Drunken Dream Tales: Somniorum vulneribus ebrius fari nequeo. 4 (Total of 9 parts)

The rainy season should have been over by now.
The weather forecast had said so, and the zelkova trees along the street were already taking on the deep hues of summer. Nevertheless, deep within the air, a dampness that could not be fully shaken off still remained.
The morning pavement, the glass of the buildings during the day, and even the air conditioning breeze flowing through the floor in the evening—it all felt as if something that had been wet once was being left there without ever fully drying.
Michika Minase had been unable to part with her thin jacket even after entering July.

If it's hot, just take it off. It's as simple as that. In fact, the number of female employees in the department spending their time in just a short-sleeved blouse was increasing, and the male employees were also working with their jackets hanging over the backs of their chairs. Yet, Michika could not bring herself to part with that thin fabric she had put her arms through in front of the morning mirror.
She had also switched to lighter shapewear.
The summer version was not meant to tightly confine the body like the previous one, but rather to somehow let her sweaty skin breathe while maintaining only the necessary contours. It should have been lighter. The constriction and the thickness of the fabric were clearly reduced.
And yet, her hands were more cautious when putting it on than in the previous season.
Was it to hide, or to return? Or was it to readjust the places Kazuma had touched back into their daytime form? Michika did not distinguish between them. As long as she did not distinguish, she could continue to work as Michika Minase today, just as she always did.
Thinking that, she fastened the hooks.
The moment she fastened them, somewhere, her breath caught, just a little.

Friday night was no longer a coincidence.
No one had decided it. They didn't make any promises that could be called promises every week. However, as Friday afternoon approached, the depth of the day changed just a little for Michika.
She looked at the blank spaces in her schedule. She confirmed there were no meeting extensions. She processed the notifications flowing into the department channel and finished the necessary replies.
These were all routine tasks. But only in the intervals of those routine procedures, she would cast her gaze down at the screen of her messaging app, so briefly that even she herself didn't notice.
She wasn't waiting.
She would take a quick peek, just to tell herself that.

Just past six in the evening, a notification arrived.

"Do you have a little time?"

Michika fixed her gaze intently on the screen.
A little time.
It was a phrase she had used many times in May and June. It was convenient, ambiguous, and left her a way out.
If it's just a little, it can be done as an extension of the way home.
If it's just a little, she could say she hadn't decided anything. If it's just a little, she could avoid putting into words that Friday night had become something belonging to the two of them.

"Yes,
If it's just a little."

After sending it, she turned the device face down.
She didn't add any further meaning.
Without adding any, Michika touched up her lipstick in the restroom. The color—it was the same as always.
She combed her hair, straightened her collar, and briefly checked that the chest of her blouse wasn't puffing out unnaturally. She didn't add any perfume. She felt that if she did, it would mean she had been waiting.

The night air after leaving the shop was heavier than during the day.
It wasn't raining. Even though it wasn't raining, a thin moisture remained in the corners of the pavement, and the walls of the buildings shone as if damp, catching the night lights. There was a breeze. But it didn't pass through. It touched her skin, wouldn't leave, and remained inside her clothes.
Michika didn't change her stride.
Kazuma, too, didn't try to match her. It was just that, as a result, they were walking side by side at the same speed. That way of walking was common for him. It wasn't that he wasn't being considerate. But he didn't put his consideration too far forward.
That was why Michika felt at ease.
She felt at ease.
"Michika-san," Kazuma called out in a low voice.
Michika tried to answer... but she was just a beat too late.

"Yes."
"Are you tired?"
"I'm fine."
"Your 'I'm fine,' Michika-san, is still a bit stiff, as expected."
She had been told something similar in June. Remembering that, Michika cast her eyes slightly to the side. Kazuma wasn't smiling. He wasn't teasing her, either. He was just confirming.
"Ishida-san, you sometimes... look at unnecessary things."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm not blaming you."
After saying that, she noticed her own voice had become too soft.

Michika returned her gaze. If she headed to the station, she could go home. If she turned at a different corner, she would get closer to the hotel district they had entered before. The road wasn't exactly splitting in two, but in her mind, it had already split.
She could go home.
Even though she could go home, she didn't.
The night was still a little too bright to admit that fact.

Even after entering the room, the two of them did nothing for a while.
The lighting was soft, and the noise outside the closed window was fading away beyond the thin walls. She put down her bag, hung up her jacket, and took off her shoes. That sequence of steps was no longer the first time. Because it wasn't the first time, Michika knew where her breath would become shallow.
Kazuma approached.
Michika did not pull back.

His hand touched her cheek. He tucked her hair behind her ear. He descended to her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone. The way he touched her was quiet, as always. He didn't rush, but he didn't end it with just restraint either. He waited where Michika stiffened, and he didn't make her feel miserable by waiting too long.
That balance was what Michika feared.
Kazuma didn't change at all.
Because he didn't change, she felt at ease.
Because he didn't change, it became a pressure.
The buttons of her blouse were undone one by one. Michika did not watch his hands.
Without watching, she perceived his fingers moving to the hook on her back. The thinner summer shapewear was not as heavy as the ones for winter or spring. But the moment it was removed... it felt as if the daytime Michika Minase was being peeled away, one layer at a time.

