Chapter 18: The Fever Fades, the Cheeks Burn
After taking her medicine, Yuki Ōhira fell asleep almost immediately.
I wasn’t sure if it was the medication working or not, but while she slept, I quietly borrowed her key, went to a nearby pharmacy, bought some nutritional drinks and cooling fever patches, then came back.
Carefully, so I wouldn’t wake her, I placed one of the cooling patches on her forehead.
The thing warmed up almost instantly.
Well, it was probably better than nothing.
She seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and I started thinking it was about time I headed home. But then another problem occurred to me.
What was I supposed to do with her key?
Leave and drop it into her mailbox?
She probably had a spare key somewhere, so maybe it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t notice right away. But if she didn’t, she’d end up wondering where it had gone and cause herself unnecessary stress. If I had her LOIN contact, I could just send her a message and explain everything.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know her account.
And waking her up just to ask felt morally questionable.
“…Well. We live next door. Staying a little longer won’t kill me.”
She’d gone to sleep pretty early.
Even in the worst case, she’d probably wake up once before midnight. I could explain the key situation then.
Besides, smartphones existed. Killing time wasn’t exactly difficult these days.
As I picked up my phone, something suddenly came back to me.
“…My baseball gear.”
The storage closet in the hallway.
The one where I’d found the first-aid kit.
Beneath it sat a familiar enamel sports bag.
I was pretty sure it was the one I’d asked Ōhira to throw away after summer break.
The moment the thought entered my head, my body moved on its own.
I stepped into the hallway and opened the storage space again.
There it was.
I hadn’t imagined it.
The enamel bag was still there.
Maybe it belonged to Ōhira, I thought at first.
But after taking a closer look, there was no mistaking it.
It was mine.
The proof was right there—a small yellow embroidery stitched into the side.
Morigami.
I picked up the bag and returned to the room.
Sitting beside her bed, I opened it.
Inside was exactly what I’d expected.
My pitcher’s glove.
The same one from back then.
I stared at it like I was looking at a relic from another life.
The scent drifted up immediately.
Leather.
Dirt.
Sweat.
A smell most people would probably call unpleasant.
To me, it was familiar enough to feel comforting.
There wasn’t a trace of disgust.
Sliding my hand into the glove for the first time in two years, I found it fit exactly as it always had.
And with that familiar fit came something dangerous.
The desire to play baseball again.
“…Man. I’ve got nothing but regrets.”
I laughed quietly.
“Seriously… what a joke.”
My fingers tightened around the glove.
“But sorry. I’m broken now.”
The words felt heavier than I wanted them to.
“I can’t keep clinging to the past forever. If I do, I’ll never move forward.”
I lowered my gaze.
“So throwing you away is the only thing I can do.”
This glove had fought beside me.
Shared every victory.
Every defeat.
Every dream.
“Even after you stood with me on the world stage.”
I gently patted the pocket of the glove.
“Sorry.”
Smack. Smack.
“That’s unexpected.”
A voice came from the bed.
I froze.
“Morigami-kun, you’re the type who talks to his glove?”
Ōhira was sitting up.
She looked noticeably better than before. The pain in her expression had eased.
Though she still seemed to have a fever.
Her cheeks were flushed a deep red, and for some reason, that warmth made her look almost unfairly attractive.
“…Well. That’s embarrassing.”
“I don’t think it’s embarrassing at all.”
She smiled softly.
“It must have been something very important to you, right?”
Her gaze drifted toward the glove.
“I suppose not throwing it away was the right choice after all.”
The expression on her face reminded me of an older girl affectionately watching a neighborhood kid who loved baseball.
Gentle.
Mature.
Warm.
“Why didn’t you throw it away?”
It was a simple question.
I’d asked her to.
Yet she’d kept it all this time.
I wanted to know why.
“Because the expression on your face that day looked painful.”
She lowered her eyes slightly.
“So I kept it. Without asking.”
“…Was it really that obvious?”
“Yes.”
Her answer came immediately.
“Painfully obvious.”
Then she gave a faint smile.
“But I won’t force you to explain.”
She paused.
“I think everyone has parts of their past they’d rather keep hidden.”
“…I appreciate that.”
Back in the elevator after summer break, I’d already gotten the sense that she carried her own complicated history.
I had no intention of prying into it.
So her consideration was genuinely appreciated.
