The call came the afternoon of December 10th, four days after Hiyori stopped coming to the room. When Ayanokouji heard the sound, he almost unconsciously grabbed the smartphone, and seeing the words “Hiyori Shina” on screen, immediately pressed the call button.
“Hello,” he said into the phone.
There was a long blank. As he was starting to question if Hiyori’s phone was malfunctioning, she finally spoke.
“I’m under Sagae Bridge.”
Ayanokouji searched his memories. He felt like one of the bridges over the river which separated the residential area his apartment was in and the central part of town was named that.
“And?”, he asked.
“Come meet me.”
Maybe it was just because it was over the phone, but her voice seemed weak, without the usual thorniness.
“…Sorry, but I can’t deal with the outside.”
“I know. But I want you to come.”
“Please,” Hiyori appended. Ayanokouji wondered if this was actually Shina Hiyori he was talking with. He couldn’t believe that girl would be this modest.
“Got it,” he casually affirmed. He didn’t get the situation, but he could tell it was pressing. “I’ll head right there. I think I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“…Thank you,” Hiyori said in a wispy voice.
After hanging up, Ayanokouji donned a face mask and latex gloves, checked that he had his anti-bacterial goods in his bag, and left the apartment fully prepared.
Likely as a result of having the curtains closed all the time he’d been indoors, his eyes just couldn’t adjust to the brightness, despite the sunlight not being particularly strong. The sun reflected off the snow piled on the ground, continually pricking him in the eyes. He should have only lost weight in these past few days of unhealthy living, but his body felt heavy. His muscles must have weakened.
Though the trip would have been ten minutes by bus, he spent many times longer walking that distance. Finally, Sagae Bridge came into sight. He went down the embankment stairs and along the sidewalk. By the pier of the bridge, he saw someone crouching and hiding their face.
“Hiyori.”
Ayanokouji spoke from beside her, and Hiyori slowly looked up. It was dark from the shadow of the bridge, but he could plainly see how unhealthy her face looked. Though it was the middle of winter, her neck was wet with sweat.
“Are you feeling sick?”
Hiyori shook her head. It seemed to indicate
“no, but it’s hard to explain.”
“Can you stand?”
She stayed silent. Rather than not wanting to answer, it seemed she wasn’t sure of the answer herself.
“There’s no rush,” Ayanokouji said with concern for her. “I’ll wait until you’re better.”
Ayanokouji nervously sat down about 50 centimeters away from Hiyori. Truthfully, he wanted to leave this damp and stagnant place as soon as possible, but he thought it would be too cruel to rush her right now.
A good hour passed, and Hiyori finally got up. Ayanokouji stood up after her, and she modestly grabbed the sleeve of his coat. He was able to bear that level of indirect contact.
The two began to walk. Suddenly, Ayanokouji realized the headphones Hiyori always wore were nowhere to be found. Maybe that was what made her look so defenseless today.
For a while after arriving at the apartment, Hiyori held her knees on the bed. Ayanokouji tried asking if she wanted something warm to drink, but she didn’t respond. Soon the sun started to set, so he went to turn on the lights, but She said “Don’t turn on the lights.” He withdrew his arm.
Nearly an hour passed after that. The sun fully set, so the room was pitch black except for the unpleasantly bright computer and router lights.
Hiyori stood up with no previous notice and flipped the lightswitch. The pale artificial light lit every corner of the room, and everything’s shape became clear. Then she went back to bed and lied down with the pillow under her chin as usual. But she didn’t open a book.
“What happened?”, Ayanokouji asked.
Hiyori started to turn, then gave up part-way and sunk her chin back into the pillow.
“There’s some reason you can’t go back home alone, right?”
After a long pause, Hiyori acknowledged it. “Yeah.”
“…Um,” she spoke. “I’m scared of making eye contact with people.”
“What do you mean?”
Then Hiyori explained, in a halting manner.
“I’m totally aware it’s overly self-conscious. But it’s just no good. Every person I meet, it feels like they’re staring right at me. But I mean, it’s not their gaze itself that’s the problem… See, when you think "I’m being looked at,” you look their way too, right? And when you do, even if they were actually looking someplace else, they feel your eyes on them and look at you. When I make eye contact like that… it feels so bad, I can’t describe it in words. Like someone stomping around your house in dirty shoes, rummaging through your closets and drawers - that kind of unpleasant feeling hits me.“
Ayanokouji was taken aback. Now that she mentioned it, from the time they met until now, he’d hardly made eye contact with Hiyori. Their eyes had crossed paths for an instant numerous times, but maybe there was no moment that could really be called "eye contact.”
Hiyori went on. “But that doesn’t mean I can just never go outside, or walk around with my eyes closed, right? I tried to see if there was anything I could do, and found out that relying on certain objects can lessen your symptoms. I tried a bunch of things, but… for some reason, the most effective thing wasn’t glasses or a face mask or a hat, but headphones.”
“Ah…” Ayanokouji nodded with understanding. “So that’s why you always wore such big headphones?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t make much sense to cover my ears because I’m scared of eye contact, huh.” Hiyori laughed self-derisively.
