On the morning of my date with Hayashi, I woke up at the usual time. Hayashi always woke up at a specific hour, but until that moment arrived, she was a surprisingly heavy sleeper. I could clean or move around the room without disturbing her—a trait of hers I’d only discovered since she started freeloading here.
Taking advantage of her slumber, I got started on the morning chores. Of course, I still took meticulous care not to wake her.
"Good morning, Yamamoto."
Hayashi finally stirred, punctuating her greeting with a massive yawn.
"Morning, Hayashi."
By the time she was fully awake, I’d already reached a natural stopping point in my cleaning. This had become our established morning routine over the last few weeks.
It was early August. Following an incident of Domestic Violence at the hands of her ex-boyfriend, I’d taken Hayashi in, sheltering her in the apartment where I lived. It had been a little over two weeks since then. Despite the short timeframe, her presence in this room had started to feel entirely natural.
However, our life together was about to reach its end.
"Hey, I can't get this bedhead to go down."
"I see. That’s a problem."
"……Mm."
Back in our High School Days, Hayashi was notorious for her audacity. She was so brazen that everyone called her The Queen.
When she first arrived at my apartment, that side of her had vanished. She’d become a modest, quiet girl—though I wouldn't go as far as calling her a lady. But in just two weeks, it seemed she had fully remembered her old self.
"What's with the comb?" I asked.
"Brush my hair for me."
"Why?"
"What's the harm in doing it once in a while?"
"I’ve heard that girls generally hate having men touch their hair."
"I’m sure some do. But I don’t mind if it’s you."
"Is that so? Well, good for you."
"Wait, where are you going?"
"……Think about it paradoxically."
"What do you mean?"
"Just as there are girls who don't want men to touch their hair, there are also guys who have no desire to touch a girl's hair."
"Are you saying you're one of those guys?"
"No, not exactly."
I walked over to Hayashi and took the comb from her hand. Honestly, what kind of nonsense exchange was that? I waited for a retort, but none came. I was grateful for that; even I realized I was being pointlessly difficult.
"……You’re actually pretty handy, aren't you?"
"Yeah. Despite how I look, I was the best Sewing Expert in my family."
"That’s not exactly the kind of thing a guy can brag about to other people."
I’d just been thinking about how she’d returned to her old, audacious self. However, if this had been the old Hayashi, she probably would have called me "creepy" or "gross." That cutting tongue was exactly why she’d been dubbed The Queen.
She really had mellowed out.
Being a victim of Domestic Violence was by no means a happy thing. However, if we were strictly talking about her interactions with the opposite sex, perhaps the experience had served as a catalyst to soften her demeanor.
I caught myself and wondered whose perspective I was even using to make such an analysis.
"Thanks. The bedhead is totally gone."
"Good. But if you're going to start living alone soon, you can't afford to let hair styling take up this much of your morning."
"It was like this during our High School Days, too. I'm used to it."
"It must have been a nightmare on days you overslept. What did you do? Style it on the train?"
"No, I just showed up late."
"Because of your hair?"
"Yeah. On the late slip, I’d write that I couldn't get my hair to sit right."
Come to think of it, Hayashi did miss school quite often back then. I never imagined the reason was… well, I didn't know if that was the case every single time, but listening to her now, it sounded like all her reasons for being late were probably just as trivial.
She was a bold woman, in more ways than one.
Then again, from her perspective, her appearance was a more vital issue than a drop in her Internal Assessment at school. It was just another fundamental difference in our values.
I considered letting it slide, but I realized I had to say something for the sake of her future. I spoke to her in an exasperated, lecturing tone.
"Don't do that anymore."
"Ehh? But it's important."
"That’s not going to fly once you're a Working Adult. Think about it. Try telling people you were late because of your hair when you're drawing a salary. You'll lose every ounce of credibility instantly."
Setting aside the fact that she shouldn't be waking up so close to her deadline in the first place, I gave her a stern talking-to.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt a pang of regret. Hayashi absolutely detested this kind of nagging. Usually, a lecture like this was a one-way ticket to her getting into a foul mood.
"……Well, if you're the one saying it, I guess I'll do that."
To my surprise, she accepted my opinion without a fight.
"You're being awfully obedient. It’s actually a little scary."
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm trying to be nice and listen to you for once."
"……Sorry. Please, do keep that mindset."
"Mm."
A brief silence settled over the room.
"……What do you want for breakfast?"
Hayashi was the one to break the silence. Both she and I were starting to get hungry.