Chương 416: 192.Our New Year's Start 2

The break room was very small. So small that the low hum of the heater, the Federation's New Year's greetings still blathering suicidally from the TV, and even the white steam rising from the hot soup all suddenly became incredibly distinct. So distinct it was hard to play dumb. I was still holding my chopsticks, but my fingertips had gone inexplicably stiff. Maki watched me. She didn't rush me. This was sometimes the most ruthless thing about Maki.

She wasn't the type to lay everything out in one breath and seal the exits. She only pushed forward half a step—right into the dead center of your chest—and then stood there watching you. Watching to see if you would step back, or step forward yourself. … Damn it. If I could still fire back some slick, witty line right now, I probably wouldn't be Hoshino Shimo. I'd be some professional con artist specializing in defusing romantic crossfire. I looked down at the remaining soba in my bowl.

My voice came out lower than usual.

"Then… why?" The second I asked it, I wanted to bite my tongue off. Too direct. That didn't sound like something I would normally say at all. It was basically opening the door myself and hanging a "Please Come In" sign on the knob. Maki's eyelashes fluttered, just slightly. She didn't answer immediately. She just slowly set her chopsticks down. The wood tapped against the edge of the bowl with a very faint sound. Then, she raised her hand and touched my wrist. Not a grab.

Not the kind of commanding hold she used on duty. Just a very light touch. Her fingertips were warm, like she was checking to see if I was still sitting there, or if I had already bolted.

"Because," Maki finally spoke, her voice steady, but clearly holding something that wasn't there during normal duty, "if I took it back, it would become something shared with everyone." I didn't speak. Her fingertips were still resting on my wrist. She didn't move them. The heater was blowing strong, but that small patch of skin felt hotter than anywhere else. Maki looked at me, pushing the sentence the rest of the way forward.

"And tonight, I don't want to share with everyone." It felt like something pressed down on my chest, very slowly. Not heavy. Just exactly enough to wreck my breathing. The host in the projection was still using a voice that desperately deserved to be muted, singing praises to the Federation's will, the Mother Planet's glory, and the dawn of the future. I usually had a lot of opinions about this garbage, but right now I couldn't even summon the energy to be sarcastic. Because Maki was sitting right in front of me.

Because what she just said wasn't meant for the Federation. Because this bowl of noodles, this minute, this ridiculously small break room—suddenly, all of it only meant one very troublesome thing. My throat felt a little dry.

"Maki," I started, realizing my voice was slightly hoarse.

"Saying it like that makes it very hard for me to respond." She looked at me, surprisingly calm.

"I'm not forcing you to respond."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Just telling you."

"Telling me what?" The moment that left my mouth, the distance changed. Not physical space. The air itself suddenly narrowed, so narrow that even the sound of our breathing felt too close. The break room was already small. The table wasn't big. If either of us leaned forward even a fraction, a lot of things would automatically fall from the we can still pretend nothing happened side straight into the impossible to fake it anymore side. Maki didn't retreat.

She just stayed there, looking at me, her ears steadily flushing redder in the heat and the steam. It wasn't the caught-off-guard, flustered red from when I kissed her at the school gate. This was the red of someone who knew exactly what she was saying, knew exactly where these words would push things, and said them anyway. That was far more lethal than simple embarrassment. After two seconds, she said, very low:"I'm telling you that this isn't something I would do with just anyone." My eyelashes trembled.

This is bad. Where did this woman normally hide these lethal sentences? In the lining of the duty log? Or in the bottom drawer of the Seitokai filing cabinet marked "For Emergency Use Only"? I wanted to laugh. I wanted to joke. I wanted to use a couple of familiar, trashy lines to yank myself out of this situation where I was basically being shot through the center of mass. But looking at Maki, I realized I couldn't say anything right. So I honestly did the only other thing I could. I put my chopsticks down.

Maki's eyes dropped to my hands, then back up to my face. In that single exchange, nothing was explicitly said, but it spoke louder than most words.

"…The way you're acting right now," I stared at her, trying my best to sound like someone who still had a spine, "is very out of bounds."

"You've gone out of bounds more times tonight than I have," Maki said.

"That's different."

"How is it different?"

"Mine is habitual disruption." I paused, dropping my voice.