“Nah.” Ayanokouji shook his head. “I think I get it.”
He wasn’t lying. He knew all too well from his own experience just how illogical compulsions could be, and it wasn’t his first time hearing about scopophobia. In the process of reading through books about mysophobia, he acquired knowledge of other compulsive disorders whether he wanted to or not. He had read somewhere about people who couldn’t walk through crowds without headphones. And about people who were scared of people looking at them, yet purposefully dressed strangely and dyed their hair conspicuous colors.
Ayanokouji could understand their feelings to an extent. The reason headphones proved more effective at surpressing Hiyori’s scopophobia than sunglasses or face masks was probably that occupying her sense of hearing diluted the feeling of “being there.” And she might have purposefully dyed her hair a flashy color and dressed in an attention-grabbing way to protect her fragile heart, or perhaps as a feint of sorts for those around her. Like an insect that mimics the dangerous coloration of a wasp to avoid predators, if she acted like a delinquent at least in appearance - while it might get more eyes on her - it would reduce the instances of actual eye contact.
“I see… Scopophobia…”, Ayanokouji affirmed once more. “I didn’t notice at all until you told me. You hid it well.”
“…Maybe in front of you. But it doesn’t go like that with others.” Hiyori snuck a look at Ayanokouji, then turned back. “You don’t try to look people in the eye when you talk, do you?”
She was exactly right. While it didn’t go as far as scopophobia, Ayanokouji was also poor at looking people in the eye (though naturally, the reason wasn’t finding other people’s gaze scary, but not wanting to look directly at their dirtiness).
At this point, he finally realized what Tsukishiro meant by “suitability.” In short, this girl would only get along with cowards who couldn’t look her in the eye.
Hiyori slowly began to tell the circumstances leading up to her calling Ayanokouji.
This afternoon, she headed for the library like usual. While returning a book she’d checked out and looking for a new one to borrow, all of a sudden, she noticed her scopophobia symptoms were less severe than usual. Maybe going to visit Ayanokouji daily was now starting to show its effect.
She stopped and thought. While I’m rehabilitating, how about I read here in the library? It being a day off, the library was rather crowded, but maybe it would be more effective training to have this stimuli.
Hiyori sat in an empty seat and opened her book. At first, she wasn’t able to focus due to glances she was only imagining, but she gradually narrowed her vision and could focus only on the words.
After reading about halfway, she decided to take a break. She stood up to loosen her stiff body, and wandered around between the bookcases. She liked walking around the library like this for no particular reason. She enjoyed taking books she had no interest in the contents of and just checking their binding, shape, weight, smell, and feel.
It couldn’t have been three minutes since she left her seat. But when she came back, something important was missing. The headphones she’d hung on the chair were nowhere to be found.
Hiyori immediately looked around. The book she was reading was there on the seat, and her other belongings were still there, so it seemed unlikely that the headphones were considered a lost item and taken away. They’d been stolen.
She cursed her carelessness for getting out of her seat and leaving her headphones behind. Without those, she couldn’t walk through crowds or ride the train - how could she have neglected them?
She put the book in her bag and left the library with an uncertain gait. Should I take an hour walking home, or endure and take the train? Both felt equally difficult. I’ll take this optimistically, she told herself. You could think of this like my chance. Once I overcome this trial, I’ll know for sure my disorder has gotten much better than before.
But not five minutes after leaving the library, her heart was torn to shreds. She couldn’t remember how she’d walked around outside before. What expression she had, where she placed her gaze, how fast she walked, how she swung her hands. The more she thought about it, the more awkward it felt, and her scopophobia intensified. To get away, she went off the road and down stairs, hid under Sagae Bridge, and grasping at straws, called Ayanokouji.
That was the end of the story.
“…I thought I was getting better,” Hiyori mumbled at the end.
For a while, Ayanokouji listened to her sob.
He knew painfully well how it felt to lose confidence and become timid after a fit like this. And he knew that consolation with words had almost no effect at these times. So Ayanokouji was silent. He’d let her keep crying.
But contrary to his expectations, Hiyori quickly stopped crying. She wiped her tears, took a deep breath, sat up and turned over, and sat on the edge of the bed. And for a moment, she gave Ayanokouji a meaningful glance.
Maybe Hiyori’s expecting something from me. Or maybe I want to do something for her, so I’m projecting it onto her glance. Either way, the conclusion was the same. I should do something for Sanagi, Ayanokouji thought firmly. Unlike me, she’s at an age where she still has a lot to sort out, where you’re fragile and easily-hurt. Now is the time she needs support the most.
Ayanokouji sat down next to Hiyori. And he timidly offered his hand. His bare hand, since he’d taken off his gloves on returning to the room. And he touched hiyori’s head.
Instantly, numerous disgusting words like “pores,” “oily skin,” “keratin,” “staphylococcus epidermidis,” and “Demodex folliculorum” ran through his head. But Ayanokouji temporarily put them off with a shudder. If he was going to scream, he would do so as much as he liked after she left. But now wasn’t the time.
Hiyori lifted her face in surprise. But she didn’t show any dislike.
Ayanokouji awkwardly moved the hand placed on her head.
