Chapter Fifteen: Maybe Next Time
2015 – Summer
They were huddled together under the blankets, the way they always did on Friday nights when Natsumi's parents had gone to bed and the house was silent. It was so quiet she could hear the air conditioner, could hear the air move through the house. Their legs were tangled together, arms wrapped around each other in a familiar embrace.
"We should run away together." Soft lips whispered against Natsumi's ear as slender fingers carded through her hair.
Natsumi didn't open her eyes, didn't lift her head from where she rested against her heart. The steady beating was so relaxing, a familiar comfort. She thought maybe she knew it better than her own. "Okay."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Soft lips brushed against her forehead, and Natsumi wrapped her arms tighter around her, pulling her closer. It wasn't close enough. It was never close enough.
"Where should we go?"
"Hm… Okinawa."
Natsumi could feel her chest move as she laughed, a high-pitched squeak that made her ears hurt. She lifted her head and pressed a kiss to her cheek as she continued laughing. It was one of her favorite things to hear.
"We were just there!"
"So," Natsumi muttered, laying her head next to hers, noses almost touching. "You liked it, and… if we went just us, we wouldn't have to sneak around."
She rolled her eyes, vibrant eyes full of mirth when she stared back at Natsumi. A deep green so full of life that it reminded her of the wooded area around her grandparents' house. It was the only good thing about going out there to visit, she could stare at the trees and see her eyes.
"I thought you liked sneaking around," she teased.
"But you don't."
"I don't mind it so much," she brushed Natsumi's hair behind her ear, leaving her palm against her cheek. Natsumi held her hand in place, the soft warmth from her palm as soothing as her heartbeat had been. "So, Okinawa first. Then where?"
Natsumi shrugged. "I don't care. We can go wherever you want."
"We can't just go to the places I like. We have to go where you want too."
"I'll go anywhere you go," she whispered, lacing their fingers together. "I just wanna be with you."
"You're so corny, Natsu."
Natsumi flinched back, her stomach turning over. "Why did you call me that?"
Green eyes blinked back at her. "What are you talking about?"
"I – I don't know, I just –" she clamped her mouth shut, the nausea wouldn't fade. The bile was rising up in her throat, a bitter taste on her tongue. "I feel sick."
She pressed her lips to Natsumi's forehead. "You don't feel warm."
The sick feeling in her stomach wouldn't go away, a chill crawling down her back that she couldn't explain. Since when did she call her that? It had sounded twisted coming from her lips, as if it never belonged there. That wasn't how her name was supposed to sound from those lips. She had always said it so sweetly, so softly.
Something was wrong.
"Are you okay?"
Green eyes still shined in the darkness, the moonlight streaming in the window reflecting off them. How could anything be wrong when they were together? It was the way they were supposed to be.
"I'm fine," she assured, but the concern never left the other girl's eyes. Natsumi turned her face, pressing a kiss to her palm and sighing in relief. She missed it, the feeling of her soft hands and their legs tangled together. Missed her green eyes and her dark hair, the squeaky laugh and teasing smile. The rest of the world might see her sweet demure façade, but Natsumi got to see the little bit of mischief she had hidden away.
"Sayoko," she said her name against her palm, said it as softly and as reverently as she could. Did she sound as in love with her as she felt? "I miss you."
Sayoko laughed again, the sound echoing in the dark room. "Miss me? I see you every day and I'm practically here all weekend. When do you have time to miss me?"
That was a good point, but if that was true… Why did she feel a growing ache in her chest? A gnawing pit in her stomach. The nausea had faded but she was left… left empty.
Why did she feel so empty?
Natsumi closed her eyes, it felt like there was a black hole inside her. A vast emptiness that could never be filled, the only thing plugging it was gone. No that wasn't right, Sayoko was here. She didn't feel that way with Sayoko, not ever. Sayoko made it better, she made everything better. Bright and hopeful and sweet.
She opened her eyes again, turning her face from her palm to look into her eyes again. Bright green eyes that were so full of life. Once upon a time, pink had been her favorite color, but then Sayoko came into her life and she couldn't imagine why she had chosen any other color as her favorite. Couldn't imagine ever having hated grass or trees or anything else that reminded her of Sayoko's eyes.
Those eyes were gone.
Replaced by dull lifeless green, skin too pale and sickly looking. Dried blood caked around her nose and smeared across her lips.
