Source
https://kakuyomu.jp/works/2912051600327232539
The potted plants placed near the top floor of a high-rise apartment building are a symbol of a complete dystopia.
Cut off from the soil, confined to a sterile room meticulously controlled by air conditioning, they are forced to exist solely for the sake of being green. They are no longer plants; they are a twisted trophy symbolizing capitalism’s domination over nature.
1:00 a.m. I sat lightly on a plush, high-end sofa, gazing at the pachira quietly standing in the corner of the room, my thoughts wandering to that ecological tragedy.
“…What are you staring at so intently?”
Shizuku, returning from the kitchen, followed my line of sight with a puzzled expression.
She was dressed in baggy loungewear, holding a tray in both hands.
“Oh, I was just calculating the photosynthetic efficiency of that houseplant. Given the lighting in this room, there’s a high probability it’s suffering from chronic malnutrition.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. A professional gardener comes by every month to take care of it.”
“A gardener comes? That makes it even more dystopian. It’s been completely stripped of its independence as a plant.”
“It’s fine! That’s just how this apartment complex is!”
Shizuku set the tray down with a soft thud on the marble coffee table.
There, two mugs sat side by side: a cheap one with an alpaca face printed on it and a plain, drab one. And next to them lay an empty can of “Super Sweet Cocoa”—the kind I always used to buy from the vending machine at the park.
“…How did you smuggle this in?”
“I bought a whole case online! Now I can drink my usual cocoa right here without having to go to the park and worry about the paparazzi, right?”
Shizuku puffed out her chest proudly.
“Buying a whole case of canned cocoa and stockpiling it in a high-rise apartment… and going to the trouble of pouring it into a mug to drink it? That’s like putting gold leaf on junk food—it’s sacrilege. That stuff only tastes right when it’s heated to the exact temperature the park vending machine uses, electricity costs and all.”
“Oh, stop complaining! I heated it up properly in a double boiler to make it just as hot as the vending machine! Here, this is for Minato.”
“Oh, thanks…”
Shizuku pushed a plain mug toward me and wrapped both hands around her alpaca mug.
Then, as usual, she sank into the sofa next to me.
“…Haa. As expected, this tastes the best. It’s like a drug, a real drug.”
Bathing in the steam rising from the mug, Shizuku’s face broke into a lazy smile.
“Stop saying things like that, girl!”
Saying that, I brought the mug to my lips. The taste was indeed exactly the same as that devastatingly sweet drink we’d had in the park late at night.
As long as I ignored the distractions of the marble table and the blue light from the air purifier, this space seemed to function just as well as that park bench.
“Hey, Minato.”
“What is it?”
“This plain mug is just for you, Minato. Use this one next time you come over, too.”
“I don’t really mind, but the design really brings down the aesthetic of this room. If the cleaning staff saw it, they might accidentally throw it in the trash.”
“They won’t! I’ll defend it with my life.”
“I think you should stop wasting an idol’s resources on defending a mug.”
“Seriously… can’t you just say ‘thank you’?”
“…Thanks.”
Shizuku chuckled softly and rested her head lightly on my shoulder. I pushed her away with my shoulder.
“…Muu.”
Shizuku got stubborn and pressed her head firmly against my shoulder again. I pushed her away again with a firm shove.
“……”
“……”
“You’re so cheap.”
“My shoulder isn’t a headrest.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean that.”
“No, you did!”
Finally, Shizuku rested her head on my shoulder again, undeterred. I didn’t feel like resisting anymore, so I just let her.
Her body temperature was normal, as usual. We stayed like that, exchanging pointless, unproductive small talk until our mugs were empty.
◆
2:00 a.m.
The alarm on my phone went off briefly.
“…Well then. I’m heading home soon. I have a college class starting first period tomorrow.”
“Oh, right… Yeah. Got it.”
Shizuku stood up from the sofa, looking reluctant to leave, and followed me toward the spacious entryway. It was just as I was putting on my sneakers, careful not to crush the heels, and reaching for the thick iron doorknob.
“See you later, Minato.”
The voice I heard from behind had its usual cheerful tone.
However, when I glanced back, my eyes didn’t miss the decisive flaw that had appeared on her face.
From Shizuku’s expression, the carefree smile she’d had just moments ago had vanished as quickly as alcohol evaporates.
The light had drained from the depths of her eyes, and a dark, anxious look—like that of an abandoned lost child—spread across her entire face. Her fingertips were clenched tightly around the hem of her shirt.
“…Is something wrong?”
“…This door is really thick.”
Shizuku muttered quietly, her gaze shifting back and forth between the door and me.
“Sometimes I get really scared that once it closes, Minato won’t open it for me ever again. No matter how much I scream, I feel like my voice will never reach the world on the other side of this soundproof door…”
That wasn’t the face of a top idol who sang and danced flawlessly in front of thousands of people; it was the vulnerable voice of that clumsy girl who had fallen, unable to resist gravity, in the park late at night.
Is the standard “correct” response here to gently hug her and say, “That’s not true”? But we’re not really in that kind of relationship, so that might be going too far.
I decided to stick strictly to stating objective facts.
“Those steel soundproof doors only block physical sound and wind; they don’t come with a feature that blocks my will. Besides, I’ve still got the black keycard needed to break through this fortress held hostage in my wallet.”
“……”
“If I feel like it, I’ll come by again to use up your cocoa supply. Not every day, though.”
At my words, a tiny glimmer of light returned to Shizuku’s eyes. But the dark cloud clinging to their edges hadn’t completely lifted.
“……Yeah. You promise?”
“Yeah, I promise.”
“……Yeah. You promise? See you later?”
“……?”
I tilted my head, puzzled by her unexpected insistence.
As her faint voice saw me off, I closed the heavy door.
The cold, mechanical click of the lock echoed through the late-night hallway.
The thought that I had left that intense dependence and anxiety behind, just on the other side of the door, made my footsteps feel just a little heavier than usual.
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