22. And the passage of time is something that can never be undone.

After finishing his shift, Tsukimi Jinguuji left the bookstore and, by chance, ran into Sakura Sakamoto, who had just ended her club activities. Naturally, they made their way home together.

“You didn’t spend the afternoon flirting with the student council president, did you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot. Do you really think I can’t see it? The way she looks at you, it’s as if she’s about to devour you.”

“Do I look that appetizing?”

“Keep playing dumb if you want. Only heaven knows whether your breakup is real or just for show. If you’re craving excitement, don’t drag me into it—go be lovey-dovey somewhere out of my sight!”

“Miss Sakurakoji, aren’t you overreacting a little?”

“Well, she is beautiful—her skin is fair and delicate, her hair is long and lustrous, almost like a European. Unlike me, dark and rough. I spent whole afternoons outside during summer break, and my skin ended up red and coarse.”

“You’re not dark at all.”

“Cut it out. I know myself better than anyone.”

“Fine, maybe just a shade darker. You should run less.”

“…”

Sakura Sakamoto quickened her pace, leaving the boy behind.

Tsukimi Jinguuji yawned, stretched lazily, and watched the girl ahead—sometimes speeding up, sometimes pausing. He followed at an unhurried pace.

Gradually, Sakura slowed and fell in step with him once more, stealing glances at his expression.

“Are you really done with her?”

“Clean break.”

“You didn’t secretly hold hands this afternoon? No hugs?”

“No.”

“What about kissing?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“Fine, fine. No holding hands, no hugs, no kisses.”

“Hmph—” The girl narrowed her eyes, dragging out her voice in suspicion.

“Do you believe me?” he asked.

“What difference does it make if I don’t? You know I practically grew up under your smooth-talking.”

“Why does that make me sound like a bad person?”

“Are you a good person?”

Tsukimi Jinguuji shrugged. “Well… at least I’m not a good man.”

Sakura Sakamoto’s mood soured at that.

“Why say that about yourself? Sure, people at school might not care for you, but I know—the real Tsukimi is a good person.”

---

“Better than your boyfriend?”

“Who’s that… Oh! He’s a hundred times better than you! How dare you compare yourself to him!”

Tsukimi Jinguuji gave a faint smile.

Sakura Sakamoto realized her own story was full of holes, scratched her head, and dropped the subject.

When they reached the front door, Sakura didn’t move on, but stopped with Tsukimi.

“My mom went on a business trip to Kanagawa this morning. She won’t be back until tomorrow, so I’m eating at your place tonight.”

“Your mom works so hard, even on weekends.”

“She says adults don’t get weekends.”

“For a high schooler, that’s a harsh future—I don’t want to grow up.”

“Anyway, I’m mooching dinner today.”

He nodded; it was nothing unusual, just part of their routine.

“I’m home.”

“Thanks for having me.”

They changed into slippers and entered the living room. Yuko Jinguuji was preparing dinner in the kitchen.

“Welcome back! Hm? Were you two out on a date?”

“We met on the way home after my shift, so we came back together.”

“Oh, you got my hopes up for nothing.”

“Sakura, I knew you’d be coming for dinner, so I made your favorite hamburger steak.”

“Hehe, thank you~ Aunt Yuko, you’re my favorite!”

The girl laughed brightly, tiptoeing into the kitchen. “Let me help you with dinner, Aunt Yuko.”

“No need, you and Tsukimi can relax.”

“I’d rather not be with him.”

Tsukimi Jinguuji didn’t linger in the living room, heading upstairs alone. “I’m going to my room.”

But he’d barely lain down when footsteps thudded up the stairs.

A cute face peeked into the bedroom, amber eyes darting around before locking onto him sprawled on the bed.

He kept his eyes closed, seemingly uninterested.

Sakura Sakamoto crept in, kneeling by the bed and staring at his face.

“Weren’t you going to help my mom with dinner?” he asked, eyes still shut.

“She told me to come play with you.”

“Maybe she thinks you’re clumsy.”

“Hmph, you always say annoying things.”

---

Annoyed, the girl reached for his hair, tousling it until his once-neat black hair looked like a pile of freshly cut weeds.

Sakura Sakamoto burst into giggles.

Tsukimi Jinguuji didn’t mind, letting her mess with his hair as she pleased.

Suddenly, her hand moved from his hair to his eyebrows, slid down his nose, and finally brushed his lips.

Just as Tsukimi was about to say something, Sakura’s voice, soft and tired, reached his ears.

“I saw it over summer break.”

“…Mm.” He’d heard her mention it before.

Her fingers pressed his lips, so the only sound he could make was a muffled hum, the vibration tingling her fingertips.

“When you kissed her, what was going through your mind?”

Her fingers wandered—touching his chin, then his neck, then abruptly tugging at his lower lip, revealing pearl-like teeth.

“Did you think of me, even a little? When you kissed the council president, Miss Aoyama, or those other girls I don’t know—did you ever think of me?”

He turned his head away, her finger on his lips like a stylus on a record, tracing down to his chin.

“I can’t remember anymore.”

“If only, Tsukimi, back then…”

“Sakura.”

He suddenly grabbed her hand. Memories surged inside him, roaring like a beast, replaying a self-directed film in his mind.

She lowered her head, bringing her face close to his.

Tsukimi Jinguuji was visibly flustered; every time he closed his eyes, memories of this girl refused to fade.

“Sakura, we already…”

When her nose was less than a centimeter from his, her hair brushed his cheek.

They stared at each other for a long time; time seemed to become a clear liquid, enveloping them, stretching, dissolving, twisting them together.

“Pfft!”

“What are you hoping for, silly Tsukimi~”

Sakura Sakamoto burst out laughing, her laughter bright and carefree, as if she’d just watched the funniest comedy in the world.

…

She stood up, smiling as she walked to the door, hand resting on the frame, leaving him only her slender silhouette.

“I know—we’re not kids anymore. I can tell the difference.

Now, we’re just ordinary childhood friends.”