As I prepped dinner, a lingering worry occupied my mind. Specifically, it was about the man I was living with.
I wondered if Yamamoto had actually called home.
A care package had arrived from his parents just yesterday, and ever since the topic of his family had come up, he’d looked utterly miserable whenever I mentioned it. I understood why—it was annoying to have someone pestering you about your parents at our age. I could sympathize with the face he was making. Still, regardless of how bothersome it felt, I believed that things like gratitude and apologies should be handled properly.
If a package shows up, you should call to say thank you immediately. But since the delivery, Yamamoto hadn’t shown any sign of picking up the phone.
There was a chance he’d snuck a call in while I wasn’t looking, but in a cramped one-bedroom apartment like this, that wasn't very likely.
"Hey, did you call your folks?" I asked.
I figured it was best to just be direct. Despite his lazy appearance, Yamamoto was usually quite diligent, so I assumed he’d probably taken care of it a long time ago and I was just overthinking things.
That was what I expected, at least. But instead, Yamamoto looked away, his expression souring.
"Wait, don't tell me you still haven't?"
Yamamoto set his plate down on the table. "I did."
"Liar. You're terrible at it."
He looked away again.
That was unexpected. To think the great Yamamoto would actually try to escape something troublesome by lying to me.
He was running away.
Hadn't he said it before? Hadn't he told me with such a proud look on his face?
"Didn't you tell me you face everything head-on?"
My tone was cold, but I wasn't trying to blame him or act like I was disillusioned. I knew he was a man of his word. I was simply curious as to why he was trying so hard to dodge this.
"...This isn't running away," he muttered.
"Then what is it?"
"...A strategic withdrawal."
"Which is just another way of saying 'running away.'"
When I pointed that out, Yamamoto closed his eyes with a pained expression. This was the first time I had seen him look so distressed. It was almost funny.
"You're just saying thank you, right?"
"That's true, but it's not that simple."
"Just do it."
"...Later."
"No. Now."
"Can't I at least finish eating?"
"You'll just find an excuse to skip it if I let you."
I snatched his plate away. Slumped in defeat, he grabbed his phone and trudged out of the living room toward the entrance. After a moment, I heard his hushed voice.
"Hello? Yeah, it's me. Sorry to call while you're eating..."
I couldn't very well start eating while he was off making a call I’d forced on him, so I sat quietly, ears perked, waiting for him to come back.
"Yeah. It arrived. Thanks... Huh? Oh, really? That's great. Congrats."
For someone who had been so reluctant, he sounded perfectly normal.
"Are Mom and the others around? ...I see. Got it. Just pass it on then."
And the others? Was he not an only child?
"Eh? ...No, not for a while. I'm busy right now."
His voice turned awkward.
"Yeah... Yeah...? O-Okay. I get it. I get it already..."
Hearing him get bowled over by the person on the other end, I wondered if he had a younger sister he couldn't quite win against.
"Bye. Yeah. Talk soon. I'll let you know when I'm coming home."
The call ended. A moment later, I heard his footsteps returning.