● April 29 (Friday) Yuuta Asamura
Even in the midst of a university lecture, my focus kept slipping away.
Guilt has a way of gnawing at you, eroding your mind over time. It’s like a thin rubber sheet stretched tight over your entire body, with tiny weights—one gram at a time—piling up, dragging your head and limbs down bit by bit. Before you realize how drained you are, a sigh escapes your lips, a faint haa slipping out unconsciously.
Days had passed since Akiko-okaasan confided in me about wanting a child, yet her words still lingered, heavy in my thoughts. They kept confronting me with my own pettiness, like a mirror I couldn’t turn away from.
On the surface, the calm, rational part of me saw it as a joyful thing—my parents wanting a child now, a new spark of life in our family. There was no room for negativity in that clear, logical layer of my mind.
But deep down, in some murky core of instinct, something “dirty” bubbled up unbidden. It was like tossing a stone into a still lake, only for the mud at the bottom to churn and cloud the water. Sometimes, without warning, my mind tied it to that kind of act. Not that I lingered on it or imagined details—I’d recoil at the thought, desperate to erase even a flicker of it. There’s no way I’d ever want to see my family in such a vulgar light. Yet, catching a glimpse of dad or Akiko-okaasan at home triggered it, a reflex I couldn’t control. Each time, even for a split second, I despised myself for those projections, suffocated by a muddy wave of guilt. It was a serious conversation, so why did my mind twist it like this?
If it were just about my parents, I could brush it off—not as fine, but manageable. I could tell myself it was just a stray thought, not some perverse desire. But the real issue came when I was with Ayase-san—Saki. Being near her, holding her hand, feeling her warmth or catching her scent, made me hyper-aware, tainting our moments with those same associations. Our daily conversations had grown stilted, awkward. I knew I’d been drifting through my days, unfocused.
Come to think of it, we hadn’t done much “lover-like” stuff lately—those intimate moments only couples share. Between exams, graduation, and the chaos of enrollment, the mood just wasn’t there. Even now, with things settled, that inertia lingered. We hadn’t even kissed.
How do I recapture that spark? I thought back to the day we touched each other’s bare skin, the closeness we shared. If we could ease back into that, step by step, with physical affection… no, suggesting that out of nowhere, without a spark to ignite it, felt impossible. It was tough—frustrating even—and I hated my pettiness for dwelling on this during a lecture, my mind adrift.
After the morning lecture, Nakamura and Kikuchi invited me to lunch, and we headed to the cafeteria. I was half-present, barely catching their chatter. I set down a tray of tempura udon with lotus root—light but packed with root vegetables, a go-to order of mine—and claimed a seat on the open terrace. While waiting for Nakamura, still deliberating over his choice, and Kikuchi, moving at his usual sluggish pace, I slurped my noodles, trying to lose myself in the act.
But that was a lie. I wasn’t mindless at all. Every time a group of students—guys and girls laughing together—crossed my vision, those inappropriate associations flared up. At this point, I was starting to wonder if I had some kind of sickness.
“What’s up, Yuuta? You’re sighing like your soul’s about to leak out and turn you into a mummy,” Nakamura teased.
“Mummies don’t lose their souls; they lose moisture,” I shot back.
“Oh, nice one! A smart-guy retort. That’s Yuuta’s style shining through!”
“I’ll take it as a compliment, thanks.”
I’d gotten used to Nakamura’s energy by now. Spend a few days with someone, and you start to get a read on them, a surface-level sense of who they are. It was the same when I met Ayase-san. About a week after we started living together, we had a deeper talk, peeling back layers to see what kind of people we were.
“…!”
A week. The memory of that time hit me hard—her breath, her warmth so close in my darkened room. I nearly choked on my noodles.
Seeing my reaction, Nakamura grinned. “Hah, I bet it’s girl troubles, huh?”
“Huh? Why?”
“What else could it be? The only things that make a college guy zone out like that are girls or pachinko.”
That’s an absurdly narrow choice.
His eyes gleamed with boyish excitement as he leaned forward. “Is it your girlfriend? Or maybe a hostess? Don’t worry, I’m an expert in both! Tokyo’s food might suck, but the girls are decent. Wanna lose your virginity? I’ll hook you up with a good spot!”