"Yours is premeditated." Maki didn't deny it. At that, my defenses really started to buckle. You can't measure some people by normal standards. Maki was usually so steady, so controlled, so good at keeping everything within the boundaries she deemed appropriate. So the moment she took even half a step on her own initiative, the impact was enough to knock you completely off balance. I reached out and touched her hand where it rested on the table. This time, I moved first.

Maki's fingers twitched slightly, but she didn't pull away. Following that faint hesitation, I covered her hand with mine. Her hands were always a little warmer than mine. This wasn't the first time we'd touched. But precisely because it wasn't the first time, doing it tonight felt exceptionally dangerous. I looked at her and asked, almost agonizingly slow:"So what exactly are you planning to treat me as right now?" It was a wicked question.

Because I knew that if she answered, a lot of lines crossed tonight really couldn't be uncrossed. Maki clearly knew it too. She lowered her eyes, looking at our overlapping hands. After a long moment, she lifted her other hand and gently placed it over the back of mine. Like she was afraid I'd run. Or maybe she just needed an anchor to help her finish what she had to say. The heat of her palm seeped through my skin.

"Shimo," she said my name, her voice so low it almost seemed to glide across the tabletop.

"You already know." My chest tightened violently. Yeah. I knew. That was the worst part. Because I really did know. I knew she wasn't putting on a show for anyone. I knew it wasn't a sudden whim. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. I knew that leaving this bowl of noodles here, pushing her words this far—behind all of it was something far more private than "Happy New Year" or "sharing with a friend." I knew.

But knowing it, and hearing her admit it, were two entirely different things. I let out a low laugh. A helpless kind of laugh.

"Maki, you're really good at backing people into corners today."

"I'm not backing you into a corner."

"You are." I looked up into her eyes.

"You're just being very polite about it." Maki looked like she wanted to reply. Her lips parted slightly, but I leaned forward before she could. It wasn't an impulsive, logic-losing kind of lean. It was just too quiet. So quiet I could hear the blood rushing against my own eardrums. The steam was still rising from the table. It was probably still snowing outside. The Federation host in the projection was still tirelessly reciting New Year's greetings to the entire galaxy.

But all those sounds seemed to retreat very far away. The only thing close was Maki. She didn't dodge. Her breathing clearly hitched, but her eyes didn't look away. That refusal to retreat was more lethal than any active move, because you knew perfectly well—she hadn't failed to notice you getting closer. She was just choosing not to hide. My forehead was almost touching hers. Her eyelashes were very close. Her lips were very close.

So close that if I moved even a fraction of an inch more, I probably wouldn't be able to pretend this was just a normal year-end night shift break anymore. I stopped there. My throat felt dry.

"Maki."

"Mm." She answered very softly. I wanted to say something. Warn her, mock her, remind her that this was the break room behind the duty room, not 22 Platinum Bridge Street, not some place where we could just do whatever we wanted. But when the words reached my mouth, all that was left was a helpless, fatal honesty.

"If I kiss you right now, the first person to fall apart is probably going to be me." Maki looked at me. Her ears had flushed completely red. But she somehow still managed to maintain that very Maki-like composure, answering me in a low voice:"Aren't you falling apart already?" I couldn't hold it back. I laughed. A short sound, mixed with heat and breath, almost like a sigh. The next second, I reached up, cupped the side of her face, my thumb brushing just below her burning ear, and leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn't a heavy kiss. It was even lighter than the one at the school gate. But the nature of it was completely different. Because that time, I'd ambushed her while her back was turned. This time, she watched me approach, watched me stop, and watched me actually kiss her. And she didn't retreat. Her lips were hotter than I expected. The moment we touched, Maki visibly stiffened.

It was a very short, very genuine flinch—like even though she had anticipated it might come to this, her body still honestly lost its rhythm from the impact. I really only meant to kiss her once and pull back. Really. But as I started to pull away, the hand Maki had resting on the back of mine suddenly tightened. Not very hard. But enough to keep me there. I opened my eyes and saw her looking right back at me. The distance was absurdly close.

Close enough that I could clearly see the tremor in her eyes—the one she usually hid so well, finally exposed. Then Maki chased forward a half-step. Just a half-step. But it was more dangerous than my entire approach had been. The second kiss wasn't as light as the first. It was still restrained, still held back—but the restraint was because we were in a break room, because there was a patrol waiting outside, because there was half-eaten soba on the table and the Federation Standard Channel was still running.

