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The air was filled with her faint, sweet scent mixed with the fresh smell of the bedroom linens. I could hear her somewhat hurried breathing and feel my own restless heartbeat.
"So... March," I felt my throat go dry and finally broke the silence, "That 'repaying' thing you mentioned... you saw it in a manga?"
"Mhm..." She nodded immediately, her head still buried low, her voice tiny and thick with shame. "The book, the book said... a life-saving debt... can't be repaid... so, so it should be like this..."
Looking at her serious and shy demeanor, I felt both amused and helpless, but more than that, I felt an indescribable stir. The girl before me—lively, cute, full of youthful vigor—was now sitting on my bed in her pajamas because of a somewhat absurd reason from a manga, so nervous her fingers were shaking. And... she was doing it to thank me for saving her.
Although my action then was purely instinctual, this sincerity—this pure, slightly silly earnestness—truly touched me. Plus... honestly, March 7th is incredibly cute. Those big eyes that usually sparkled with curiosity were now misted with shyness, and her pink cheeks and slightly pouting lips radiated a fatal attraction.
A voice in my heart told me this was absurd; she was just a girl who had read too much manga. But another voice—or rather, physical instinct—was clamoring, egging me on. Eventually, the latter won out.
I took a deep breath, suppressed the last bit of hesitation, and reached out to gently take her small, slightly cold hand that was fidgeting with her clothes. Her body jerked, like a startled rabbit, and she instinctively tried to pull away, but I held her gently. I didn't use force, just wrapped my palm over the back of her hand, passing on my warmth. She stopped struggling and let me hold her, but her body grew even more tense, and she buried her head even lower.
I slowly leaned closer, my other hand rising to gently touch her burning cheek. Her skin was fine and smooth, its temperature alarmingly high.
"March..." I whispered her name, my voice carrying a rasp I hadn't noticed. She finally looked up slightly, her watery eyes—filled with shyness and a hint of confusion—looking at me, her long eyelashes trembling like butterfly wings.
Looking at her near-perfect, fruit-like face, I could no longer restrain myself. I lowered my head and gently pressed my lips against hers. The sensation was soft, warm, and carried the unique sweetness of a young girl. Her body froze to the extreme, and her eyes widened, seemingly shocked that I would actually kiss her. But she didn't push me away or dodge; she just stood there like a statue, letting me have my way.
Confirming her silent consent, I was no longer satisfied with this shallow contact. I increased the pressure, feeling the softness and elasticity of her lips, then tentatively slid my tongue into her mouth. Her teeth weren't clenched; my tongue slid in easily, touching her similarly soft and moist tongue. She seemed stimulated by this sudden depth, letting out a muffled whimper from her throat, her body squirming slightly in my arms, but still, she didn't resist.
And so, I stopped holding back and deepened the kiss, engaging in a tangle of lips and tongues with the girl who was always as vibrant as a small sun. Her mouth tasted faintly like fruit candy, surprisingly pleasant. The room was left with only the sound of our overlapping breaths and the wet sounds of our kiss; the atmosphere became incredibly ambiguous and romantic.
I explored her mouth more thoroughly, my tongue tracing every curve and corner, savoring the sweet, innocent taste of her saliva mixed with the faint candy flavor. Our tongues danced together in slow, deepening circles, sometimes gentle and teasing, sometimes hungry and passionate. I sucked lightly on her lower lip, then captured her tongue again, pulling it into my mouth to swirl and caress. March 7th responded with shy, inexperienced movements at first, her tongue tentatively brushing mine, but as the kiss continued she grew bolder, her soft whimpers vibrating against my lips as her small hands clutched my shoulders tighter. The kiss lasted long minutes, growing wetter and more heated, our breaths mingling hotly until strings of saliva connected our lips when we finally parted for air.
When we finally separated, the room was filled with our hurried breathing. March 7th's face was so red it looked ready to drip blood, and a glistening trail from our kiss lingered on the corner of her mouth. Her eyes, usually full of life, were now clouded with mist, carrying a mix of curiosity and panic from a first experience, and she didn't dare look at me.
I gently removed our clothes. As the fabric fell, her youthful and beautiful body was revealed to me without reservation. I pulled her into my arms, her warm body pressing tightly against my chest. I could clearly feel her rapid heartbeat and the perfectly soft sensation of her breasts. Her body temperature seemed a bit lower than average, carrying a strange coolness, but this coolness only made the delicate texture of her skin more obvious, forming a sharp contrast with her burning cheeks.
My hands began to wander uncontrollably over her smooth skin. I stroked her slender waist, feeling the unique suppleness of a girl; I slid down to her flat stomach, which was warm and soft; then upward, gently covering her budding breasts. They weren't particularly large—fitting her petite age—but their shape was perfect, perky and elastic.
"Ngh..." When my fingers gently squeezed them, a low, irresistible moan escaped her throat, and her body trembled almost imperceptibly. Her small hands instinctively clutched my back, her fingertips digging in slightly as if looking for security, or perhaps unable to resist the unfamiliar stimulation.
Watching her bashful and aroused state, my heart beat even faster. Every tiny reaction of hers seemed like an invitation for deeper exploration. At that time, having lost my memories, I should have been as inexperienced as her. But strangely, my body seemed to retain some instinct—a familiarity that didn't belong to my current consciousness—driving me to know what to do next.