This is the heroine's perspective.
That morning, right about the time Yamamoto would have reached school, he sent me a message. I was surprised to hear from him, and as we went back and forth, I discovered that some guy from his department had talked him into going to a mixer today.
I suppose I’d always known this day would come.
He was letting me live in his room, but I wasn't his girlfriend, and it wasn't like he was in love with me. He was nineteen, after all—just another college student who wanted to have a social life. It wasn't strange at all for him to go to a mixer to find a girlfriend.
It couldn’t be helped. These things happen. I just had to accept it.
I didn't bother replying. Instead, I headed to the home center alone and bought several rolls of wrapping paper.
The moment I got back, I tossed the bag into the living room and flung open the closet.
"Idiot."
I pulled out his precious cleaning tools and began wrapping them one by one.
"Yamamoto, you idiot."
My voice was thick with spite as I worked my way through the mountain of equipment.
"...Yamamoto, you big idiot."
It couldn't be helped. These things happen. I just had to accept it.
I tried to force myself to believe that, but there was no way I could. Considering everything that had happened, it was impossible.
Yamamoto had rescued me from a living hell. He’d given me a place to hide. He was the one who saw to it that the law caught up with my ex. And even now, he was still letting me stay here.
The feelings I had for him weren't the kind I could just give up on overnight. That much was obvious.
That was why I’d told him I wanted him to make friends. His smile had become a permanent fixture in my mind, and I figured it would be a good thing if there were more people who could make him happy besides me. So, prepared to be hated for it, I’d taken his cleaning tools hostage and made that demand.
I never imagined I was just digging my own grave.
"Idiot."
Eventually, I ran out of steam and stopped wrapping the tools, leaving some of the paper unused.
I never actually intended to sell his stuff online. I just wanted to see the look on his face when he walked through the door. It was petty harassment—punishment for leaving me behind to go flirt with women at a mixer.
Of course, I had no right to punish him. I felt a twinge of guilt, but my resentment was strong enough to drown it out. From his perspective, he hadn't done anything to deserve this.
But it couldn't be helped. He’d saved a woman as possessive as me. That was his mistake.
Back in high school, I’d hated him so much I couldn't stand the sight of him. Now, I couldn't even imagine a life without him.
Everything. Every single bit of it. It was all his fault for saving me that day.
"...Hurry up and come home, Yamamoto."
I’ll buy that beef tongue you like. I won't sell your tools. So... please just come back soon.
Despite my prayers, the clock kept ticking. I’d made dinner for two, though I realized too late that he was probably eating at the mixer anyway. "You could have at least told me you didn't need food," I grumbled to myself, conveniently forgetting that I hadn't replied to him either.
Dinner alone tasted worse than usual. I realized then that the best seasoning for any meal had been right there beside me all along. Of course, I could never say that to his face.
I didn't even feel like looking at the tablet I was still borrowing from him. I found myself checking the clock every five minutes, the TV providing mindless background noise as I buried my face in his pillow.
I kicked my legs against the bed, half-hoping the tantrum would somehow summon him home. It didn't. The minutes bled away until it was past midnight. The last train was gone.
At that point, I finally gave up.
Yamamoto had missed the last train. He’d stayed out that late. I knew exactly what he was doing and who he was with, even if I didn't want to admit it.
If it was going to be like this, I should have never told him to make friends. If he had friends, I wouldn't be able to monopolize him anymore. For me, him having a social life was nothing but a disadvantage.
"I’m such an idiot," I muttered, hugging his pillow tight.
It smelled like him, yet he wasn't here. It was always the same with me. I didn't feel regret until it was too late. It was the same with my ex, the same with my father, and now... the same with him.
"...Yamamoto."
Once more, I pleaded with the man who wasn't there.
Please. Please, I’m begging you. I won't tell you to make friends anymore. I won't threaten to sell your things. I won't be a nuisance. Just come home.
"I'm back."
His voice echoed from the entryway.