Not because we wanted to stop. My breathing broke. My fingers tightened instinctively, my palm pressing against her cheek. Maki's other hand came up, touching my shoulder, then slowly sliding to the back of my neck and stopping there. The placement was too close, too intimate. If she pulled even a little harder, I would probably just collapse against her like an absolute coward. … In fact, I was already pretty much collapsing. When we finally separated, the distance was still very tight.

Close enough that our breath was still tangled together. Neither of us had truly retreated to a safe range. The host in the projection was still talking about "a new calendar, a new hope, a new Federation era." It sounded like noise from another universe. I looked at Maki, and she looked at me. Neither of us spoke immediately. It felt like whoever spoke first would give a name to this hot, dangerous thing between us, and once it had a name, a lot of things could never be taken back.

In the end, Maki was the first to look away slightly. Her breathing was still unsteady, but she forced her voice back into its usual shape.

"…The soba really is going to clump." I stared at her. Her ears were bright red, even the back of her neck was flushed with heat, yet she was stubbornly trying to rescue the food first. I held out for two seconds, and finally laughed.

"Maki."

"What."

"You really know how to pick your moments to pretend to be serious."

"I'm not pretending," she said softly.

"I'm rescuing dinner."

"Oh." I propped my forehead on my hand. My heart was still hammering wildly, but my mouth had recovered some of its strength.

"Then do you want to rescue me while you're at it?" Maki finally turned back to look at me. In that glance, there was a faint but obvious warning, mixed with a lot of things she probably hadn't fully sorted out herself yet.

"Shimo," she said slowly.

"If you keep messing around, I can't guarantee we'll be able to finish this shift properly tonight." … The lethal force of that sentence went way beyond a simple warning. I practically swallowed the second half of that bowl of soba whole. Calling it "eating" was generous. I was just mechanically processing the items on the table. The soup was hot, the noodles hadn't clumped too badly, but I didn't taste a single thing after the second bite.

The Federation Standard Channel was still projecting those New Year's greetings that only made you want to roll your eyes after a while. The heater kept blowing. The snow outside kept falling. But the loudest thing in the break room was no longer the host's mouth. It was my own heartbeat. I stacked the two empty bowls and, using "someone has to do some actual work" as an excuse, took them out to wash. Only when the cold water ran over my fingertips did I manage to smooth out my breathing a little.

The porcelain bowls clinked sharply against the stainless steel sink. The front of the duty room was dead quiet. Only the wall clock ticked forward, second by second. By the time I dried the bowls, put them away, and looked up, it was almost time for the second patrol round. … Good. Patrol. Official duty. Walking. Checking locks. Confirming window latches. These were all excellent tools for rescuing a night that was spiraling out of control.

I took a deep breath, carried the dried bowls back, pushed open the break room door, and was just about to ask, Should we head out for the patrol? when I realized the lights inside had been turned off at some point.

"What's go—" Before I could even finish half the sentence, someone grabbed me and yanked me inside. The door clicked shut behind me. My vision went black. The first thing I felt was the slight chill of coat fabric, followed immediately by a familiar body heat. It happened so fast I reached out to steady myself on pure instinct. Only when my palms landed on her shoulders did I confirm, in the dark, exactly who had just dragged me in.

"…Maki?"

"Don't speak." Maki's voice was terrifyingly low. It wasn't the suppressed, official low she used on duty. It wasn't the cold, steady low she used when correcting me. It was closer. Hoarser. Like something she'd been forcing down for too long had finally burned its way into her voice in this dark break room. I couldn't see her face clearly. But I was almost certain she was completely flushed again. From the tips of her ears, down her neck, all the way across the face that was usually so good at feigning composure.

Thinking about that, I actually wanted to laugh, but the urge dissolved the moment her breath brushed against me.

"What about the patrol?" I asked softly. It was a perfectly logical question. And completely useless. Because the next second, Maki answered me in a tone that even she probably wouldn't believe on a normal day:"Fuck it." I froze on the spot. Coming from Maki's mouth, the impact of that sentence was no less shocking than if the Federation Standard Channel had suddenly started blasting Imperial military anthems. It was too illogical.

So illogical I almost reached out to check her forehead to see if the hot soba had broken her brain.

"That doesn't sound like something the Seitokai President would say," I said. In the dark, she was silent for half a second. That half-second was short, but it felt like some boundary had been silently, cleanly knocked over. Then, I felt her hands press against my shoulders. The heat of her palms bled clearly through the fabric. She was very close. So close that every word felt like it was dropping right against the corner of my lips.

