Chapter 10: Canned Beer and Kiss

Canned Beer and Kiss

In my home, he’s working hard, making sukiyaki for me.

This is the first time I’ve ever brought a man into my house.

Getting walked home the other night feels a little different from actually bringing him into my house.

My only family is my grandmother, but today is the day I introduce him as my boyfriend.

Since this morning, my heart has been fluttering with excitement, a deep, quiet joy swelling inside me.

If anything, Grandma seems even more eager than I am.

She hums while chopping the ingredients—proof that she’s in an exceptionally good mood.

Though she sometimes complains about back pain… I hope she’s all right. I can’t help but worry a little.

Watching him cook sukiyaki, I realize… he seems reliable, somehow.

This house has been nothing but women for so long. Having a man here feels a little ticklish, almost surreal.

And to think—that man is my boyfriend. That makes it even more overwhelming.

The way he carefully prepares the sukiyaki… you can tell—his sincerity seeps into everything he does.

He readily accepted my invitation. That has to mean he cares about me, at least a little.

Watching him, I feel myself starting to believe—I could follow this man for the rest of my life.

And yet, Miyuki, how can you talk about trust when you’re hiding such a terrible lie?

No… he will understand. I know he will.

I’ve decided to give him everything. Even if others say I’m being deceived again, I have no choice but to bet everything on him.

Because I’ve fallen for him.

While I was playing the role of a slightly lovesick heroine, Grandma had already finished giving the toast. Panicked, I quickly chimed in—“To everyone’s happiness—cheers!”—then took a small sip of my beer.

Ugh… it’s not sweet at all. Just bitter—really bitter.

The sound of him effortlessly popping open a can of beer—today, I realized I love watching that.

And suddenly, I found myself thinking… I want to see it again and again, forever.

“I haven’t had sukiyaki at home since my parents passed away. I never realized it was this sweet… and this good.”

The sukiyaki he made is rich and sweet, and Grandma eats happily, savoring every bite.

I’ve always longed for a dinner table like this—a place filled with warmth and laughter.

He’s already making my dream come true, little by little. Is it okay for me to believe that he’ll keep making it come true?

“You should eat some meat too. You’ve only been picking at the pickled cucumbers this whole time.”

Grandma chides him, but her eyes betray her—she’s smiling, brimming with joy.

After all, no one could be unhappy with someone who eats so much of their homemade pickles.

To her, it’s as good as receiving praise.

I should learn how to make pickles too. But first, I need to pour him another beer.

I feel like taking care of him.

I want to make sure he eats everything—the meat, the green onions, the shirataki noodles. He’s a man, so he can eat as much as he wants, right?

Huh? He’s rubbing his stomach, already defeated. Turns out he can’t eat as much as I thought.

I figured he could eat at least five times more than me… Guess I was wrong.

But when it comes to his tolerance for awful food, that seems limitless.

It seems he eats that infamous ‘cat-rejected bento’—a meal so dreadful it’s practically legendary among the women at work—every single day. Even as a joke, it’s not the least bit funny.

I’ve heard people say that even cat food tastes twice as good as that thing.

“Fufu, in that case, why don’t you cook for him, Miyuki-chan?”

Grandma, that was a perfect assist. Well played.

As expected of my grandmother—she understands me better than anyone.

“Even if it doesn’t taste good, promise you won’t get mad, okay?”

I shot back immediately, barely missing a beat. I should praise myself for that one.

I’ll do my best to cook for him, but even if I just throw something together, there’s no way it could taste worse than that so-called bento.

That thing barely qualifies as food, anyway.

Oh—he’s hesitating, and Grandma crushes his resistance with ease. She’s truly dependable.

After finishing the sukiyaki, he finally says he should get going.

It’s only natural, but… parting from someone you love is lonelier than I ever imagined.

Our house is tiny and old, but… I wonder if he’d ever consider living here with us.

Of course, that means I’d come as part of the package. Don’t you dare say you wouldn’t want that.

“Hmph. Don’t be mean.”

I take his arm and press my chest against it.

See? I have a perfectly normal chest too, you know.

“What do you mean, ‘mean’?”

“I wanted to see you smile more.”

No, even if you don’t smile, I just want to keep looking at you.

As I gaze at his face, he reaches out and touches my cheek.

Ah—no, that’s not fair.

My body jerks in surprise, and my emotions spill over from every part of me.

I reach for him, drawn to him—and then, suddenly, I find myself in his embrace.

My heart pounds wildly, like I might lose myself completely, yet my hands somehow end up wrapped around his back.

I didn’t do it on purpose. It just… happened naturally.

And in that moment, I understand—this is what it means to hold someone as lovers.

While I’m still floating in a dreamlike haze, he kisses me.

I can’t believe it. I’m being kissed by the person I love.

My head spins, everything turns white, and the only thing that feels real is the heat of his lips. I can’t even breathe properly.

Ah… My chest feels tight, aching with sweetness.

After that, I think I started saying a bunch of nonsense. I was so dazed, I barely remember.

The only thing I clearly recall is asking, “Is it really okay for it to be me?”

And he answered, “I don’t dislike you, Miyuki.”

He’s always quiet, never one for sweet words, but that—those words were his way of giving me all the love he could.

Overcome with joy, my embarrassment vanished to some distant place, and I found myself asking him for another kiss.

Later, when I was tucked into bed, the shame hit me so hard I writhed in agony for ages.

Who asks for “one more” after their first kiss? No one. No one does that.

And yet, another thought struck me.

What he did to me back then… that wasn’t a kiss.

That was nothing more than a monster—some filthy beast—draining the life from me.

Even if he wasn’t human, it still wouldn’t count as a kiss.

It was something even lower than what a monkey, a dog, or a cat might do.

And now, having felt his kiss, I finally understand just how true that is.