“N-no, I’m good, thanks. It’s, uh, about my girlfriend.”
After a moment’s thought, I decided to be honest.
“Whoa! No way… is it something spicy?”
“…A little.”
“For real?! Spill the beans, man!” He leaned in even closer, his enthusiasm almost overwhelming.
I hadn’t expected him to be this interested. His energy caught me off guard, and I gave a wry smile. I’d never dealt with someone as blunt as Nakamura before. Frivolous types usually annoyed me. Yomiuri-senpai’s playful, non-sexual innuendos were fine, but crude talk about who slept with who or what acts someone liked? That always felt disrespectful, like reducing a person to an object.
But maybe because I’d grown a bit, or because Nakamura’s shameless way of diving into raw topics felt oddly guilt-free, or maybe because the university felt like a separate world from home—away from the people I didn’t want to misunderstand me—I felt I could open up about my “dirty side.”
Either way, I sensed I could share my struggles here.
“Huh? What’s the topic?” Kikuchi, carrying a tray wafting with the scent of European-style curry, noticed the odd vibe and looked puzzled.
“Spicy stuff, man. Yuuta’s got some girlfriend troubles, apparently,” Nakamura said, far too bluntly.
I wished he wouldn’t phrase it like that.
“What, you’ve got a girlfriend? Ugh, I’m jealous…” Kikuchi shot me a look like I was something vile.
Honestly, I didn’t get why he’d be jealous. Nakamura was always bragging about his conquests, so that made sense, but Kikuchi, despite his gloomy aura, had sharp, handsome features and a stylish edge. He seemed like he could be popular if he tried. If he was jealous, he was probably single, but it felt like he could find someone easily if he wanted.
…Anyway, enough about Kikuchi.
“I won’t go into details, but, uh, I’ve been dating this girl since before exams. While we were focused on studying, we didn’t do much, you know, couple-like stuff… but now, trying to bring that up after a while, I don’t know how to start.”
I couldn’t match Nakamura’s bluntness and kept it vague, avoiding specific terms.
“You’re in a dry spell! What, you haven’t done it for months and you’re not pent up?! Oh, I get it, you’re a self-service master! A master, I say!”
“Uh, maybe keep your voice down?”
“Oops, my bad.”
His response was three times cruder than I’d expected, and I regretted spilling my love life to this guy.
“Alright, alright, I’ll take it seriously. So, how far have you gone with her?”
“Kissing, and, well, touching skin, I guess.”
“No main event yet, huh. So it’s not really a dry spell.”
“Yeah, I guess. It’s less about it being a while and more that I don’t know the next step or how to take the first one.”
Talking it out clarified the shape of my problem. The physical affection we’d shared and what lay ahead felt like part of the same thread, yet distinctly different.
“Nakamura, you’ve got a lot of experience with this stuff, right?”
“Hell yeah! By fifteen, I’d gone through half my class.”
“Ew, that’s gross. No way that’s true…” Kikuchi muttered, throwing a jab.
“Shut it! It’s just the vibe, man. But as your life senpai, I’ll teach you, Yū-Yū duo. Both of you are totally in the ‘can’t get it on’ mindset.”
“Mind your own business. Go catch an STD and drop dead,” Kikuchi shot back, his contempt palpable.
But I was intrigued by Nakamura’s words. “What makes you think… we seem like we can’t take that step?”
“Whoa, Asamū’s super curious!” Kikuchi looked at me in surprise, like I’d betrayed him. Sorry, it’s personal—bear with me. Also, when did my nickname become Asamū? Probably because he’s Yūma and feels weird calling me Yuuta, but it’s new, and I’m not quite used to it.
Seeing my curiosity, Nakamura grinned and raised his index finger like a teacher. “Listen, nobody starts with words like, ‘Alright, let’s get to it!’”
“…So, it’s about the flow? The mood?”
“Exactly.”
“Without words, it feels… really hard. You can’t start without consent.”
“Words? One round of ‘Is this okay?’ ‘Yeah, it’s fine’ is plenty! Nothing else needed.”
