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It all started with the contents of my refrigerator.
"...Hm? Hmhm?"
Morning.
Still fuzzy all the way down to the core of my skull, I stood in the kitchen and opened the fridge door with the mindless motions of habit. White fluorescent light bloomed out, and cold air brushed my cheeks.
"...Why is there pudding in here that I don't remember buying...? And why are two of them gone...?"
Only after saying it out loud did I fully register the anomaly.
It was just one of those ordinary three-packs of pudding you see everywhere, the kind you impulsively buy after work because you suddenly want something sweet. That specific cheap, wobbly, oddly addictive kind.
And for some reason, the pack had been split apart. I certainly didn't remember eating any of it, and I didn't remember buying it either. The empty cups had been washed clean and now sat upside down in the drying rack. In the corner of the fridge, only one remained, sitting there on the shelf in back as though it had always been sold individually.
What on earth is this?
My sleep-blunted thoughts took several seconds to arrive there.
"...Oh."
Understanding and resignation dropped into my chest at the same time. With my hand still on the fridge door, I let out a small sigh.
She came by again.
My former trainee, Stay Gold.
A girl so free and easygoing it was as if she'd left the very concept of restraint somewhere by the roadside.
And the very person who, to this day, had not returned the spare key to my apartment.
That night, one of my trainer coworkers all but dragged me out, and I found myself at an izakaya near Tracen Academy.
The usual place, crowded with office workers stopping by after their shifts with the usual wood-grain tables and faded paper menu slips pasted to the wall. Foam rose in beer mugs and ice knocked against the rims of glasses with a dry clink.
"So?"
My coworker took a sip of draft beer, set her chopsticks down, and looked at me.
"Who ended up eating the pudding?"
Keeping my eyes averted from the sound of skewers sizzling behind the counter, I answered quietly:
"...Probably Stego?"
"'Probably' nothing."
I could hear the sigh clearly.
"I knew you two were close, but... that is way over the line."
The words came instantly, and I tightened my grip on my mug.
"But she's my former trainee."
"Former, yeah. 'Former.' There aren't many former trainees who get to come and go from their trainer's house. Listen."
She raised a finger for emphasis.
"She's not your trainee anymore. She's not under your protection, and she's not under your supervision. You understand that, right?"
"Yes... but she's sort of half friend at this point... I only lent her the spare key because of how things worked out..."
"Go look up the definition of 'friend' in a dictionary again."
"She just hasn't gotten around to returning it yet."
"That isn't 'borrowing.' That's theft by retention."
Chewing a meatball she'd pulled off the skewer, my coworker was merciless.
"But she doesn't trash the place or take my things. She only comes by between trips to show me her face."
"That 'only' is exactly what sounds suspicious. Tell me how often it is."
"...If she's not away on a long trip, almost every day?"
"That's basically living together!"
Bang.
She slapped the table, and the people around us glanced over for a second. I hurriedly bowed my head in apology.
"Listen," she said, lowering her voice and turning serious. "That is not normal."
"..."
"The moment she's treating your refrigerator like her own, you've already gone way off the rails."
Unable to argue, I picked up an edamame bean and popped it into my mouth. Maybe it hadn't been salted much, because it tasted like nothing.
"Hey."
After a short pause, she tilted her head.
"Just to confirm."
"What?"
"Are you two dating?"
I nearly choked.
"What are you talking about!? Of course we're not dating!"
"................"
"...Wh-what's with that look?"
My coworker leaned back, looked up at the ceiling, and covered her face with both hands.
"That is so weird..."
"Huh?"
"You need to realize how weird it is that someone you're not dating has your spare key, comes and goes almost every day, takes baths, sleeps in the same place, and eats the pudding she bought with you."
"..."
"It's a horror story. A proper horror story."
Those words stabbed into me one after another, and I lowered my head.
"But... we've known each other for so long."
"That's called being stuck in a rut together."
"She doesn't mean anything by it."
"If Stay Gold is doing all this without meaning anything by it, that's even worse."
My coworker took a deep breath and another swallow of beer.
"You need to get the key back."
"...How?"
"That's your job to figure out."