Sayoko's dead eyes stared back at her, jaw slack and face bloody. No matter how hard she pulled she couldn't get out of her grip, hands stiff and unmoving. Natsumi shut her eyes, unable to look anymore at the face of a dead girl who was her everything.
"It's not real."
Over and over she muttered to herself, pretending that she couldn't feel the stiff cold hands holding her in place, but the words did nothing to soothe her. Her blood thrummed in her ears, sweat running down her back as she struggled to pull away. Something was holding her down, something pressed against her back and across her waist. It was so heavy, like a metal beam had been laid across her.
It felt like her eyes were being pried open like someone was forcing her to look into those lifeless eyes. Instead, all she saw were wide dark eyes so full of fear set into a face too young. Tears streamed down the girl's face, running down into the pillow underneath her. There were purple and blue blotches across the pale skin of her neck, distinct finger marks imprinted in the girl's skin.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Natsumi cried, struggling to move forward, to pull away from the thick arm holding her place. The smell of sweat and liquor was in the air, the bitter taste of vomit and a terrible night's drinking on her tongue. "I didn't want to, I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."
The girl cried harder, her shoulders shaking as she closed her eyes, pressing her palms into her face. Natsumi fought against the weight holding her down. She had to get them out, had to get them away from there. It was too far. She was too young, had to be the same age as Sayoko when she –
Panic and fear ripped through her, she had to save her. Had to get out. She had to find her phone and call Ichiro. He could help, he would help her, he always helped her. Natsumi closed her eyes and pulled as hard as she could against the arm that weighed her down until she was free.
It was gone all at once, the girl and the arm, only the dread in her stomach as she hit the ground with a thud. Her eyes flew open as she landed on her back, her breath coming in pants that left her throat dry and aching. There was the sound of a glass knocking into something and a rush of water on her face, getting into her eyes and her nose.
Natsumi turned over, grabbing the small wastebasket next to her nightstand, coughing and hacking into it. Her nose ran as she forced the water out, bile rising up her throat until she was heaving. Blood roared in her ears, her shirt sticking to her back as she emptied whatever was in her stomach. She stayed like that, kneeling on the wood floor as stomach acid burned her throat.
She wanted to die.
Her stomach cramped painfully, nothing left in it as she leaned over the trashcan. A shaky hand pushed sweaty hair out of her face as she took in gulping breaths, a slight film coating her tongue and teeth. Natsumi rubbed the back of her hand against her mouth, she felt dirty. It had been a while since she had those nightmares. Even longer since it had been quite so bad.
She sat back, kneeling on the floor as she came down from the panic. Natsumi opened her eyes again, the nausea dulling but never fading, not completely. She squinted, there was something shiny and reflective in the bottom of the trashcan. What was that? She had just taken the trash out not long ago, hadn't she? She was sure she'd done it on her way out of the house before work.
Her head whipped up, sweaty hair clinging to the back of her neck. The panic returned as she remembered what exactly had happened after work.
Getou was still asleep, face soft and breathing even. His hand was stretched out in the space next to him, the place where she'd fallen asleep with him. Relief washed over her as she stood on shaking legs, picking up the glass of water that had tipped over and dumped water in her face. The glass of water he'd gotten for her.
In his sleep, he didn't look anything like a man who was capable of murder. He looked like a man who kissed bruises and brought glasses of water to women he went to bed with.
Natsumi headed for the bathroom that connected to her room, walking as quietly as she could. Not that it seemed all that necessary. If all her thrashing and vomiting hadn't woken him, she doubted her walking around and opening doors would. Her movements felt mechanical as she walked through the all too familiar steps. Brush her teeth. Shower. Try to forget.
She was having trouble with that last one.
The last time she had slept in bed with someone else, it hadn't ended well for anyone. She didn't remember what happened, not exactly. There was the club, and the guy, older but attractive. She'd let him kiss her, or maybe she'd kissed him, and he'd slipped a pill in her mouth with his tongue like he'd done it a million times. He probably had. She remembered thinking it was a fun way to take them, giggling like an idiot already drunk and high. The dim lights, blaring music, and the warm press of bodies dancing together. It had been fun, so easy to forget that Sayoko was dead and Kazumi had dumped her. Easy to pretend she wasn't pointlessly trying to fill a void that could never be filled.
It got fuzzier and fuzzier as the night went on, she remembered the summer air, and how it had felt so nice on her skin. Probably because of the drugs. Everything had felt so good that she forgot how much she hated the sticky heat. Then… then nothing but vague memories of sensation, hands touching her skin, pleasure and fear and pain all wrapped up together.