“Uh…”
It was a perspective I couldn’t quite grasp. When’s the right time to even ask, “Is this okay?”
When I voiced that, Nakamura looked baffled. “You’d know when you touch her, duh.”
“Touch… like her hand?”
“Hand, hair, leg, neck, face, back, butt—whatever. When you’re flirting, you touch, right? Naturally.”
“Saying touching is a given doesn’t help.”
“That! That’s exactly what makes you a guy who can’t get it on. Touching a girl’s normal, man. Touch her somewhere, and if she doesn’t pull away and her eyes get all dreamy staring at you, it’s basically a go! Everyone’s doing it.”
“No way, hold on.”
His confidence in such a debatable stance was almost impressive. Back at Suisei High, I didn’t have anyone like this around, so it felt novel. Narasaka-san was somewhat similar, but she had more tact despite her boldness. Nakamura Hironobu’s utter lack of delicacy, like he’d forgotten the word back in his hometown, was genuinely fresh.
“Look, plenty of women don’t like being touched, especially their hair or face, since it messes up their hairstyle or makeup.”
“Yeah, that’s a no-go. Doing something she doesn’t like is unforgivable. Total scumbag move.”
“…Right? So you can’t just touch without checking first…”
“No, no, no, that’s not it. If she doesn’t like it, you say sorry, and that’s that. She’s your girlfriend, man.”
Nakamura’s carefree attitude sparked a sense of déjà vu. I’d heard something like this before. Then it hit me—the day of the first parent-teacher conference after dad’s remarriage. Akiko-okaasan, in the school hallway, had said she could read a man’s intentions perfectly. When I asked if she really could, she replied:
If I get it wrong, I’ll just say “sorry,” and that’s that.
I’d thought she was cunning back then. Looking at Nakamura, who jokingly added, “Don’t go touching random girls on the street,” I recalled the day I first kissed Ayase-san. With the pumpkin candlelight between us, gazing into each other’s eyes, drawing closer—how many words did we exchange in that moment?
I’ll cast a spell to make you two, who are too smart, act like idiots.
Kudō-sensei’s cursed words echoed in my mind. If we were truly under that spell back then, the reason we moved forward without needing many words—and why most couples, as Nakamura said, start intimate moments based on mood alone—was…
“Idiots, huh… Yeah, it’s because we’re idiots…” I muttered, reaching some small truth.
“Huh?” Nakamura looked stunned.
“…Pfft.” Kikuchi burst out laughing.
Wait. “Did I just say something weird?”
“Asamū, you’re the best. Pfft, hahaha!” Kikuchi shook with laughter, his back hunched.
“Hey, that’s harsh! I gave you heartfelt advice!” Nakamura protested.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean you’re an idiot, Nakamura.”
“Hahaha!”
The more I tried to explain, the funnier Kikuchi found it.
I felt lighter, somehow. I hadn’t found a clear path forward, but just talking openly about this stuff was relieving. It was like a small salvation, as exaggerated as that sounds. It made me realize I wasn’t the only guy grappling with these thoughts.
It’s a depraved mindset, I know. Finding comfort in others being as low as me isn’t something an ambitious person would praise. My real mom would probably scold me, saying it’s unacceptable to sink so low. But I didn’t want to lie to myself about the solace this silly conversation brought.
Inspired by Akiko-okaasan’s words, I sometimes imagined Ayase-san in that way in fleeting moments… and that was undeniably the real, unfiltered Asamura Yuuta.
Until the next class, the three of us kept up the crude banter. Maybe as payback for being laughed at, Nakamura, in a ghost-story tone, warned, “If you don’t get it on while you’re all lovey-dovey, you’ll lose your girlfriend to another guy.”
Apparently, that came from personal experience, and though he brought it up himself, he seemed to take damage from it. It turned into a tearful tale of him getting dumped, with me and Kikuchi tossing in jabs as he rambled. His stories were so detailed they didn’t seem like lies, but their sheer volume made it hard to believe we’d lived the same amount of time. I thought he seemed a bit mature—maybe he’d repeated a year or two? I was curious but didn’t get a chance to ask. I’d have to find out next time.