"Even if I tell her straight, she'll just dodge the issue."
"Yeah, I thought so."
After a moment's thought, she said in a level tone:
"Let me be blunt."
"Okay."
"If this keeps dragging on, then what? And if something happens, will you be able to take responsibility?"
"..."
Her voice was low, closing off all escape.
If something happens.
The instant I heard those words, the possibilities I'd unconsciously been avoiding began to take shape with merciless clarity.
For example:
night.
In the same room, on the same sofa, in one careless moment where we misjudge the distance between us.
As an extension of a joke, in the heat of the moment, just going with the flow—it just happened.
For example:
someone sees us.
A neighbor.
Another trainer we know.
Or some malicious third party.
Pedo trainer lets former student into her home.
I could vividly picture the gossip magazine headline. The rumors. The posts on social media. Each one gaining some ugly extra flourish as it spread.
For example:
if something leaves an irreversible result behind.
There would be no excuse.
Good intentions, trust, years of history—none of it would protect us.
Stay Gold had a great many fans. Maybe I was biased as her former trainer, but she was genuinely popular, the kind of girl who drew in everyone, regardless of age or gender. If that sort of rumor started circulating, I might be forced to resign. No—that alone would still be bearable. The real worst-case scenario was that her free, extraordinary journey itself might be put at risk because of my carelessness.
(...That can't happen.)
The feeling was so sharp it almost turned my stomach over.
This wasn't only about me getting into trouble.
At worst, my thoughtlessness could destroy her future too.
Without realizing it, I had stopped breathing.
"...You pictured it pretty clearly, didn't you?"
My coworker asked the question quietly.
"...I did."
"And?"
"...Every version of it was bad. Worse than just getting stones thrown at me. It'd be public humiliation territory."
She gave a small nod.
"Right?"
"It's not enough to say 'nothing's happened yet.'"
"This is your warning. If you wait until after something happens, it'll be too late."
I tightened my grip on the rim of my glass.
My fingertips were shaking.
It was comfortable.
It was easy.
When I was with her, I could simply be myself.
And that was exactly why it frightened me.
If we kept moving forward without drawing a boundary, without even giving what we were a name, then someday the only thing that would arrive first would be an irreversible result.
That, at the very least, could never be allowed.
(...That absolutely cannot be allowed.)
And the moment I thought that, I finally understood just how dangerous a place I had been standing in.
"..."
"Being kind is a virtue," my coworker said, setting down her chopsticks and looking straight at me. "But it's also kindness for the adult in the situation to draw the line."
For a long while, I said nothing, only stared at my glass with its melted ice thinning the drink.
I'll get the spare key back.
That resolve finally settled into the bottom of my stomach that night.
The beginning of all this had been absurdly trivial.
It was a little while after Stay Gold retired from active racing and started wandering from place to place. I got a message from her for the first time in a while. She said she was nearby. There was no special reason for it. She had simply wanted to stop by and see me.
It was raining that day.
When I saw her standing at my door, drenched to the skin, I let out a sigh and handed her a towel.
"Quite a lot of rain."
"Sure is."
The smile she gave me then looked exactly the same as it had during her racing days.
That made me just a little happy.
I let her use the bath, found her a change of clothes, put together a simple meal.
Before I knew it, she had fallen asleep on the sofa. The exhaustion from traveling must have hit her all at once. Her sleeping face was completely unguarded.
It would be mean to wake her.
That was the very first Why don't you stay over?
As for the spare key, it was probably taken not long after that.
"What if you come by next time and I'm not home?"
If I remembered correctly, that had been my offhand remark.
"Then I'll wait," Stay Gold answered immediately.
"With a cup of coffee or something."
"In front of the door?"
"Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."
It had been meant as a joking exchange, and yet she looked fully prepared to do exactly that.
She just shrugged.
"Please don't become a nuisance to the neighbors."
"Then let me inside so I can wait there."
"That isn't the point."
When I faltered, Stay Gold tilted her head just slightly. It was the same gesture she'd always used when waiting to see how I would respond.
"If you don't like the idea of leaving me the key, I can message every time to see if you're home."
"No, that's..."