Then she'd woken up in that bed, sober and terrified looking into the eyes of a crying teenage girl. A girl that had only been a few years younger than Natsumi. She had grabbed that girl and hauled her out of that disgusting apartment in the middle of the night. Barefoot and frantic as she ran with her hand in hers. She'd called Ichiro as soon as she could. His eyes had bulged out of his head, but he'd ushered the girls into his car. Natsumi had sat in the front, the teenage girl in the back as he drove away. At some point, he had asked what they wanted to do, police or hospital?
The girl asked to go home.
He hadn't liked it, had wanted to take the girl to a doctor at the very least. The dark bruises on her throat in the shape of fingers were concerning. Eventually, he relented, the girl pleading that she just wanted to go home, she didn't want to involve the police. They all knew well enough that if they stepped foot in a hospital the police would be called as soon as someone saw the marks on the two girls. There hadn't been bruises on Natsumi's throat, but her stomach hurt so bad she didn't know how she had managed to run as fast as she had. Her back ached and her lip was swollen, she hadn't looked in the mirror, but she knew it was bad, could see it in her brother's face when he looked at her.
They took the girl home.
Ichiro took her to his house, he and Aiko had whispered in the middle of the night in the kitchen. Natsumi had sat at her brother's kitchen table, the same one she would sit at with Sayoko when they visited after school sometimes. She could remember Aiko fretting over her, soothing words and comforting hands against her skin. The rest of the night passed in a blur, full of vomiting and tears in the bathroom, her brother sitting with her.
Her aches faded and her bruises healed faster than she thought they would. Soon replaced by withdrawals that had her cursing her brother and wishing she was dead more than she had already. Natsumi stayed in her brother's guest room for a few weeks after. He helped her get a job and an apartment. Took her to see their parents, deflected the questions for her, and told them to just be glad she was home. She never thanked him, and they never spoke of it again.
She stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel tightly around herself, her legs no longer shaky and her pulse at a (somewhat) regular rhythm. Technically, she was clean. She scrubbed every centimeter of her skin three times and washed her hair twice. If anything, she felt a little raw when she opened the bathroom door and stepped into her bedroom.
Somehow, she still felt dirty.
That feeling didn't fade when she saw Getou in her bed, he'd turned over in his sleep and was lying on his stomach. At least he was still asleep, she wouldn't have to deal with him quite yet. Not that she had any idea what 'dealing with him' entailed.
She threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top, used the towel to clean up the mess she'd made, and took the trash out. After she put up the glass she'd knocked over, tossed the food they had left out, and threw their clothes in the washer, she was out of things to keep her busy. He was still asleep when she was done, and she knew there was no way she could get back in that bed with him. Natsumi was good at pretending, but not quite that good.
Instead, she sat on her front steps, cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other, music playing quietly from her phone while she tried not to think about the bottles Hana had missed.
She failed. Like she always did. Like she always would.
There was one in her old childhood bedroom, hidden in the bottom drawer of a dresser filled with clothes that didn't fit her anymore. Too small clothes of a teenage girl who didn't exist anymore.
Another was in the attic, out of sight in a box with tear-stained letters filled with words she never said. Ironic that the letter streaked with the most tears had asked her mother not to cry for her. She could still feel that rage underneath the guilt and regret. Everything she had ever wanted to say to her family was in those letters, and they had died just a little too early to read them.
There was one more bottle, the one that made her feel the most ashamed. The bottle in her brother's old room, tucked away inside a hollowed-out book on the top shelf. A book she'd given him as a gift one year. He made some joke about a place to keep secrets from Aiko, she only laughed and patted his cheek affectionately. Her mother had lectured that it was an inappropriate gift, that Natsumi had ruined a perfectly good book. Her father had sighed and shaken his head, the quiet disappointment spoke volumes. Sumiko had been a toddler then, sitting on the floor looking confused by the different reactions to an empty space in a book.
Hana had gone through the living room, kitchen, hall closets, bathroom in the hall, and laundry room. She'd left the bedrooms alone, probably opened the doors, and closed them the minute she saw the beds. It seemed like her.
Natsumi wished she was a decent enough person to toss the rest herself. To take those final steps and dump the rest of it down the drain, commit for once in her life to being decent. But her sobriety never lasted, even if the days stretched into weeks and months. She always came back to drinking and told herself it was okay. Rationalized it any way she needed to.
