A hand landed on my shoulder.
I nearly achieved liftoff.
"Having fun?"
I froze so hard I'm pretty sure my soul clipped through the wall.
I turned around very slowly.
Saki's dad stood there, smiling.
Not a normal smile.
A too-aware, painfully relaxed, absolutely-illegal-at-this-hour smile.
"Yes?" I answered instinctively, even though it was a question.
He tilted his head. "You sound unsure."
"No, no," I said quickly. "I mean— yes— fun— very fun— great trip— amazing beach— sand is nice."
Why am I like this.
He chuckled. A low, amused chuckle that carried the weight of decades of experience teasing teenage boys.
"Good," he said. "Vacations are meant to be enjoyed."
He glanced at the door.
Then back at me.
Then back at the door.
Then at me again.
I felt ten years shorter.
"You look nervous," he added casually.
"I always look like this," I said. "This is my face."
"Ah," he nodded. "A nervous face."
I laughed weakly. "Haha. Genetics."
He leaned slightly closer. Not threatening. Worse. Friendly.
"You know," he said, "when I was your age, I used to get nervous too."
I did not like where this was going.
"About… exams?" I asked, hopeful.
"About sharing rooms," he replied instantly.
My brain shut down.
He laughed at my expression. "Relax. I'm just teasing."
A pause.
A dangerous pause.
"After all," he continued, tapping my shoulder lightly, "you and Saki are just childhood friends, right?"
"Yes," I said immediately. Too immediately. "Very much just that. Nothing else. Extremely platonic. Like… siblings. But not weird siblings."
Why did I say that.
He raised an eyebrow. "You're talking a lot."
"I do that when I'm tired."
"Mm."
Another glance at the door.
Another smile.
"Well," he said, stepping back, "get some rest. Tomorrow's another long day."
"Y-yes, sir," I said, bowing slightly out of pure instinct.
He turned to leave, then stopped.
"Oh," he added over his shoulder, "don't stay up too late."
He walked away.
I stood there.
Motionless.
Emotionally damaged.
Once his footsteps disappeared, I exhaled so hard I almost passed out.
"…This family is dangerous," I muttered.
I turned back to the door.
The handle was still there.
Waiting.
On the other side—
Saki.
I swallowed.
And finally…
I opened the door.
The door had barely cracked open—
When I was yanked backward so hard my spine considered filing a complaint.
The door shut again.
Firmly.
I turned around.
Kyosuke.
Of course.
Arms crossed. Smiling like a villain who had already won.
"Relax," he whispered. "I'm not surprised. Everyone knows you two are sharing."
"THEN WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS," I hissed.
He shrugged. "Because it's fun."
He leaned closer. "So?"
"So… what?" I asked weakly.
"How was last night?"
My brain short-circuited anyway.
"Normal," I said. "Very normal. Two people sleeping. On a bed. Like humans do."
Kyosuke nodded thoughtfully. "Wow. Riveting."
I tried to push past him. He blocked me with one finger.
"You nervous about tonight?" he asked.
"No."
"That was a lie."
I sighed. "Yes."
"There it is."
He laughed quietly. "Relax. You're not a criminal. You're just sharing a room with your childhood friend."
I flinched.
"And," he added casually, "your crush."
"I did not authorize that word."
He smirked. "You didn't have to."
He finally stepped aside, then paused like he remembered something important.
"Oh yeah," he said, giving me a thumbs up.
"Get 'em, tiger."
"I swear—"
He walked away before I could finish the threat.
I stood there again.
Door. Handle. Destiny.
Everyone knew we were sharing the room.
That wasn't the problem.
The problem was what I knew now.
I took a deep breath, turned the handle again—
And stepped inside.
The door clicked behind me.
Saki was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded neatly in her lap, cheeks already pink.
I froze.
She looked… different. More aware. More serious.
"Oh." She squeaked. "You're… here."
"Y-yeah," I stammered. "Room… sharing… right."
She nodded. "Right. About that…"
My stomach did a full somersault.
She took a deep breath. "Last night… I wasn't awkward because I thought we'd been… together for a long time."