"Or would you rather we synchronize our schedules every single time I come by?"
"From the person who doesn't even warn me before showing up?"
Those were supposed to be options, and yet none of them were realistic. By the time I noticed that, I'd already been caught up in her pace.
"...You're making a big deal out of it."
I gave a little rueful laugh and searched through my bag.
"It's not like I think you'd misuse it."
The moment I said that, one corner of Stay Gold's mouth lifted.
"So you trust me."
"Well... we've known each other a long time."
"Exactly."
And with that she held out her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I did hesitate.
But I had no clear enough reason to call that hesitation out, and in the end I placed the key in her palm.
The instant our fingertips brushed, Stay Gold lifted the key and looked at it.
"You'll tell me when you want it back, right?"
"...Yeah."
"Then I'll hold onto it for now."
Once she'd put it that way, I found I couldn't say anything else.
I'll just ask for it back eventually.
I had truly thought that at the time.
It would take much, much longer before I realized I hadn't entrusted her with it.
She had taken it.
"...Which one of us is the one leaning too hard on the other, I wonder."
I muttered it to the night street.
It looked as though Stay Gold was the one forcing her way in.
But really, maybe I was the one who had simply never been able to push her out.
If she thought of this place as somewhere she belonged,
then I was the one who had allowed that.
My coworker's words, delayed, sank into my chest.
Drawing the line is kindness too.
I stopped walking and took a deep breath.
"...I'll make her give it back. Properly."
That wasn't rejection.
It wasn't that I hated her.
It was simply that I needed to stop standing in a place this ambiguous.
Repeating that to myself, I started walking again. And as I walked, I was filled with the frustration of not being able to put my feelings into proper words.
What exactly was my relationship with Stay Gold?
We weren't lovers. We weren't family. We certainly weren't trainer and trainee anymore. We were too involved to call it friendship—and yet too close, and had shared far too much time together, to dismiss each other as strangers.
If there were words for it, what would they be?
Surely, somewhere in the world, such a relationship had already been named, defined, explained. But a frog that had spent its life inside a narrow well wouldn't know that.
I didn't know. I didn't know what she thought of me either. I was fairly sure she didn't hate me, but beyond that, I didn't know.
Because I couldn't name it, I couldn't draw the line either, and so I remained standing in this ambiguity.
I had indulged in how comfortable it was and kept looking away from the most obvious answer. Even while some part of me knew, deep down, that this wasn't right, I had run from thinking about what would be right.
And the result was the distance of a single spare key.
It was one train before the last when I unlocked my apartment door, my head still a little fuzzy with alcohol.
"...I'm home."
No answer. I had expected none.
I slipped off my shoes and crept quietly toward the living room.
When I turned on the light, there was a figure on the sofa. A ragged jacket had been carelessly tossed to the floor, and the owner of it was sprawled out asleep right where she had fallen.
Long legs stretched out without a care, one hanging slightly off the edge of the seat. She wasn't even using the backrest properly, just lying diagonally with a cushion as a pillow.
No one could call this the posture of a guest. It was the sleep of someone entirely at home in this room.
"...Of course."
Stay Gold.
She must already have bathed. Her face was half-covered with the towel she'd used to dry her hair, her arms folded over her chest, not moving in the slightest. It was exactly the same way she slept whenever she had returned from a long trip or an exhausting expedition and finally hit her limit.
I ought to have been annoyed by the way she acted as though she knew this house inside and out.
Instead, what annoyed me most was how used to that sight I'd become.
(Now's my chance...)
If I could just recover the spare key while she was asleep, that would solve everything.
If I asked her directly, she'd obviously just dodge it with some easy line like Why? or I'll give it back next time.
First: the area around the sofa.
I picked up the waist pouch that had fallen to the floor and carefully opened the zipper. A slim wallet, an uncased phone, a half-melted sticky candy, a torn ticket stub from something... but no key.
"...She's not carrying it around?"
Next: the pockets of her jacket.
Both empty. Though judging by the glittering stones, nuts, and even a shed snakeskin inside, she'd clearly stuffed the thing with travel finds.
I let out a small breath and lowered my gaze.