It did help with the nightmares usually.
Sometimes it made them worse.
Natsumi pulled out another cigarette, half the pack gone as she told herself she didn't need it. What had Hana asked her? Did she feel any better? She didn't, not really. But being sober didn't feel all that great either. Drinking might not make her feel better but it certainly numbed some of the pain. And at least when she was drunk and made bad choices, she had an excuse.
There wasn't a good excuse for fucking Gojou's best friend.
She inhaled until her lungs ached, until the red embers burned so much away it was more ash than cigarette. Natsumi was just grateful the summer air wasn't as claustrophobic as it usually was. It wasn't as humid as usual and there was a light breeze that felt nice on her skin. As nice as it felt, it didn't help with the itch under her skin, because she knew what would make her feel better. More than cigarettes or sex or booze ever did.
Natsumi flicked her cigarette next to the stairs, she'd have to sweep it up later or the neighbors would make passive-aggressive comments the next time they saw her leave for work. She dipped inside long enough to check on the laundry, switched the clothes to the dryer, and checked that Getou was still asleep. He had barely moved at all, apparently, he slept like the dead.
Her fingers tapped restlessly as she stepped back outside, grabbing the cigarette and the lighter, pacing the sidewalk instead of sitting still. She had never been all that good at sitting still, could remember being told not to fidget, to sit still, to sit with her knees closed, to sit straight and stop making that face. Memories she didn't care for, that always left her feeling even more angry with dead people that she couldn't say anything to. Why couldn't they accept her for who she was? Why did it matter how she sat or if she was fidgety? The guilt always followed after those questions, because why couldn't she just… sit still and be what they asked her to?
What was worse, to think about how she hadn't been enough for her dead parents or to think about how she'd betrayed Gojou?
It had been bad enough that she hadn't said anything when she first found out. She could justify that to herself and probably to Gojou. At the time, she hadn't even known how important Getou was to him, how important they were to each other. It was all just a random string of coincidences, what were the odds that the girls snuck out on the one day Natsumi went to the mall or that Nanako had started her period the one time Sumiko had been sick?
Then everything after she found out… Well, it wasn't as if she had ever sought him out. Except for that one time, but Sumiko had been dying so she thought maybe she could forgive herself for that one.
Her last opportunity to come clean about it all had been after the hospital. After Sumiko was okay, she should have told him. She shouldn't have continued the lie because at that point she knew that Getou was someone important to Gojou. More than just some curse user he'd gone to school with who needed to be dealt with at some point. If anything, that had become the least important factor in the whole mess, Gojou could probably forgive her for knowing that and making the choices she did. But sleeping with Getou, after knowing how much it hurt Gojou that he had left, she didn't know if he ever could forgive her for that.
Natsumi wouldn't. If the situations were switched, if Sayoko was alive and their positions were reversed, she would never have forgiven Gojou. But then, Natsumi would have followed Sayoko to the ends of the Earth and Sayoko would have asked her to go with her. Maybe that belief had wavered when she had gone missing because it had never made sense how Sayoko could love her. It always felt a little like she'd tricked her into it like Sayoko just didn't see how not worth it Natsumi was. There had been a sick sort of relief under all the pain of finding out she had been dead the entire time. After all their talks of running away together, Sayoko hadn't left Natsumi behind like she'd thought, not by her own choice.
She didn't understand how either of them could do it, how they could know the other was in the same city and just… not be together. How could Gojou watch him walk away and not leave with him? How could Getou leave him? What were principles when your other half didn't believe in them?
It was easier to blame them than look at what she had done. Easier to think about how if either one of them had made one different choice, things would be different. Probably wouldn't have met Getou at all, and certainly not the way she had. They never would have ended up attracted to each other, never would have ended up in bed together. It was a lot easier to blame them than to think about the conversation she and Getou probably needed to have. A conversation she wasn't used to having because she was always gone before anyone could even try.
The sky was starting to lighten, the subtle gray color of early morning. Pink and orange beginning to streak across the clouds above her. A pretty summer morning.
It was hard to appreciate when she'd only had an hour or two of sleep and spent the rest of the night in turmoil. She reached for the pack of cigarettes on the stairs, not that they were helping ease the ache or solve any of the problems she'd created for herself.
"Dammit."
The pack was empty already. The same pack she had told Getou he had to buy her. She'd been teasing him, she hadn't actually meant for him to buy her cigarettes. It had just been a joke, but he had taken that joke very seriously.