I gently ran my hand over the glove before placing it back inside the bag.
Then I made the request again.
“Whenever you feel like it… throw it away for me.”
I laughed awkwardly.
“I can’t quite bring myself to do it myself.”
“I understand.”
She nodded.
“I’ll throw it away someday.”
Someday.
Was that after I finally told her the story behind it?
Or had she simply chosen the word without thinking?
I couldn’t tell.
“Sorry. Did I wake you up smacking the glove around?”
Either way, if I’d disturbed a sick person, I felt bad about it.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“That’s not what woke me.”
Then she smiled.
A gentle smile without any sharp edges.
The kind that silently said don’t worry about it.
Looking away from me, she turned toward the large window.
“By the way… how long was I asleep?”
Outside, the scenery had completely changed.
The sun had given way to the moon.
Orange skies had faded into black.
“About an hour and a half.”
“…You stayed here the whole time?”
“Not exactly.”
I scratched my cheek.
“I went out to buy a few things.”
“Buy…?”
The question formed on her face.
Then her eyes landed on the nutritional drinks beside the bed.
The cooling patch on her forehead.
“…Ah.”
Understanding dawned on her immediately.
“How’s the fever?”
As she touched the patch, she slipped a thermometer under her arm.
A few moments later, it beeped.
She checked the display.
“Thirty-seven point two.”
Considering how red her cheeks still were, I’d expected something higher.
“That’s good.”
Relief escaped me before I realized it.
“It dropped a lot.”
Just an hour and a half of sleep had lowered it that much.
Maybe she’d been carrying far more exhaustion than she’d realized.
“…Maybe it’s because you stayed with me.”
“Huh?”
The words came out barely above a whisper.
In a noisy city street, I never would have heard them.
But in her quiet room, they reached my ears perfectly.
The moment she realized I’d heard her, her face turned even redder.
Like the fever had suddenly returned.
“N-No. That’s not what I meant…”
I had absolutely no idea what part she was denying.
But one thing was obvious.
She was flustered.
Very flustered.
“Hmph.”
She puffed out her cheeks.
“How ironic.”
Clearly trying to recover.
“I never imagined I’d end up being taken care of by a master who can’t even manage basic housework.”
Her voice regained some of its usual sarcasm.
“This will remain a lifelong embarrassment.”
She was covering her panic with teasing.
Unfortunately for her, she’d already been too late.
That tiny whisper from earlier had sounded far more honest.
For a moment, I considered teasing her back for once.
But she was still sick.
That felt unfair.
Instead, I asked something I’d been thinking about for a while.
“Aren’t you pushing yourself too hard?”
Her eyes lowered.
“…Maybe.”
The answer came slowly.
“Considering I actually collapsed…”
She gave a self-deprecating smile.
“And caused trouble for you as well.”
After a brief pause, she continued.
“It’s true that I need to reevaluate how I’m living.”
“Yeah.”
That was probably for the best.
Student council work.
The maid café job.
Taking care of me.
If she had to cut something from that list, the obvious choice would be me.
Honestly, having her clean my apartment and cook for me had helped a lot.
But I wasn’t heartless enough to let her work herself into the ground over it.
And the whole arrangement only existed because she’d been worried about her secret getting out.
I had no intention of telling anyone anyway.
If she stopped taking care of me, I’d understand.
“Well.”
I stood up.
“At least your fever’s gone down.”
This wasn’t a conversation that needed to happen today.
Right now, recovering was more important.
“I think I’d better head home.”
“Probably.”
She nodded.
“I’d hate to pass the fever on to you.”
We exchanged the usual considerate excuses.
Then, just before leaving, I turned back.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
She looked up.
“I don’t think you’ve caused me any trouble.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“When someone’s in trouble, you help them.”
I smiled.
“That’s all this was.”
We lived right next door.
It wasn’t a big deal.
“So if something happens again, come get me.”
I pointed toward the wall separating our apartments.
“We’re neighbors. Don’t hesitate.”
For a second, she simply stared.
Then she answered quietly.
“…Okay.”
“Alright then.”
I headed for the door.
“I’ll lock up and drop the key into your mailbox. Pick it up later.”
I raised a hand over my shoulder and left the room.
As the door closed behind me—
“Thank you…”
I thought I heard a tiny voice from inside.
Soft enough that I couldn’t be sure.
Yet somehow,
I felt like I had