Naturally, my eyes drifted to her legs.
Black trousers worn soft with use.
The clean, efficient silhouette was one I knew all too well from tracing the lines of her body in my memory.
And there—
that pocket.
If I focused, I could just barely make out a small flat bulge.
(No way...)
Something clicked faintly in my throat.
At this point, there was no option but to see it through.
The words my coworker had spoken at the izakaya came back with sickening clarity.
Draw the line.
Kindness and indulgence are not the same thing.
I held my breath.
Dropping my weight so I wouldn't make a sound, I crouched carefully down beside her outstretched legs. Close enough to feel the warmth of her sleeping body through the air.
Finally, I steeled myself and reached out.
The moment my fingertips brushed the fabric, I felt the faint warmth beneath it.
Slowly, slowly, toward the pocket in her trousers—
"Attacking me in my sleep? Bold of you."
A low, roughened voice.
"—!"
The instant I sucked in a startled breath, something clamped hard around my wrist.
Before I could flee, I was yanked forward. My vision spun. Floor and ceiling traded places, and before my body could recover its balance—
"Ah—"
The next instant, my back hit something soft.
The sofa.
I sank into it, pushed down flat, and suddenly those dusk-colored eyes were right in front of me.
"You were awake!?"
"Partway through, yeah. Unfortunately for you, I have pretty good instincts about this sort of thing."
Her eyes narrowed at point-blank range, still heavy with sleep and yet completely awake. Playful, and somehow appraising.
"Well?"
The hand around my wrist tightened, just a little.
Not enough to hurt—only enough to remind me that she had all the room to spare here.
"What were you looking for?"
For an instant I couldn't answer.
But I didn't have the energy left to lie my way out of it.
"...The spare key."
The words came out before I could think them through.
"You're honest."
A little laugh rolled in the back of her throat.
It sounded teasing, but somehow pleased too, which only made it more irritating.
"...I figured it was time you gave it back."
"Really? Why?"
The question was light.
But her gaze never left me.
"Because... I only lent it to you..."
Even I could hear how weak and excuse-like my voice sounded. Stay Gold leaned even closer. Her breath touched my cheek.
"You're awfully desperate."
She whispered it low.
"—Whose idea was this?"
My heart jumped with a horrible thud.
It felt as though I had no room left to dodge or lie or run.
"Let go."
"Don't want to."
On the level of words alone, it sounded almost joking.
But in reality, her arm had already blocked off my escape, and with the slightest shift of her weight she could keep me pinned completely.
Looking down at me where I had sunk into the back of the sofa, Stay Gold tilted her head slightly. Her eyes were not those of a predator over prey.
If anything, they held a quiet curiosity, as though she were watching to see what I would do.
Then, for several seconds,
neither of us spoke.
The silence dropped heavy between us. We were close enough for our bodies to touch, close enough that our breaths might brush. Her warmth still lingered around the wrist she hadn't released.
All of it slowly invaded my thoughts until they would no longer arrange themselves into anything coherent.
"...Hey, Stay Gold."
Without the courage to meet her eyes, I looked away as I spoke. Something caught in my throat.
"What... are we?"
The air changed for an instant.
The pressure on my wrist eased just slightly—not enough for me to escape, but enough that it felt as though I had accidentally glimpsed something inside her. My heart jumped.
Stay Gold blinked.
It was the face of someone who'd just heard a question she had never imagined needing to answer.
And then, almost at once, she tilted her head as though to say What are you talking about at this late date?
"What do you mean...?"
Without even seeming to think,
as naturally as breathing:
"We're lovers."
"...What?"
I heard the ridiculous little sound fall from my own throat.
My understanding had not caught up in the slightest.
"What?"
"Don't 'what' me."
This time, Stay Gold was the one who looked sincerely baffled. Those sunset-dark eyes peered straight into me.
"Why are you so shocked?"
"N-no, I mean... because..."
"Because?"
I opened my mouth, searching for words, but nothing took shape.
The thoughts I had never even sorted through tangled in my throat.
Watching me, she finally seemed to realize something. She narrowed her eyes just a little and smiled, troubled and yet somehow understanding.