He was intending to stroke it.
“…You don’t have to push yourself,” Hiyori said with a sigh.
“I’m not pushing myself,” Ayanokouji said with a smile. But she could feel his body trembling through where his hand was touching.
He obstinately stroked Hiyori’s head. Maybe he figured that he’d probably never do this again once it was over, so it was better to get plenty of it in now.
“That’s enough,” Hiyori refused, but Ayanokouji wouldn’t listen, saying “No it isn’t.”
“All right, all right. I’m feeling better. You can stop consoling me.”
Hearing that, Ayanokouji finally removed his hand from her head.
“Did that distract you?”
“Are you stupid?”, hiyori said with a look of shock, but seemingly wouldn’t deny it did. Her voice had regained some of its cheerfulness.
“I’m really sorry about injuring your cheek,” Ayanokouji apologized. “Does it still hurt?”
“Nah. This is nothing.” Hiyori ran a finger over the scabbed wound. “…Going to wash your hands?”
“No, this is fine.”
“Huh.”
Ayanokouji stared at his right hand, used to touch Hiyori. It was still trembling slightly, but he managed to resist the urge to go take a shower right away.
“I’ll tell you something funny,” Ayanokouji said.
“Something funny?”
“To tell the truth, I’m a clean freak.”
“…Yeah. I know.”
“Of course.” Ayanokouji smiled wryly. “I feel like people other than myself are horribly dirty. Just being touched by them, just touching something they touched, just breathing the same air, makes me feel like I’ll be sick. I know better than anyone it’s just an issue of feelings and nothing more. But there’s nothing I can do. I tried various treatments, but they just made it worse.”
Ayanokouji glanced to check hiyori’s expression.
“Go on,” she said.
“Even when I first got a girlfriend, I couldn’t kiss her, or even hold hands for that matter. One day, she treated me to her own cooking. She was good at that kind of familial stuff. And her cooking was well-done. But even though she’d put in all that effort to make it for me - or maybe that was exactly why - I was incredibly hesitant to eat it. As much as I tried to consider it as food, I couldn’t bear it just thinking that she’d touched the ingredients. Honestly, I didn’t want to take a single bite. And yet, I knew it would be rude to just refuse the meal she’d made, so I emptied my head and just forced it down. What do you think happened?”
Hiyori silently shook her head. Like saying she didn’t even want to think about it.
“After eating about half, I threw it all up right in front of her. I can’t forget the look on her face. We broke up not ten days after that. I still have dreams about it sometimes. The meals get more elaborate every time. And since breaking up with her, I’ve never had anything like a girlfriend again.”
Hiyori slowly shook her head. “…That wasn’t very funny.”
“Really? Isn’t it at least a little funny that I haven’t ever kissed anyone at age 27?”
After Ayanokouji’s funny story bombed, Hiyori got off the bed and did a big stretch.
Then, thinking of something, she reached for a dispenser on a shelf and covered her hands in disinfectant. Then she carefully put disposable latex gloves on them and even put on a face mask, and turned toward Ayanokouji once she was ready.
She gave him no time to ask what she was doing.
Hiyori grabbed Ayanokouji’s shoulders with both hands and, through a face mask, put her lips on his.
Though a thin cloth separated them, he did faintly feel her soft lips.
By the time Ayanokouji understood the intent of her actions, she had pulled away.
“You’ll have to endure with that,” Hiyori said, taking off the mask.
Ayanokouji had no words, halted like a toy out of batteries. He might have even forgotten to breathe.
“What are you trying to do?”, he asked at length.
“I felt sorry for you, so I gave you a kiss. Thank me.”
“…That’s very polite of you.”
Following Ayanokouji’s confused thank-you, Hiyori made an addition.
“Besides, I’ve never had one myself, so I guess it was just right.”
He didn’t know what exactly she meant by “just right,” but from her expression, it didn’t seem to be a bad thing.
“…Well then. It’s time I say farewell.”
Hiyori stood up and grabbed her bag.
“Can you get home alone?”, Ayanokouji asked with concern.
“Yeah. It’s not too far, and it’s less crowded by now.”
“I see…”
Ayanokouji judged from her tone that she would probably be fine.
Then he had a sudden thought, opened the bottom drawer of his desk, took out headphones, and put them around Hiyori’s neck.
“You’re sure? You realize I’ll get them dirty?”, Hiyori asked with a slightly nervous look.
“I won’t use them again, so you can take them.”
Hiyori put her hands on the headphones and spoke happily. “…I see. You’re a lifesaver. Thanks.”
“Right. Good night, Hiyori.”
“Good night, Mr. Ayanokouji.”
She smiled, looking right into Ayanokouji’s eyes.
After Hiyori left, Ayanokouji sat in his chair and closed his eyes, just thinking aimlessly about the events that had just transpired. He repeatedly thought pointless things like “come to think of it, that was probably the first time she called me Mr. Ayanokouji.”
After about thirty minutes, he was suddenly struck by the fact that he still hadn’t started cleaning or taken a shower. It had been a long time since he’d gotten away from his cleaning tendencies for that long.
Something inside me is starting to change. So he felt.