I blinked.
She continued, "So… I didn't think much of hugging you in my sleep."
I swallowed. "Right… that makes sense… totally…"
She leaned forward slightly. "…But now…"
"…Now?" I asked cautiously.
She pressed her hands to her face, voice trembling. "Now… we're officially… a couple."
I felt like I'd been hit by a truck made of panic.
"Yes," she whispered. "And now I'm… scared."
"Scared?" I echoed weakly.
"Scared," she said, lifting her head. "Because… what if something goes wrong? Like, I don't know, I move too much in my sleep… or you do… or… or…"
She trailed off, flailing her hands slightly.
"Or we wake up in a… catastrophic… disaster?" I finished for her.
"Yes!" she said, gripping the bed sheets. "Exactly! That's what I mean!"
My brain was on fire.
We had literally never been more aware of each other in our lives.
"…So," I said slowly, "we need… a plan?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "We need to decide… how to sleep… without making any stupid mistakes."
I sat on the other side of the bed. Far enough to be safe, close enough that movement was still terrifying.
She twitched every time my sleeve brushed the blanket.
"Do we… face the same way?" I asked.
"No!" she said immediately. "Too risky. What if—what if we roll over?"
"Right, right."
"Should we… separate the bed?" she whispered.
I shook my head. "No! That's… not allowed. This is our first official couple sleep. Must… share."
Her eyes went wide. "You mean… touching?"
I panicked. "Touching? No! Not… you know… like that!"
She huffed. "Good. I thought—"
We both froze. The same thought had flashed at the same time.
"…We're idiots," I said quietly.
"Yes. Horrible idiots."
Another pause.
"…So," I continued, "maybe… like… arms wrapped carefully… knees tucked… no sudden movements…"
She nodded vigorously. "Exactly. Safety positions. Maximum control. Minimum panic. Emergency exits in case of… rollovers."
"Emergency exits?"
She pointed to the space at the edge of the bed. "In case someone—like you—panics."
"…Noted," I said, sweating.
We spent the next several minutes diagramming positions, discussing blanket strategies, silent signaling for movement, and possible escape routes.
By the end, we were both red, trembling, hyper-aware of every inch of the bed… and yet somehow… laughing at how ridiculous this was.
"This," she said, pointing to the bed, "is going to be… the most dangerous, complicated, catastrophic sleep of our lives."
"…And we're a couple now," I said. "Not just friends."
"Yes," she whispered. "Officially."
We both buried our faces in the pillows simultaneously.
The ocean outside called softly, completely unaware of the war zone of embarrassment inside the room.
And as we lay there, plotting, panicking, and suppressing laughter, I realized… sleep tonight was going to be impossible.
The sun dipped lower outside, painting the room in soft orange light.
We lay on the bed. Carefully. Extremely carefully. Like surgeons performing a delicate operation.
I was on one side. She was on the other. And the blanket… perfectly aligned. Maximum control. Minimum risk.
I tried to focus on the ceiling. Nothing happened.
Saki stared at the ceiling. Nothing happened.
Then she twitched. I twitched. The blanket shifted.
"Wait—stay still!" she whispered.
"I AM!" I whispered back.
"…You're not," she hissed.
"…Neither are you," I said, and immediately regretted opening my mouth.
We froze. For a full ten seconds. Just breathing. Hyper-aware of everything.
Then, disaster struck.
Her knee slipped… slightly… toward me.
"Ahhh!" she whispered-shrieked.
"I… I—" I scrambled backward, accidentally rolling the blanket into a knot.
She gasped. I gasped. Blanket flailed. Pillows flew.
We froze. Again.
"…We need a signal," she muttered.
"…Signal," I echoed.
"Yes! Like… if one of us moves too much, we… we tap three times or something."
"…Three taps?" I asked.
"…Yes. Safety protocol," she said firmly. "Like a code red."
I nodded. "Code red. Understood."
We tried again. Arms tucked, legs strategically bent, pillows barricading vulnerable zones.
Three minutes later, she flopped slightly.
I flinched. She flinched. The blanket nearly fell off the bed.