"...Ahhh. I see."
She let go of my wrist.
The arm that suddenly regained its freedom hovered in the air, oddly unsteady.
Stay Gold sat down beside me on the sofa, resting one elbow on the backrest. The distance between us stayed close, but the air had changed.
"Could it be," she said, "that you didn't think this was that kind of relationship?"
There was no escape.
I drew in a small breath, and then I nodded honestly.
I could feel something inside my chest collapsing with a soundless crash.
"It's easy to be with you, and comfortable..."
Choosing my words carefully, I went on. It wasn't that I wanted to deny anything. I just wanted to say it accurately.
"Mm."
Stay Gold nodded, not interrupting, not rushing me.
"But I thought that was just because we've known each other so long. Because we're... friends."
"Mm."
"And that all the falling-in-love stuff had nothing to do with it..."
The moment those words left my mouth, something in my chest rippled uneasily. Now that I had spoken them, the wrongness inside me became impossible to ignore.
Stay Gold watched me in silence for a while. Not accusing, not angry. Only measuring something.
Then, at last, she laughed as though it were the funniest thing in the world.
"...Hah. No wonder we were so out of sync."
"About what?"
"Our understanding of this."
Short. Blunt.
She slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled something out with practiced ease. A brief silver glint shone in her palm.
My apartment's spare key.
The sight of it made my chest twitch.
"The moment you handed me this," she said, lightly swinging the key on one finger, "I thought I'd been acknowledged."
"..."
"Trust, affection, all of that included. Seems I was the only one getting carried away."
The tone was light, but every word landed heavy. Our eyes caught, and I couldn't look away.
"Well... maybe I was no saint either, taking advantage of that soft side of yours."
Her ears drooped a little as she said it. After a brief pause, she continued:
"But if someone isn't special, you don't hand over something like this. Right?"
I couldn't deny it immediately. The words jammed in my throat.
"That's..."
"And when I come to your place, you don't throw me out. We go out together when our schedules line up, I eat the meals you make, and I sleep beside you."
Calmly, she laid out nothing but facts.
One by one.
Building them up.
Then she gave a little shrug.
"How is that not a lover's relationship?"
"...I didn't realize."
The answer slipped out of me with embarrassing honesty.
The instant it did, Stay Gold burst out laughing again.
"That is so you."
"This isn't funny—"
"Let me say one thing, though."
The smile softened.
The teasing color quietly fell away.
"I'm serious."
Her voice no longer sounded anything like her usual flippant joking. The breezy attitude receded, and there was nothing playful about it at all.
"It's too late to do anything about the fact that I'm rootless by nature, but..."
She looked at me.
"I want the place beside you to be mine."
It was so direct. So selfish.
And yet something in the depths of my chest stirred quietly.
I opened my mouth to answer, and nothing came.
Instead, a different feeling than before spread slowly through me.
"...Stego."
"Hm?"
When I said her name, she narrowed her eyes gently.
"Then what about the spare key—"
"No intention of giving it back."
Immediate answer.
"Don't answer so fast."
Without a trace of guilt, she laughed as if she were having the time of her life. I ended up clutching my head. At this point I genuinely didn't know what I was supposed to do. Maybe the first step should be getting her to back off a little...
And then, right as that thought crossed my mind, the sofa sank.
Stay Gold had begun leaning her weight in.
"...Hey."
Her voice came low and close.
Before I could lift my face, a shadow moved at the edge of my vision.
"If I do something that's clearly what lovers do..."
Her fingertips came down against the edge of the sofa, neatly cutting off my escape.
"Even you will finally realize it, won't you?"
Those dusk-dark eyes, heavy with a muted gleam, fixed directly on me. Her tone sounded almost joking, and yet there was nowhere to run.
"H-hey, Stego—"
"I know. How about this?"
The corners of her lips curled upward, delighted all the way.
"If you don't want it, then run."
Simple, right?
As if there were any world in which a human—that is, me—could do that.
I could only stare back at her, speechless.
Stay Gold slowly bent down.
Apparently,
long before I ever realized it,
this relationship of ours had already had a name.
I just don't want to let you get away, my precious.