There was a small sound.
It was too light to be called armor.
Even so, to Michika, it rang out like a signal to switch between day and night.
The gentle curves were released. Kazuma's gaze lingered there, but not too long. There was no surprise, no consolation, no evaluation. He simply accepted what was there as what was there.
That, too, was unbearable for Michika.

"Michika."
This night, for the first time, Kazuma called her that—.
Michika looked up.
Even at the office or during meals, that name still left a distance.
She had been called Michika-san. But the moment she was called by her name alone, she felt something within her unravel without a sound.
"…What?"
Her voice sounded younger than she had expected.
Kazuma caught his breath, just a little.
That reaction created a small heat within her. She was the one being touched. She was the one being received. But for that one moment, she knew that he, too, was receiving something and wavering.
Just being touched was no longer enough.

She didn't know if she thought that first, or if her body moved first. Michika placed her fingers on Kazuma's clothes. Just as he had done to her, she undid the buttons one by one. Her movements were not smooth. She caught them on the fabric halfway, and her fingertips trembled just a little.
Kazuma did not lend a hand.
That he didn't lend a hand was something she was grateful for now.
His skin came into view. His shoulders, his chest, the flatness of his stomach. She placed her palms there gently. Just by touching, his breathing changed slightly. The moment she knew that change, something filled her from within, before any embarrassment.
I can touch him too—it wasn't that she thought that.
She was just doing it.

Because Kazuma said nothing, Michika was able to keep from losing her next move.
She slowly bent her knees. It wasn't a gesture as clear as getting down on the floor. It was just that her position changed. When she looked up, his face became distant, and in its place, only his heat and breathing became close.
There was a reason to go back.
There was plenty of shame and fear.
Even so, she didn't go back.
Michika confirmed him with both hands. Then, she fearfully brought her lips closer. It was a procedure she didn't know. She hadn't been taught by anyone. She didn't understand it as any kind of etiquette. Whether it was an expression of love, something natural as a woman, or simply that she wanted to feel him closer, she didn't even know that.

Without knowing, she tried touching him with her lips.
Kazuma's breathing was clearly disturbed.
That disturbance fell deep into Michika.
She was... not rejected.

That fact alone first became a relief.
She opened her lips. She took in the heat. She confirmed it with the tip of her tongue.
Her consciousness was still far away, only forming an image like a haze, but her body was picking up his reactions.
The way his breath caught. The sound of his fingers gripping her shirt.
The sign that he was about to touch her hair and immediately stopped.
She was not being urged.
She was not being ordered.
That was precisely why Michika went a little deeper.
It's painful, she thought.
It's embarrassing, she also thought.
Even so, she didn't dislike it—.

Far from disliking it, the fact that Kazuma was quietly collapsing and that his heat was being released and overflowing onto her lips was strangely, wonderfully happy for Michika. It wasn't that she was being given something. She was returning something to him. It hadn't become words yet, but the changes occurring in his body were what made the act she was doing now certain.
After a while, Kazuma called her name softly.
"Michika."
It wasn't a voice telling her to stop.
However, because he didn't say anything more, Michika finally pulled her lips away. She inhaled. She wiped the corner of her lips with her finger. The thing she had been doing suddenly took on a contour, and her face grew hot from her cheeks to the depths of her ears.
Kazuma was looking down at her.
In those eyes, there was surprise. There was desire. But before any of those, there was a stillness, as if he were enduring so as not to break something.

"…Was it, strange?"
Michika regretted it after asking.
Kazuma shook his head.
"It's not strange"—the polite language had returned.
For some reason, she felt like laughing at that—just a little. Even if she felt like laughing, it never became a voice. Instead, his hand reached out and touched her cheek.
"You don't have to push yourself."
At those words, the depths of Michika's chest creaked slightly.
She hadn't been pushing herself.

At least, she hadn't intended to push herself. But—.
She didn't know what she had wanted to do. Did she want to please him? Did she want to get closer to him? Did she not want to be someone who was just being touched?
None of them seemed right, yet all of them were a little bit correct.
"…It's not pushing myself."
Michika said softly.
Saying that, she rested her cheek in his palm.

That night, Michika was disturbed—faster than before.
And, she settled down faster than before.

It was close to happiness.
It was terrifyingly close to happiness.
Kazuma's fingers traced her back, wrapped around her curves, and touched the dampness of the hidden valley. Michika accepted each one of those more honestly than before.
It wasn't that she had gotten used to accepting.
Her body knew first that it would be okay if it were him.
That fact was sweetly unraveling her inner depths. Wetting. Dampening. Overflowing. On that June night, the heat that she couldn't find a place to drop on her own was finding a place to be released, all too naturally, in Kazuma's hands.