Natsumi went back inside the house with a twitch in her fingers and an itch under her skin. The lack of sleep and an empty stomach weren't helping her mind, wasn't helping her think clearly or resist doing things she was trying not to do. She tossed the empty pack of cigarettes, the lighter, and her phone on the kitchen table and started a pot of coffee. There was no way she would make it through the day without it.
She sat at the table and folded her arms in front of her, resting her forehead against her arms. The music still drifted from her phone, some random indie artist Sumiko had been into lately. It wasn't exactly her taste, but it was nice on an early morning, almost soothing. The dripping from the coffee pot and the soft acoustic sounds from the song surrounding her.
Not soothing enough to tamp down the itch under her skin.
The sound of a door opening and shutting jolted her a little, just as she was considering the contents of a hollowed-out book tucked away on a top shelf. She lifted her head, squinting in the dim light. The window on the wall behind her (the wall she'd been pressed against hours ago) let in the morning light, streaming across the wooden floor, little bits of dust swirling.
Getou stepped out into view from the hallway, still wearing the clothes she'd given him, her clothes. A smile tugged at his lips, small and soft. "Morning."
"Morning," she mumbled as he walked toward her. "I threw your clothes in the wash, they're in the dryer now. They should be done soon."
"You didn't have to do that."
"It's fine."
His head tilted to the side. "Something's wrong."
"No, there's not."
Getou stared down at her, the intensity seeming somehow magnified or maybe she just felt more vulnerable. She looked away from him, anything to avoid that look in his eyes. It was probably just the nightmare messing with her head, but it felt like he could pry every secret from her with just that look.
A hand reached out in front of her, turning over the empty pack of cigarettes and flipping the top. "Is this the same one from last night?"
"So what if it is?"
If he was bothered by her tone, he didn't say anything about it, dropping the empty pack of cigarettes back on the table. He put a hand to her cheek, turning her head to look up at him, his thumb moving across her cheekbone just under her eye. "How long have you been awake?"
It occurred to her, vaguely, that she should be asking him to leave. A few moments ago, she had been lamenting about how what she had done was a betrayal she doubted could be forgiven. "A while." She leaned into his hand, feelings of regret and asking him to leave tossed out the window.
"Have you been up all night?"
Quite suddenly she was aware of how she must look, dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and she probably smelled like an ashtray to top it all off. "I couldn't sleep."
"Because of me?" He started to pull his hand away from her face, and she should let him, should tell him that yes it was because of him and it was all his fault. She should chase him away. To tell him to get out and never come back.
But she missed the cool feel of his palm against her cheek before it was even gone. She grabbed his wrist, and brought his hand back to her face. "Sort of, but not really. I can't sleep with anyone, not… not you specifically, just anyone."
His lip quirked like he found something she'd said funny. "Natsumi, you don't have to lie."
"Huh?" She wasn't lying. The lie was pretending that it was okay she was holding his hand against her cheek in the same kitchen where Gojou had cried for him. "I'm not."
"The jumbo box of condoms says otherwise."
"Those… were a prank, to embarrass me. I don't know why I kept them but I – I don't bring people here. Except for last night."
"I see," he trailed. Did he realize who had pranked her? He had to know, had to at least wonder if it had been Gojou. If he did, he didn't ask about it. "You should have asked me to leave then, if you weren't going to be able to sleep."
"I didn't want you to leave," she admitted. "And I didn't know that it would –" she pressed her lips firmly together to stop herself from talking about the nightmare. She winced almost immediately, she'd forgotten that she'd torn her lip to shreds (she was not thinking about why she'd bitten her lip so hard).
Getou frowned, moving his thumb from her cheek to her bottom lip, touching it gently. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mutilate yourself."
She rolled her eyes at him, but at least he didn't ask her what she'd been about to say. The nightmare wasn't something she really wanted to get into at the moment (or ever). "You're dramatic. It's not that bad."
Heat crept along her face when he looked at her with the familiar spark in his eyes and his lips pulled into that teasing smile. He leaned over her and held her face between both of his, tilting her face up to look at him.
"What are you –"
The words died on her lips when he leaned down and kissed her, gently at first and then more insistently. When his tongue swiped against her bottom lip, she parted her lips for him, letting him deepen the kiss. Warmth spread across her skin and pooled in her stomach under his touch. It was shameful the way she turned into putty every time this man kissed her, and she wasn't sure she minded. He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, only letting go when she whimpered into his mouth.
