Memories Drenched in Alcohol ~ Part Three
Why doesn’t he cry? Watching him exhale painfully, I feel like I’m the one about to shed tears.
He’s kind—too kind—which is probably why he can’t forgive his own weakness.
That’s why he doesn’t cry. That’s why he can’t cry. He keeps bottling up his suffering inside, waiting for it to disappear.
But someday, won’t he become immobilized and collapse from all the pain he’s stored up? Seeing him talk about his deeply wounded past as if it were nothing, I felt like crying again.
I want him to smile more. Not with that resigned expression, but showing me the happy face he has when he’s with the seniors. I feel this way because I like him.
But he’ll probably reject my feelings. He’ll prepare all sorts of words to build a wall between us.
It’s not a door or anything—it’s a real wall. A solid barrier that can’t be opened from the outside or the inside.
As I am now, I probably can’t break or climb over that wall.
Miharu-senpai forcefully broke through his wall and got inside.
Yu-senpai somehow slipped in without him noticing.
I don’t have that kind of power. So I have to change. Not by having someone else change me, but by changing through my own will—
“That’s what I thought, but… is this really the right way?”
On Christmas Day, amidst the noisy chatter, I murmur to myself.
Maybe she heard me a little, as my friend sitting next to me asks, “Hmm? What’s up, Mai?” I pause just before sipping my drink and smile, saying, “Oh, it’s nothing.”
I was invited to a Christmas drinking party by several friends. I was told it would be a small gathering of about six people, but when I arrived at the meeting place, more than twenty people had gathered.
To my left sits a female friend, and across from me, guys take turns striking up conversations.
This is necessary for me to change. Be friendly with everyone. Telling myself this, I gulp down my drink.
“Mai-chan, you’re drinking fast! Are you pretty strong?” one guy asks as I finish my beer, leaning in with interest.
Strong? I’ve only had two glasses. In the Sake Appreciation Club, two medium mugs of beer are like a greeting.
Of course, there’s no point in mentioning that here, so I smile brightly and reply in a cheerful voice, “Not really!”
“I like alcohol, but I’m not that strong, so I’ll probably slow down from here,” I add.
“Oh, no need to hold back!” he says.
“Okay, I’ll do my best,” I reply.
Answering casually, I pick at the token salad that’s been provided. Then, another beer arrives, even though I didn’t order it.
“Mai-chan, you can still go, right? Let’s drink up!”
“Uh, um, well, okay.”
“Hey, don’t force her to drink—Mai-chan looks uncomfortable,” another guy interjects.
“What? No, it’s not like that,” the first guy protests.
“Don’t worry, Mai-chan. I’ll take care of this,” the second guy assures me.
“Well said! Chug it down!” someone cheers.
“Yeah! Chug! Chug!” others join in.
What’s going on? Unable to keep up with the guys’ unique energy, I watch as the medium mug placed in front of me is suddenly taken by an unfamiliar guy and downed in one gulp.
It’s been like this the whole time. Just when one guy starts to approach me, another barges in.
(This is… boring.)
Sipping the lemon sour I received instead, I curse inwardly.
There’s no engaging conversation. No one particularly attractive.
Maybe I shouldn’t have come after all—just as I’m thinking that, the noisy table suddenly quiets down.
Rather than constant chatter, there’s a hushed murmur. Did something happen?
“What’s going on? Did something happen?” I ask.
“Well, more like… Mai, look behind you,” my friend says.
“Who is this guy? Do you know him?” someone asks.
“Mai Hamasaki.”
The voice I hear is his.
Why? How? In a place like this. He should dislike places like this the most, so why—
“…Asato?” I say.
Surprised, I look up to see him with an unusually serious expression.
“What’s up? Mai-chan, do you know this guy?” someone asks.
“Y-yeah. We’re in the same club,” I reply.
“Come with me,” he says.
A sudden touch—that’s not quite right. Gazing straight into my eyes, so as not to startle me further, he slowly takes my hand.
I feel no discomfort or unpleasantness. Unlike before, there’s no sensation like electricity coursing through me; his hand is surprisingly cold.
For someone who has always avoided physical contact to now hold my hand—something serious must have happened. Responding to his “Your coat,” I quickly retrieve it.
There was a bit of a commotion after that, but we managed to leave the drinking party.
“You knew you’d get punched, didn’t you?” I ask him as we make our way to the place where the seniors are waiting.
Touching his cheek where he was hit, he smiles slightly and says, “It’s okay.”
“If I hadn’t done that, I couldn’t have gotten you out.”
Even though he’d been punched, he looked somewhat pleased. He seemed satisfied that things had gone according to plan.
Ah, he’s always like this. Sacrificing himself physically and mentally to resolve situations. Trying to fix things by bearing the loss himself.
Even though it must hurt, must be painful and tough, he tells himself it’s his role, persuades me, and tries to move on as if it’s all over.
That’s just too sad. How can someone who has been hurt so much by others not try to hurt anyone in return? How can he remain wounded like that?
“…You’re too kind, Asato,” I murmur loud enough for him to hear as we walk side by side.
But he continues walking with his usual indifferent expression, as if nothing happened.
At this distance, it’s no good.
I need to tell him properly, face to face, closer.
I have to change. I need to be the one to embrace him first.