Michika feels afraid.
While feeling afraid, she does not run away.
Because she can stay without running away, she is afraid again.

After finishing, Michika did not move for a while amidst the wrinkles of the sheets. Her body still held the heat. However, her heart was not as turbulent as it had been on that June night. Rather, it was quiet. It was almost too quiet.
As long as she is with him, she can finish properly.
That is what she thought.
She had thought it—.
Michika tried not to think yet about whether that fact was a salvation or the beginning of a new inadequacy. She hadn't even reached the room to think... she hadn't reached that far yet.

The following Tuesday, at the office, Michika made a small... but certain slip of the tongue.
It was before the afternoon meeting. There was a replacement of materials used within the department, and Kazuma had kept one copy of the old version at hand. Michika noticed this and called out to him as he passed by.
“Kazuma-kun, that material...”
After saying it, she stopped.
It wasn't that the surrounding sounds had vanished. Someone was on the phone. There was the sound of typing on keyboards. The printer was humming low. Yet, for that one moment, only her own voice reached Michika's ears.
Kazuma, too—.
Had stopped.
He was the one to move first.
“Yes.”
He replied with just that.

The way he replied saved Michika. He did not show surprise, criticism, or joy on his face.
He simply responded because he had been called. That naturalness kept her mistake from becoming a mistake.
Michika lowered her eyes.
“...Ishida-san, that material, there is a replacement.”
“Understood, thank you.”
The conversation ended there.
Even though it should have ended, her fingertips remained cold for a while.

At the office, Kazuma-kun—.

That was a private moment, a name limited to such scenes. It was a name she had typed into a messaging app on a Sunday evening. It was a name she had uttered hesitantly while touching his skin in a hotel room.
That had leaked onto the daytime floor.
Had someone—heard it?
Perhaps they hadn't heard. Even if they had, it might have been dismissed as a trivial slip of the tongue. But for Michika, that was not the case.
The boundary between day and night had blurred slightly.
Only that blurring remained inside her for a long time that afternoon.

That night, Michika tried to sleep alone.

It was Tuesday. She had no plans to meet Kazuma. There was no need to meet. The two of them were still ambiguous about whether to use the word 'lover'. Only the weekend nights were special; on weekdays, they worked and exchanged short messages if necessary. That should have been enough.
Even though it should have been enough, after turning off the bedroom lights, Michika realized the reality that her body would not settle down.
It was similar to that night in June.
However, it was not the same.
That night, Kazuma had entered as a daytime presence. The voice echoing in the rain, the gaze that noticed her wet hair, the short message saying 'it was good'. Those things remained inside her and disturbed her solitary ritual.
Now it was different.
It was not disturbed.
It was waiting.

Realizing that, Michika closed her eyes.

Her fingertips descended to the usual place. There was heat. There was moisture. If it were just her body, it was reacting. But somewhere, the final line would not connect. There were places her own fingers could not get close enough to.
If it wasn't Kazuma's hand.
The moment she thought that, Michika stopped her fingers.
No.
No, she said inside her heart.

It is not as if it must be him.
Her body is, after all, her own. She is not so childish that she cannot finish without entrusting it to someone. Michika tried to think that way.
However, her body already knew a different answer.
The heat would not subside.
The moisture remained.
Even though she was wet, she was not lubricated—.
Michika covered her eyes with her palms.
She did not cry.
Only the night that could not be finished was there.

Until Friday came, Michika worked as usual.
Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she looked as usual. She did not delay document creation or organization. Her replies were not stagnant. She completed explanations in meetings without excess or deficiency. She responded to confirmations from her superiors briefly and accurately.
However, the time she spent looking in the mirror in the restroom in the evening became just a little longer.
The summer shapewear was indeed light. Even though it should have been light, to Michika, it felt more uncertain than before. She was groomed. She should have been groomed. However, that was merely grooming for the daytime.
It was by no means something that could groom her nighttime self.
She already knew that.
After leaving work on Friday, Kazuma sent a short message as usual.

“Tonight... can we meet for a little while?”

Michika did not reply immediately.
If she replied immediately, it would mean she had been waiting. While thinking that, her fingers were already on the screen.

“Yes.”

She typed just that.
Hesitating slightly, she added words.

“I also... wanted to see you.”

After sending it, Michika stared at the screen for a while.
I also... .
Wanted to see you—.

Neither of these are work words.
Once typed, they do not disappear. They reach Kazuma without disappearing. After a few seconds, it was marked as read.

“Me too.”

With just that reply, Michika's breathing became slightly disordered. It became disordered, then calmed down.
Kazuma is there. Just that fact made her calm down. Michika turned the device face down and turned back to herself in the mirror.

Her face is not disheveled. Her hair, her collar, her lipstick—everything maintains its daytime form. Yet, the woman in the mirror already knows the destination of the night.
Michika draws a small breath.
Today, too, seeing Kazuma will set things right.
Reflecting on the fact that she had thought this, she tried to keep it hidden even from herself.