What should I do?
That same thought had been looping endlessly through Mochizuki Haruka's mind since the moment I stepped into her apartment. Just a short walk from the entrance to her room had left her trembling all over, as if every step carried the weight of a hundred battles.
The irony was almost painful—this thin, dangerously transparent tulle suspender dress she'd chosen to wear tonight had enough visual firepower to obliterate me a dozen times over… and yet it seemed to be backfiring on her instead.
Her flushed cheeks, the way her thighs rubbed together nervously beneath the hem, the way she fumbled each gesture like a beginner spy in a movie—honestly, she was so nervous I half expected her to faint on the spot.
"P-please… take a seat, Ginjō-san."
She guided me toward the sofa.
Of course, this wasn't my first time here. But it definitely felt like the first time.
The last time I'd come by, her apartment was shockingly bare—practically no décor, just white walls, a TV, and a few basic appliances. It was clean to the point of sterilized emptiness, like she was squatting in a model unit instead of actually living here.
But tonight…
Exquisite lighting replaced the cold fluorescent bulbs. Small oil paintings hung on the walls, clearly bought in a rush but carefully placed for effect. The faint lavender aroma of essential oils lingered in the air, the kind girls always claimed helped them relax.
It was cozy. It was deliberately cozy.
Yeah… she definitely planned this.
"Um… Ginjo-san… these are some snacks, please help yourself. I'll… I'll put the disc in first."
On the coffee table sat popcorn, potato chips, and a few drinks neatly set up in advance. Not too much, but just enough to say 'see, normal movie night!'
"Thank you, Mochizuki-san."
She crouched down in front of the TV, inserted a DVD, and quickly sat on the sofa beside me—though "beside" was generous, considering there was still an arm's-length of safety distance between us.
Then she turned off the ceiling light, letting the entire room fall into darkness save for the glow of the TV screen.
The film began to play, filling the silence with corny background music.
On the surface, it was an ordinary movie night. But if you looked closer…
Mochizuki Haruka was completely rigid. Her fists clenched at her thighs, rubbing against the silk fabric of her nightdress. Her lips pressed together firmly, her eyes glued to the screen, but I could tell she wasn't comprehending a single frame.
Her plan was obvious.
A romance film with some tasteful intimacy. Wait for the climax of the plot, 'accidentally' lean closer. Maybe let the mood take care of the rest…
That was definitely her script.
But reality? Her heart was already racing far too fast, her mind boiling itself in shame and anticipation simultaneously.
…She looks like she's preparing for a martial arts duel rather than a Netflix-and-chill.
Minutes passed. The onscreen couple exchanged lines about fate and destiny. Haruka's face reddened more and more, her thighs pressing harder together. She was so far into her fantasy scenario she didn't even hear me when I spoke.
"Mochizuki-san?"
No reaction.
"Mochizuki-san?"
"…Huh? Ginjo-san?!"
She jolted like her soul had just rocketed back into her body.
"Are you actually watching the movie?" I asked.
From where I sat, it looked like maybe a mannequin had been posed next to me—eyes forward, expression blank, zero input-output.
"O-of course, ha… haha! It's so touching, Ginjo-san!" she babbled.
"…Touching? Mochizuki-san, this is a comedy."
"…What?!" Her voice pitched up several octaves higher than usual.
…And there it is. Catastrophic planning failure.
Apparently, she had bought this DVD purely because the cover had a man and woman romantically embracing—without checking the genre at all. And after all her frantic room prep and outfit prep, she hadn't even bothered previewing the content.
From the look on her face, I could tell her entire carefully constructed fantasy had just collapsed like a tower of cards in a typhoon.
"This… this is…"
She fumbled, her mind clearly short-circuiting.
"You weren't watching at all, Mochizuki-san," I said gently, pausing the film. "Are you… worried about something?"
"…That is…"
Her lips quivered. She looked like a cornered rabbit.
And then she seemed to give up all at once.
Her lips pressed tight, her fists clenched, then she rushed straight into me.
"Whoa—!"
I was knocked sideways against the sofa cushions, and suddenly I had an armful of trembling woman.
Mochizuki Haruka's hot, unsteady breath tickled my cheek, her chest pressed flush against mine, her hair tickling my chin.
She was so close I could feel every tremor in her body. And yet—her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her lashes quivering, and her lips… trembling, hovering near mine but not touching.
She's terrified. She wants this. But she's terrified.
As I shifted slightly to look at her expression, she instinctively flinched back a centimeter, as though her body was rebelling against the impulse of her heart.
I exhaled slowly and let my hand brush her bare shoulder. Her skin was hot, too hot, trembling at the lightest touch.
"Ah, no…" she whimpered, the words spilling before she could stop them.