The following morning.
I'd stayed up a little late the night before, but I still managed to drag myself out of bed at the usual time.
Feeling relieved, I checked to see what my roommate was up to.
The futon that had been laid out in the living room the night before was already neatly folded in the corner. As for the man himself, there was no sign of him.
He wasn't on the balcony, either. Nor was he in the hallway.
That left the bathroom.
If I listened closely, I could just barely hear the hum of the washing machine.
"Oh, morning," he said.
When I stepped into the changing area, I found Yamamoto standing in front of the machine, holding a small cleaning net.
That was strange. Since we were staying over at his parents' place tonight, we’d agreed yesterday that he wouldn't do any laundry this morning. The clothes we’d both worn yesterday were still sitting in the laundry basket.
So why on earth was the machine running?
"You know how there's been a bit of mold on the clothes after they come out of the wash lately?"
"I haven't seen any."
"...Ah. Well, maybe it just stood out more on my white T-shirts."
"Really?"
"...Yeah."
A cleaning net in his hand, and a washing machine running empty... Don't tell me...
"Are you seriously cleaning the washing tub right now? Of all times?" I asked.
I didn't even need to ask; the answer was written all over the scene.
"Cleaning the tub takes forever, doesn't it?"
"We'll still make the train," he insisted.
"...Are you really that desperate to avoid going back to your parents' house?"
"Of course not."
Yamamoto’s expression was unusually solemn.
"...It’s just to maintain my composure. To be honest... I felt like doing a more thorough cleaning than usual."
So, it wasn't so much a 'retreat' as it was a chronic case of escapism. Then again, that was very much like him.
"How many cycles are you planning on running?"
"This is the last one."
"...Right."
Yamamoto paused the cycle and popped the lid. I stepped up beside him to peer inside. The water was still swirling from the spin cycle, and tiny flakes of mold were caught in the current.
Seeing those tiny specks made his claim that this was the final cycle actually seem plausible.
As I watched him scoop the mold out with the net, I suddenly realized how small a single-person washing machine really was. We were practically shoulder-to-shoulder. Right there, in my immediate line of sight, was the curve of his cheek.
...He was way too close.
I scrambled back.
"I-I'm going to go get changed."
"Hmm? Oh, sure."
"...Is there anything in particular you want for breakfast?"
"Huh? ...Oh, a rolled omelet would be good."
"Got it."
If I stayed in that cramped space with him any longer, I felt like I'd be the one trying to sabotage the trip home. I hurried off to change and got to work on breakfast.
A little while after I started cooking, Yamamoto finished up and emerged into the hallway.
"All done?" I asked.
"Yeah. It's spotless."
"...I see."
I wanted to lecture him about starting such a time-consuming project right before we had to leave, but considering how much trouble I'd caused him the night before, I decided to keep my mouth shut.
"Hey, Hayashi?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sure my parents won't have anything bad to say about you."
"Huh?"
"That outfit... it really looks good on you."
...Of course. I knew why he said that. It was because Akari had drilled it into him. She'd taught him the bare minimum etiquette required of a man—like knowing how to compliment a woman’s appearance.
That was the only reason.
...So quit smiling like an idiot, me.
"Hayashi."
"W-What is it?"
"It's burning..."
"Gah!"
I frantically killed the heat.