Someplace Like Home |n.j

17.

It was already ten at night by the time we got off the train. We walked out of the station as a woman's voice spoke through the speakers, calling about a train that was to set off in half an hour. Nami walked ahead of me with her hands over her mouth, and I watched her body frame shake as her shoulders tensed. 

I quickly caught up and offered her my coat, sliding it off and draping it over her shoulders.

"Thank you," Nami blew into her palms to warm up her skin.

"What now?" She paused to look at me as I asked. I didn't try to hide the grin that surfaced at the sight of my coat over her small body. Was it that or the redness of her cheeks? She was so beautiful in the cold.

It was clear that neither of us had any intentions to split, there was no need for verbal confirmation. I didn't want to leave her. I can't keep my eyes off of her and I know she notices that. Am I always so obvious?

"I feel like drinking." Nami shrugged.

"Okay," I didn't even hesitate, "Then let's do that. It's cold out here, 'drink at my place or yours?"

"Yours."

"Okay."

***

"Ah," She smiled with her eyes closed in relief right as we entered my studio with newly bought bottles of beer. Nami was shivering the whole time we were at the twenty-four-hour market, and wouldn't leave my side as she used my body as her portable heater. It felt nice, to feel like Nami needed me. Even for something so small and insignificant.

I placed the bag of alcohol on the coffee table before my sofa while Nami walked around the studio in search of something. I watched her shuffle around, "What are you looking for?"

"Computer." She shook off my coat and placed it on the arm of the couch.

"Yeah, give me a second. What for?" I took out the bottles out from the plastic bag then headed over to my bed. I unraveled the blanket and found my computer hiding underneath.

"Music. No one should drink without music."

Nami fumbled in her bag and got out her lighter. She stood from the couch and snatched one of the bottles.

Walking over with my laptop, I watched her swiftly flick off the cap with the edge of the lighter. My mother would go absolutely insane if she knew that Nami knew how to do these things. Something about an unhealthy lifestyle, I'm guessing. But I find it attractive—anything Nami does, really.

She brushes her bangs away from her face and brought the bottle to her lips. I sit down next to her on the sofa and flipped open my counter. There was no password for it, so I left her with it and headed to the bathroom.

By the time I headed back, music was playing from my speakers and she was all huddled in by herself with her legs folded on the sofa. I wanted to cuddle her right then, but I know she would probably push me away.

So I grabbed a bottle and sat myself down. The edge of my lip jerks up in a small smile. She'd already got the cap off for me.

I take a sip, "What song is this?" It was in Japanese, I couldn't understand what it meant. If there was any song that someone with the likes of Nami would dance to, it'd be this one.

Nami stood up as if to prepare for a presentation. She moved to stand in front of me, and she drinks before speaking, "Lidasenakute, that's the title. It doesn't mean anything deep." Nami did a spin as her body responded to the music.

I grinned with my body leaning back to watch her enjoy herself. Her face was still red, and it was no longer the effect of the temperature, but the alcohol in her hand. This is stage one of Nami's alcohol tolerance. Where she's a lot less tense than usual. I wonder if this is what she would act like all the time if whatever hurt her never happened.