"…We're terrible at this," she whispered.
"…Yes," I said, shivering. "Terrible and panicked."
Another twitch. Another flinch.
At one point, she rolled too close, and instinctively I wanted to hug her back.
…Then I remembered: we agreed no stupid mistakes.
So instead, I froze. Statuesque. Brain screaming. Heart melting.
She froze too. We both stared at the ceiling. Silent. Breathing carefully.
Then, almost in unison:
"Why is this so hard?"
"…Because we're idiots," I whispered.
"…Horrible idiots," she echoed.
We laughed quietly. Too loudly. Then immediately froze.
"…Shhh," she hissed. "Someone might hear us."
"…Kyosuke?" I asked.
She glared. "…Don't remind me."
Another small roll. Another panic. Another reset.
By the end of the hour, we were exhausted. Red-faced. Hyperventilating. Blankets a tangled mess around us.
And yet… somehow, we survived.
Sort of.
Saki peeked at me. "Tomorrow… we'll be slightly better?"
"…Maybe." I said. "…Or worse."
We both groaned. Collapsed. Tried to sleep. And I realized…
This was going to be the longest, most awkward, funniest week of our lives.
By the time we admitted defeat, the bed had turned into a chaotic fortress of pillows and blankets.
"I… I can't do this," I muttered, staring at the ceiling.
"Neither can I," Saki whispered back, voice trembling with both panic and relief.
Silence stretched for a few seconds. Then she let out a long sigh.
"So… games?"
I froze. "Games?"
"Yes!" she said, suddenly bright. "Something to… distract us. Keep us sane. Prove we can survive being in the same room without… catastrophic contact."
I blinked. "…You mean… like board games?"
"Or card games. Or… I don't know… truth-or-dare? Wait, no. Not dare. Too dangerous."
I nodded frantically. "…Safe games only. Maximum distance."
She grinned. "…Exactly."
We dug through the small travel bag I'd brought, tossing aside half-empty snack wrappers, sunscreen bottles, and random chargers, until we found it: a small deck of cards.
"Perfect," she said. "We'll play… war. Simple. No touching. No chaos."
I tried to look calm. "Yes. No chaos. Completely safe. Professional-grade gaming."
We sat cross-legged on the floor, keeping a careful perimeter between us. Every move was calculated. Every glance monitored.
I drew a card. She drew a card. We both flinched when our elbows brushed ever so slightly.
"…Stop moving," she hissed.
"…You too," I whispered.
The game continued. Each round we tried to outdo each other without losing our fragile sense of personal space.
"Ha!" she exclaimed. "You lose again."
"I—wait—no! That's cheating!" I protested. "You moved your card slightly!"
"I did not!" she shot back, pointing at me like I'd committed a capital crime.
"…Maybe," I said carefully. "…A little."
She gasped. "…We can't do this anymore. It's too… intense."
I nodded. "…Agreed."
We paused. Both breathing heavily. Looking at each other like survivors of some bizarre battlefield.
"…So," Saki said slowly, "…we can still play something else, right? Not involving cards?"
"…Yes," I agreed. "…Anything that doesn't involve touching. Or eye contact. Or breathing too close."
Her face went pink. "…We might need a referee."
"…Kyosuke?" I suggested weakly.
She gasped. "…NO! Never. Not Kyosuke."
We sat in tense silence for a moment. Then she brightened. "…How about… video games?"
I froze. "…We brought a portable console?"
"Yes," she said proudly, producing a small handheld from her bag. "…And headphones. Each of us has one. Maximum distance, zero contact."
I nodded. "…Safe. Genius."
We played. Each lost, each won, each screamed internally when our thumbs accidentally brushed during a pass-the-controller moment.
By the end of the first hour, we were exhausted. Sweaty from panic. Red-faced from embarrassment. Mentally fried from trying to survive something that should have been simple.
"…I think this is better than sleep," I muttered.
"…Definitely," she agreed. "…Much safer. Much less… catastrophic."
We exchanged a look.
The kind of look that said: We are officially the worst couple ever. But somehow surviving.
And somehow… it was fun.