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I come upstairs into my talent lab and find you asleep on the floor.
You’re halfway under a chair, not even on the couch where it would have been more comfortable; I let out a little sigh at your lack of thought for your own body. You’re always like that, I’m used to it. Your green hair looks like a tussock of grass under the felled tree of the mahogany table. I’ll have to be careful.
You were waiting for me, must have been. Was I too slow? No, no, you’d chastise me merely for the thought, so I chase it away in your honor. You and I are similar in a million ways and our shared distaste for sleep is one of them. You’d been walking a bit slower than usual when I last saw you a few hours ago. Exhaustion. I should have urged you to bed then. There’s half a chance you would have listened. Half a chance we’d end up right here anyway.
I lean down and turn you over. You stir only a little, a twitch of the eyelids. You really must be tired, Rantaro.
It’s been a while since I’ve slept, maybe twenty-six hours or so, but I still have some strength. I pull you into my arms and carefully lift you off the ground. I’m reminded of a sack of dry rice, one which mysteriously appears in the kitchen when I have my back turned and needs to be hauled to the pantry.
Your body is a comfortable burden. I love feeling you in my arms.
It’s late, about one in the morning. Everyone else has gone to bed by now. It’s just you and me as I carry you back to the dorms. The starlight is the same as it’s been every night since we arrived here; I cannot help but wonder if I’ll ever see different constellations with you. You’ve told me before about how you can see different stars in different parts of the world. It seems like you’ve been everywhere. Like you’ve seen every star.
How could I ever compare to that?
Your head rests on my shoulder. I can vaguely feel your breathing, soft and steady. Your chest moves with it, your collarbones too, shifting with each exhale. Sometimes I watch them move when you speak. I only do so when you’re not looking at me. I’d die if you noticed. But you notice everything. Maybe you’ve noticed me watching your lips when you regale me with facts about a rare plant, or a tale from one of your many journeys. If so, you’ve never said a word.
It’s too selfish to speak of. I banish the thoughts from my mind.
We approach the dorm building. I nudge the door open with my hip. Your head stays where it is, but one arm drapes down, shifting you slightly in my grasp. Nobody else is awake, at least nobody I can see. All the doors are locked, and we’re alone in the hallway.
…
Oh.
I look down at you, then up at the door to your room. The key must be in your pocket. I bite the inside of my cheek — heavens, I can’t just put you on the floor again. I look left, then right. It’s silent. Nobody’s here to watch. I look at you again, and you’ve shown no signs of waking. Your eyelashes haven’t so much as fluttered.
It’s just for a minute, I say to myself. Just so you’re comfortable.
I carry you to my room; I’d left the door unlocked, as I always do, just in case someone needs me in the night. My bed is made, neat and tidy, and I lay you atop the blankets. You seem to realize, even in your unconscious state, that you’re somewhere safe, and you immediately turn to lay on your side, knees tucked upward and arms to your chest. Luckily for me, your key is in the pocket I can easily access.
“My apologies, cactus,” I whisper, “but I need to pick you up again.”
You hum in your sleep. Your weight shifts.
“I know you are comfortable, but you ought to be in your own bed.”
Silence. The softest of breaths.
“Let me…”
“Mmm…” You curl in tighter. “Mimi…”
I freeze.
Have I woken you up?
But no, nothing follows that. You are still fast asleep, unmistakably so; your chest moves too steadily for you to have awoken.
Oh, god.
The selfishness tumbles in like a tsunami, and the tears come just as quickly. I want to lay next to you and wrap my arms around you so badly I can hardly stand it. I have never in my life felt such a strong desire. I want to hear that sweet sleepy voice of yours every morning for the rest of my life. Weeks have seen me here with you, weeks of terror and death, and god, god, I crave a gentle evening with you far away from here, wherever you will take me. The love consumes me and I am gone, Kirumi is no more, I am only a vessel for this massive feeling.
I want to climb between your ribs and become your heart. I want to make you breakfast, to eat with you and feel the early-morning fuzz of a new day together.
I want you, I want you, I want you.
I’m glad you’re not awake to see me crying. I swallow back the tears and press my sleeve to my eyes, drying up what’s left.
I am not your lover. I will never be more than a maid.
If I am to be anything to you, it is a tool for your happiness. That is what is acceptable. I can accept that. I will accept being anything whatsoever that allows you to be happy, comfortable, safe. I will hold back this tidal wave of yearning if it means I can be of use to you.
A maid does not want. I must be a terrible maid.
I pick you up, key in hand, and pull you close to my chest once more. The magnet inside me connects to you with a click. We fit. Our bodies fit.
I carry you to your room. I lay you in your bed. I turn out the lights. The morning will come, and you with it. For that, I am grateful.