Ever since Hayashi had come to stay with me, the staccato, rapid-fire narration of those "satisfying" revenge videos had become a daily fixture in the apartment. I personally loathed them; all they ever conveyed was the creator’s desperate need to look down on others. For someone like me, who felt a spike of irritation at the mere sound of those voices, the recent change in Hayashi’s behavior had been a godsend.
However, if I stopped to consider what she was doing with the time she used to spend on those videos... well, she was keeping herself incredibly busy.
First, there was her part-time job. No matter how much I protested, she refused to listen, insisting on paying half the rent and half our monthly grocery bill. To scrape that money together, she spent every spare moment working.
Second, there was her studying. She had mentioned before that she wanted to earn several certifications, including one in bookkeeping, to help her eventually land a career. She was currently throwing herself into prep work for an upcoming exam.
And finally, there were the chores. I am utterly hopeless at any housework other than cleaning. I have a bit of a perfectionist streak, so I imagine I’d be decent at it once I got into the flow of things, but before I could even try, a roommate who functioned like a professional housekeeper had appeared. I’d missed my window entirely.
"Hey... shouldn't you take a break?"
Hayashi, wearing her red-framed glasses and sitting on the floor with her legs tucked to one side, looked up from the reference books spread across her small desk.
"I’m not particularly tired."
"Are you sure? Lately, you’ve seemed so restless—juggling the job, the studying, and the housework."
"Aren't you doing the exact same thing? The convenience store shifts, your university lectures, the cleaning..."
Convenience store job. Studying and lectures. Cleaning.
"Fair point," I admitted.
Wait, why was I letting her convince me? I shook my head to clear the thought.
Now that I looked at her, I realized that while her voice sounded the same as ever, she kept her eyes glued to her textbook. She wouldn't look at me. Was it my imagination, or had we failed to make eye contact even once lately?
Dammit. This might be a more serious situation than I thought.
"No, that’s not it. You’re wrong. Lately, you’ve looked... well, like you’re at your wit’s end."
"Is that a problem?"
"Of course it is. Nothing good comes from grinding yourself into the dirt. You need proper rest."
I was the one sheltering her. And as someone who knew she had been used and tormented by her ex-boyfriend, I wanted her to live with some peace of mind for a while.
That was my wish for her. More than anything, I believed that a low-stress environment was the best way to heal the emotional scars left by the domestic violence she had endured.
"I spent months doing absolutely nothing," she said, her voice low. "During that time, the rest of the world moved on without me. If I don't work hard now, when will I?"
"I get it. But at least take today off. You can start again tomorrow."
Even a single day of rest would brighten her mood and give her body a chance to recover. But Hayashi remained hunched over, her gaze fixed downward.
It wasn't really like me to push, but I owed her a debt of gratitude for everything she did around the apartment. I had to step up.
"Hayashi, it’s okay."
"Eep!"
I moved closer and firmly grabbed her by the shoulders.
She let out a small shriek as our eyes met, and my heart sank for a moment. Then, remembering that she likely still harbored a fear of men because of her past, I felt a surge of guilt for being so aggressive.
Still, a man can't just back down at a time like this.
"Taking one day off won't hurt anything. If you want, I’ll even help you study. I’m actually pretty bright—I got obsessed with bookkeeping back in middle school, so I’ve got a decent handle on the patterns for Grade 2. Just leave it to me. Let’s just take it easy for once."
Hayashi’s face turned a deep, burning crimson.
Here it comes, I thought. She's going to blow up at me.
I knew that look from our high school days, back when she genuinely hated my guts. Right now, she looked absolutely livid. I could already hear the imaginary retort: Stop interfering with my life or As if I’d ever rely on someone like you.
But I wouldn't back away. She had been through enough hell; I wanted her to feel at ease while she was under my roof.
I kept my gaze fixed on her. Hayashi stared back for a long beat, her face still bright red, and then she finally swallowed hard.
"O-Okay. I get it..."
Wait. I had braced myself for a shouting match, but she had accepted my suggestion... quite obediently.
"Since you're the one asking... I'll listen. I'll do it."
Reluctantly, she closed the reference book on her desk.
"Thanks, Hayashi."
I let go and stepped back. I felt bad for potentially scaring her, but it was too awkward to bring up now, so I turned back toward the TV.
We sat in silence for a while. I laughed at a daytime talk show while Hayashi remained quiet. Every now and then, I felt a piercing gaze directed at the side of my head. It was intimidating enough that I made sure not to look her way.
A few minutes later, the rapid-fire narration of a "satisfying" revenge video started playing from her direction.
Maybe I shouldn't have talked her into taking a break. In that moment, I felt a slight twinge of regret for my meddling.