"I'm not the Seitokai President right now." Her voice was as low as a burning ember.

"Right now, I just want to be with you." My chest took a violent hit. It wasn't the first time she'd backed me into a corner where I couldn't speak. But like this—in the dark, pulled in by her own hands, hearing her say it so directly, in a way that was so unlike Maki Kushima—this was the first time. She looked like she wanted to say more. Maybe add a line, explain, pull the words back a little, at least back into a range that sounded more like herself. But I didn't give her the chance.

Because if I let her keep talking, she was probably going to burn right through me tonight. So I lowered my head and kissed her. It was deeper than the one at the school gate, and messier than the two by the table. Maki's breathing lost its rhythm almost instantly. Her fingers dug into the fabric at the back of my shoulders—the grip was light, but enough to hold me there.

The darkness hid a lot of things, leaving only the rustle of clothing, the sharp, overlapping breaths, the agonizingly ticklish sensation of her long hair brushing against the back of my hand and neck, and the heat of our bodies, pressed too close, becoming hyper-distinct in the pitch-black space. I don't know who stepped forward first. Or maybe there wasn't a first or second. By that point, distance had long stopped being something you could reason with.

Maki's hands slid slowly up from my shoulders, finally resting at the back of my neck. Like she wanted to press me closer, or maybe just needed something to hold onto. The gesture was too dangerous. So dangerous I almost genuinely forgot that this was the break room behind the duty room, that the night shift schedule was still hanging outside, and that the clock on the wall was still diligently ticking forward. When I finally pulled back slightly, my forehead was still resting against hers.

Our breathing was an absolute wreck. I kept my head down, my nose lightly brushing the side of her face. My voice was so hoarse it sounded foreign even to me.

"Maki." The hands clasped at the back of my neck didn't loosen. In the dark, she just let out a low hum.

"… Mm." The sound was too close, and too soft. It hardly sounded like her usual self. It was absolutely lethal. I had wanted to say something else. Warn her, laugh at her, or just be a coward and kiss her again. But now that we'd actually reached this point, nothing I could say would sound clever. Because once certain things were spoken out loud, this moment would become too clear. And things that are too clear usually don't belong in places like a year-end night shift. Outside, maybe the wind blew again.

The window frame gave a very faint rattle. Just one sound. Very soft. But it felt like someone reaching in from outside the door, yanking the two of us back from the edge of a cliff we were about to step off. I closed my eyes and laughed, a little breathlessly.

"…We're done for."

"What's done for?" Maki's breathing hadn't steadied yet. Her words still carried a trace of heat at the end.

"I just wanted to have a nice, normal New Year's," I said softly.

"But looking at it now, it seems the first major incident I have to handle this year is myself." In the dark, Maki seemed like she wanted to snap back, but her lips barely moved before she went quiet again. That quiet wasn't her cooling down. Exactly the opposite. It was because it was still too hot, so neither of us dared to carelessly throw out the next sentence. After a moment, she rested her forehead lightly against mine again. Her voice was very low.

"Shimo."

"Mm?"

"…We're really going to be late for the second patrol." I almost laughed out loud. That sentence was just too Maki Kushima. Even after dropping a line like "Fuck it," when we were right on the verge of crossing the line completely, she was still the first one to grab hold of reality again. But precisely because it was her, this felt right. I touched the back of her hand in the dark.

"Then what do we do, Council President?" She went silent for a moment. Then, she said, very quietly:"If you keep calling me that, I really won't want to go on patrol." …Excellent. That was more dangerous than anything else she'd said tonight. I took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the urge to laugh—and everything else—and finally just pressed a very light kiss to her forehead.

"Then we'd better go," I said.

"Otherwise we really will be writing an incident report tomorrow." Maki didn't let go immediately. She paused for a few seconds, like she was arguing with herself. Finally, she slowly loosened her grip on the back of my neck and stepped back a little. I couldn't see her expression in the dark, but I knew her face was probably in a state far less presentable than at any other point tonight. And I probably wasn't doing much better myself. Outside the door, it was still the duty room.

The schedule was still on the wall. Tonight's shift wasn't over yet. But once some things happen, even if two people step back to their original positions, those positions are never really the same anymore. When I raised my hand and touched the doorknob, I realized that very clearly. And then I thought: fine. Whatever.