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Shoko puts her cigarette out in the almost full ashtray sitting on Satoru’s bedside table. She leans back and blows the smoke up, supporting herself with her hands while she watches the ceiling for a too long moment. She looks down at Satoru who has his head on her lap, forcing him into an uncomfortable position with his legs out of the bed.
The room smells a little gross: a mixture of cigarettes, sweat, and sickness.
Shoko shifts her weight to just one of her hands and pets his hair without meaning anything by it. Satoru has his eyes closed but he isn’t pretending to be asleep. There is no way he isn’t aware of Shoko watching his face now, but he doesn’t play silly and doesn’t ask for a healing kiss or any other nonsense. He just rests his head on her lap and Shoko moves the locks of hair sticking to his clammy forehead away from his skin.
Shoko mindlessly runs her fingers through Satoru’s sweaty hair. Satoru starts humming an annoying catchy song from a commercial that’s been playing too much lately. Shoko wonders when Satoru picked up smoking; he’s never liked the bitter aftertaste of anything.
“You shouldn’t smoke in here. At least not while you are sick,” she tells Satoru in the quiet voice of a hypocrite.
Satoru stops humming for a second. He breathes in slowly, holds it in, and breathes it out as if he just took a drag of an imaginary cigarette. He sits up suddenly and coughs on his elbow just like he took a drag of his first cigarette. Shoko watches as the coughing shakes his whole body.
It’s a little pitiful, so she doesn’t tease him.
Shoko stands up and Satoru looks at her with accusatory eyes.
“I will be back,” she says, more defensive than she would have liked, and moves to the entrance. She puts on her shoes and walks out of the room.
The fresh air hits her as a blessing that she hasn’t realized she wished for. She stands outside Satoru’s door and closes her eyes for a moment. She doesn’t have to come back: Satoru is capable of dealing with a common cold all by himself. She isn’t obligated to keep him company, but February just started, and they are both feeling a little too lonely.
Shoko sighs and opens her eyes. The air is chilly in a sobering way, and she starts walking away from Satoru’s apartment. There is a convenience store nearby; she vaguely remembers the way there from other times. She isn’t sure how long ago has it been but it’s been a long time since she took this path.
Shoko buys a couple of bottles of Pocari Sweat, a couple sweet-flavored sports drinks, and endures the curious gaze of the shopkeeper. She gets herself a few beers and instant noodles for them both. It’s cheap food and cheap comfort but it’s what she is willing to offer.
She walks back to Satoru’s apartment. Shoko lets herself in without announcing herself. She takes off her shoes and walks in without slippers.
The room smells a little suffocating, and she wants to open a window.
Satoru doesn’t greet her, but that’s fine. He looks at her when she set the bag on the table. She takes one of the drinks and hands it to him.
“You should, at least, keep hydrated,” she says, and Satoru doesn’t complain about it at all which is somewhat concerning.
Shoko takes two beers from the bag and sets one of them on Satoru’s bedside table, right next to the ashtray. She sits down on the floor and opens her own can. Satoru watches her while drinking the sweet orange drink she handed him. He drinks the whole bottle and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Don’t go making a shrine on other’s people’s furniture,” he tells her, but he doesn’t do anything about it.
Shoko ducks her head, lets her hair curtain her face, and smiles.
“None of us ever had any manners anyway,” she says.
Satoru laughs and drops himself back in bed, coughing again.
“I feel like crap,” he says.
“You’re sick. It’s expected.” Shoko leans against the bed and tilts her head back, resting her head on Satoru’s shoulder. “And, with things happening this way, you have an excuse to be miserable.”
Satoru snorts a laugh that sends him into another coughing fit this time. Shoko smiles and takes a sip of her beer.
“I can stay the night,” she says without looking at him or offering anything tangible.
“So cruel,” Satoru says playfully and sits up. “I suppose I will shower since I’ll have guests for the night.”
“Oh! How polite!”
Shoko takes another sip. Satoru gets up and wobbles his way to the bathroom. He doesn’t close the door, so Shoko gets up and does so herself. She takes the time to open the window a little, but she doesn’t clean the ashtray.
“What a shitty offering,” Shoko comments to herself as she looks at Satoru’s bedside table.
She turns away, sets the kettle on and pays attention to the sound of running water. She walks to the window and breathes in the fresh air, closing her eyes for a moment, before closing the window again. Two minutes later, Satoru walks out of the bathroom and goes to his drawer to grab a change of clothes.
“Shameless,” she teases, but she doesn’t really care about seeing him naked one more time.
“None of us ever had any manners anyway,” he says back at her, and Shoko laughs from the bottom of her heart despite the tears that force themselves to the corner of her eyes.
The kettle makes a noise, and the laughter stops as suddenly as it started.
She moves to the table and prepares their noodles. Satoru sits on the bed, and she hands him his noodles.
“A feast,” he teases.
“I know,” she says and sits down next to him. “Treat me to a real meal when you feel better. Or at least buy me some coffee.”
Satoru stays silent for some time, warming his hands on the package.
“Thanks,” he says in such a quiet voice that Shoko looks at him. “February is a lonely month.”
It’s Shoko’s turn to stay silent.
“Bullshit,” she says after a few seconds of cold silence. She isn’t angry, not really, but she sounds angry and it surprises her. “February is just February. There is nothing special or remarkable to it.”
Satoru doesn’t reply and Shoko is thankful that he doesn’t call her out on her lies.
“Stay the night,” he says.
“I already said I will stay,” she replies, and Satoru watches her for a moment before moving his hand and cupping her face.
Satoru turns her face, so she is looking at him.
“Stay,” he repeats and she wonders what he is getting at. “It’s cold and lonely; I don’t want to be alone.”
Shoko watches him for a moment and leans on his touch, closing her eyes.
“Me neither,” she confesses and nods.
Satoru is sick. She wouldn’t be there if he hadn’t sound pitiful on the phone earlier. She doesn’t make any promises, but Satoru nods too as if their agreement is clear in all its clauses. He nods but he doesn’t kiss her.
It’s fine like this, too.