The ten-centimeter gap completely vanished in a fraction of a single second.
Zenjiro lay entirely flat on his back. His spine dug hard into the soft mattress. He did not move a single muscle. His arms rested stiffly at his sides.
Liora lay entirely on her side. She had thrown her full body weight over the invisible dividing line in a dead sleep. Her left shoulder pressed firmly into the mattress. Her right arm draped heavily across his chest. Her head dropped like a dead weight. It landed directly on his right shoulder. A sudden, soft impact caught him completely off guard. A tight, damp seal formed perfectly, locking the remaining air deep in his throat.
The physical alignment was a total accident of gravity and deep sleep. A firm, smooth ridge of skin rested flush against his cheekbone. A soft, damp friction pressed perfectly against him. It was a complete, physical seal. No air could escape from him.
Time suddenly unfroze in the dark bedroom.
The heavy silence broke. He felt the steady, slow rhythm of her breathing. A warm stream of air pushed downward from the smooth ridge. It washed entirely over his right cheek. The invisible current carried a thick, heavy scent. The sweet smell of her floral shampoo mixed heavily with the sharp, fermented odor of cheap, bitter alcohol.
Then came the heat. It radiated intensely off her pale skin. It burned right through the thin cotton of his gray shirt. Her chest pressed flush against his ribs. The intense warmth pooled exactly where their bodies violently collided.
Then came the moisture. The damp seal completely trapped him. It was violently hot. The soft, yielding pressure of the wet contact completely paralyzed his entire body. He felt the exact texture of the damp skin locking against him. It was agonizingly soft. He felt entirely trapped under the sudden, crushing weight of her sleeping form.
Zenjiro was stunned. He could not lift his arms. He could not turn his head to the side. Pure, blinding shock ripped straight through his chest.
His chaotic mind broke down the brutal physical collision. The spatial math was simple but terrifying. He was pinned. There was absolutely no way to escape without pushing her forcefully away. He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut. The heavy darkness offered zero protection from the burning heat.
Panic spiked hot and fast in his dry throat. He needed a defense mechanism. He needed a solid, bulletproof alibi right now. He built a mental wall of complete ignorance.
He had to pretend to be fast asleep.
If she woke up right this exact second, he would just play dead. He would keep his breathing slow and perfectly even. He would let his arms hang entirely limp on the mattress. If she suddenly yelled at him, he would just act deeply confused. He would rub his eyes and blame her entirely. He would tell her she rolled over in the middle of the night and crashed into him like a heavy boulder. He would say he had zero idea what just happened. It was the perfect, cowardly shield.
His racing thoughts split rapidly into two distinct scenarios. He weighed the terrible odds in the dark.
First scenario. She wakes up right now. She realizes she is lying directly on top of him. She feels the damp contact entirely sealing them together.
She might not even mind the position at all. She was incredibly clingy since they were little kids playing in the dirty sandbox. She trusted him completely with her entire life. She relied on him to fix every single broken thing she encountered. She believed his words like absolute law.
Even if she did not believe his excuse, she might not mind the physical contact with his body. It was completely normal for them anyway. They always shared couches and cramped spaces. They always touched. She always used his legs as a soft pillow. And the wet thing connecting them right now? Even if she notice it, she might just wipe the dampness away, complain loudly about the cold room, and go right back to sleep. She might forgive him instantly. She was his clingy sister after all.
Second scenario. The absolute worst case.
She wakes up. She feels the damp seal. The heavy dose of alcohol in her blood turns her sleepy confusion into pure, blind anger. She pushes him away violently. She screams at the top of her lungs. She scrubs her skin in total, ruined disgust.
She gets completely mad. She hates him. She refuses to speak a single word to him ever again. The quiet, comfortable life they built over eleven years completely shatters into a million jagged pieces. Clara would find out. His father Soichi would throw him out of the house. He would lose everything he ever cared about in a single night.
The second scenario terrified him down to the bone. The sheer, crushing fear paralyzed his muscles entirely. He stopped breathing. He just lay there in the dark and waited for the violent scream.
He did not move a single millimeter for a whole minute.
Liora did not wake up. She did not scream and she did not move. She only breathed.
Her slow, rhythmic exhales pushed a steady stream of warm air downward. The heavy breath hit his upper area in a constant, repeating pattern. The rise and fall of her chest against his ribs remained entirely calm and deep.
He slowly opened his eyes. He stared blindly up at the pitch-black ceiling. He did not move his head. He maintained the exact same tangled position.
He noticed a strange, sudden sensation. A slow, heavy liquid flowed down the right side of his face. It was a thick, wet trail. It started right near the corner of the damp seal. It crawled slowly down his right cheek.
He knew instantly it was not his. He felt the thick, heavy consistency of the fluid. He felt the exact origin point. It belonged to her. The incredibly deep sleep and the heavy, sideways pressure of her resting face forced the warm liquid to slowly escape. He felt it moving steadily downward across his skin. He still felt the warm air breathed by Liora hitting his face.
He slowly raised his left hand. His fingers shook wildly in the cold, dark air. He reached up toward her face. He pressed his shaking thumb gently against her left eyelid. He pushed the soft skin up just a tiny fraction of an inch to check her iris.
Pure white.
Her pupil was rolled completely back into her skull. She was entirely unconscious. The cheap, bitter beer had knocked her out completely.
A massive spike of pure adrenaline exploded right in his chest. His blood ran instantly hot. He analyzed the heavy geometry of his position one more time.
It was exactly the event he wanted to happen. He was entirely trapped under her intense body heat. He was absorbing the incredible warmth he had silently begged for just an hour ago. And on top of that absolute victory, he had the impossible, damp thing pressing heavily on him.
He felt the heavy liquid falling onto his right cheek again. He knew it was absolutely not his. It slid slowly down his skin. It dripped heavily onto the soft cotton pillowcase beneath his head.
The liquid flowed non-stop. It threatened to completely ruin the pillow.
Zenjiro thought of something. He remembered a specific scene he saw in late-night movies years ago. A dark, twisted idea formed deep inside his chaotic, alcohol-soaked brain. He did not want to push her body away. He did not want to break the damp seal. He wanted to solve the dripping problem without losing a single degree of the intense heat.
He slowly moved the physical seal.