag, and the drink with the remaining sweetness made a faint sound every time she walked.

“Was I strange today?”

Shuri asked. Even though she asked it herself, she didn't know what she was referring to. Was it noticing the weight, asking about the special treatment, or saying she didn't dislike that it remained?

Sakuya stopped his feet while walking a little ahead.

“You’re not strange.”

“Really?”

“You started saying more than usual.”

Shuri accepted those words. She wasn't being scolded. Rather, she felt as if she had been found.

“Do you dislike it?”

“I don’t dislike it.”

The same words as yesterday were thrown at her with a different temperature, and Shuri felt the deep part of her chest slowly grow hot.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

A short reply. But she felt him far away less and less just from that brevity. Maybe she had become able to accept it even while it was lacking, rather than filling in the lacking parts on her own.

On the road in Ariake heading toward the night, the wind was dry, the sound of distant cars echoed hard, and only the small puddles remaining at the edge of the sidewalk reflected the remnants of the sky. Shuri recalled the small special treatments she had noticed many times throughout the day while passing by them.

Shifting heavy things, placing drinks, opening the mouths of boxes, making the number of boards light, adding a little to her words.

None of them were confessions, nor were they words of love. But if she tried to explain everything with just work, something was left over. Shuri's chest quietly held heat in that leftover part.

“Tomorrow.”

Sakuya said.

“Yes.”

“There are many checks inside. I think it’s detailed.”

“Then, I’ll find them.”

When Shuri said that, Sakuya looked at her just a little.

“You seem like you will find them.”

That way of speaking was more natural than any words today. Shuri nodded. The word 'helpful' said in the corridor still remained in her chest.

“I’ll find them.”

This time she said it a little strongly. For her own sake, and for the sake of the work, she wanted to find them herself, not just have him find them for her.

When she put her luggage near the company car, the sky finally sank into a deep blue. Lights were lit in the building's windows, and many thin lines of light ran along the glass walls. The wind outside felt a little cold to her body that had finished working.

“Good work.”

Sakuya said.

“Good work to you too.”

Shuri replied. It should have ended there. Usually, that was all it took to close the day.

However, today the bottle in her bag rang softly, and as if pushed by that sound, Shuri stopped for a step.

“Today’s drink.”

“Yeah.”

“It was sweet.”

“I see.”

“But, it was helpful.”

Sakuya was silent for a moment. The light of the streetlamp fell faintly on the shoulder of his work clothes.

“Then that’s good.”

The moment she heard those words, Shuri felt everything placed in the corridor today connect into one. The weight, the distance, the moisture, and her own voice saying she didn't dislike that it remained.

“Can I place it again?”

Sakuya said. It wasn't abrupt, but to Shuri, it was more than abrupt enough.

She knew it was about the drink. She knew it was about consideration for the site. Even so, those words reached a slightly wider place.

Shuri couldn't answer immediately. She breathed in the night air. The dry wind passed through her throat, and the heat in her chest swayed just a little.

“As long as it doesn’t bother me.”

She finally said that. She thought it was an ambiguous answer herself, but for Shuri now, that was her most honest feeling.

Sakuya nodded slightly.

“I’ll keep it to just a little.”

It was that word again, but this time Shuri didn't run away.

“Yes.”

When she answered, something quietly loosened in the night. Her name still wasn't called. Without being called, the things being placed increased.

On the way home, Shuri touched the bottle in her bag with her fingertips. The plastic was no longer cold, but she felt as if the temperature from when it was placed in the corridor today still remained there.

The Tokyo night was flowing with dry light on the glass. Cars passed by on the distant road, and the wind close to the sea passed through the gaps in the buildings. While walking, Shuri realized that she was already beginning to notice something.

She wouldn't call it love yet. But a small temperature that couldn't be settled by work alone was increasing day by day.

In a workplace where he didn't call her name, he didn't call Shuri's name today either, but he changed the weight, placed the drink, and kept a distance that wouldn't bother her.

Just that left a nameless low-grade fever deep in her chest.