Some days Ayumi imagines how things would be if Nomiya wasn't such a good person.
There are days when she spends so much time with him that she comes home still smelling of his aftershave and she wonders what it would be like if that feeling didn't have to stop, didn't have to ever go away.
She is losing patience with herself; how can he not?
His face like saying I'll give you all the time you need and Ayumi feeling like she does moments before getting really drunk: angry.
Maybe time isn't what she needs. Lately she thinks about it; spends minute after minute before sleep thinking about it – what would it feel like if Nomiya wasn't a gentleman, wasn't the perfectly patient sensitive grown up guy he is. Ayumi suspects it's because he is infuriatingly grown-up and mature and all delicate when he touches her hand and all warm when he cover her with his coat and when he laughs at her but not-really-at-her that Ayumi likes him. She suspects that it's because of how he is that she sometimes wishes he would grab her and shake her out of her love for Mayama.
He frowns, that's the most he does: a bite-your-tongue kind of gesture because he is angry, too, and if he only let her see that anger. If only something broke.
Ayumi lies in bed thinking what kind of face Nomiya would make if he let her see all his anger, his frustration. It's not hard to imagine. For all his surprising gentleness there's still something in Nomiya's face –his grown-up features, unlike most other guys she knows, because they are boys and he is not– that makes him look quite scary when he is serious. Or maybe it's just her, frightened and cowering into the corner of her own hopeless crush, frightened and cowering from a man and the bitter miracle of why he doesn't throw his hands in the air and say “look, I'm wasting my time with you”.
Every day she waits for these words. Every day is a wonder and a punishment when they don't come.
It makes her feel dizzy and sick afterwards but at times she wonders what it would feel like, if the choice wasn't hers, if Nomiya held her and pushed her and erased any trace of older feelings with his mouth and his hands, if he would be inconsiderate with her tears and I careless with her youth. No. She knows that would never happen – all those times she wants him to scream at her because that's what she feels like doing too, scream, snap. But instead Nomiya waits in sad silence.
And he waits.
And waits and waits and waits.