"It makes it difficult to kiss you if you hurt yourself," he whispered and brushed his lips against hers before he stood straight again, his hands still cradling her face.
"Did… did you just kiss me to make a point?"
"You don't listen very well," he said. "I enjoy kissing you, but I don't want it to cause you pain. Unless you want it to, in which case –"
"Don't mock me."
"Oh, but it's so much fun," he teased, running a thumb along her cheek. "You turn red so easily."
The heat in her face spread down across her neck, she pulled his hands away from her face. "No, I don't."
"You're doing it right now," he told her, letting her hold his wrists. "It's very sweet."
Natsumi let go of his hands, crossing her arms in front of her. "I am not sweet."
"Interesting, because you taste –"
She pressed her hand against his mouth, cutting him off and looking up at him with a horrified look on her face. "I think I liked it better when you hated me."
He grabbed her wrist and pulled it away from his mouth. "I don't believe you," he said against her wrist, pressing a soft kiss there. Whatever issue he'd had touching her, had apparently disappeared after last night. Now he touched her as if he always had as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. "We need to talk."
"I know, but can we… not?" She couldn't see a way to continue whatever it was they were doing if they talked about it. The itch in her skin was quieter and she didn't feel as twitchy under his touch and she just wanted to enjoy that, just a little bit longer.
He tugged her wrist gently, and she stood, letting him pull her out of the chair until she was standing in front of him. "We have to talk about this."
"I mean… we don't have to. Technically."
Getou raised an eyebrow and let go of her wrist, placing his hands on her hips. "We don't have to, but I would like to," he insisted.
"Not right now. Please," she added when he opened his mouth again.
"Alright," he said, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her into him. "Next time."
Natsumi blinked at him. "What?"
"I wasn't aware I had a stutter." He dipped his head down, kissing her neck in the sensitive spot he'd discovered last night. "Or maybe you have a hearing problem and a listening problem," he spoke against her neck, his teeth grazing the spot when he was done.
Already he had her heart racing and her stomach tying itself in knots under the attention. "I just didn't realize there would be a next time." She hadn't expected him to keep wanting her.
Large hands wrapped around her bare thighs and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her onto the table. "Did you think I was done with you?" he whispered against her neck, his lips moving up to her ear. "Or did you decide you were done with me?"
He was setting her on fire all over again, and she knew there was no way she would ever be done with him, whatever the consequences of that were. "No."
"What was that? I'm not sure I heard you." He kept a hand on her thigh, the tips of his fingers under the hem of her shorts while his other hand edged under her shirt. Cool fingertips ghosted lightly across her stomach, her skin twitching under his touch.
"You're an asshole."
The hand against her stomach traveled further up, cupping her breast, his thumb brushing across her nipple. "I disagree, I think I'm being very nice to you." He left a cool trail of kisses along her neck as he toyed with her. "If you want, I can stop."
Her hands lifted from the back of his neck to fist in his hair, holding him to her. "No, don't stop."
"I didn't think so," he laughed. "You should probably know that there are perks to staying in bed with me."
"Perks?"
"Yes, perks." Getou kissed along her jaw until he reached her lips. "Maybe you'll find out one day," he muttered against her lips, kissing her gently.
"I'm sorry," she said, turning her head away from him. "I did… try. I fell asleep, but I just… couldn't stay that way." Nightmares she didn't want to think about ever, and especially not when he kissed her.
His hands moved to hold her face again, to make her look at him. "It's fine, I was just… giving you something to think about."
"Okay… I'm sorry by the way, for… I know I smell like cigarettes." She didn't bother mentioning that she probably tasted like cigarettes, not after his smart remark about her tasting sweet. Though she doubted he meant kissing her.
"Natsumi, you always smell like cigarettes."
"Are you saying I stink?"
"I never said that I minded, but if it bothers you," his lips quirked again. "Well, that's what showers are for."
"I already showered."
Getou pressed his forehead against hers, his hands gripping her thighs again and pulling her closer to him. "Yes, but I haven't."
She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her hands behind his neck. "Well, we should probably fix that."
"I agree."
He kissed her again, pulling her tight against him until there wasn't an ounce of space between them. Natsumi let him pick her up and carry her to her bedroom for the second time within such a short period. They could talk about whatever they needed to later, apparently there would be a next time.
She never did get to have that cup of coffee.