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Women liked Shin. He didn't do anything to encourage them; he didn't need to do anything to attract their attention. Shin didn't care what women thought about him. He did, however, find it bothersome when the braver ones broke away from their giggling girlfriends to approach him.
His friends watched in mingled awe and horror as Shin turned down every woman who approached him.
Shin was starting to wish that his standards hadn't been so high. If he had taken any of those women up on their blatant invitations, he might have some idea of what he was doing in the here and now.
Shin hadn't planned ahead--he'd hardly been thinking at all--when he'd slid his hand beneath the hem of Yankumi's t-shirt. There had been flashes of soft, so soft, and fuck, fuck, oh fuck, and most of all: Yankumi.
And now his hand was curved over Yankumi's breast, and Shin was about to humiliate himself. This was all of Shin's illicit dreams of the last several months come to vivid life, and Shin had no idea what to do. This wasn't just any woman he was touching--this was Yankumi, and he didn't want to grope her like a clumsy boy with his first girlfriend.
Yankumi had probably pictured her first kiss taking place under falling sakura petals, while violins played in the background. She had probably imagined making love for the first time in the glow of candlelight, in a white room scattered with rose petals. And all of Shin's cool had deserted him at the feel of warm flesh and soft lace beneath his palm.
Yankumi's blush was visible even in the dim light of Shin's apartment. Her glasses were crooked, eyes wide. One of her pigtails had come loose, and strands of hair clung to her cheeks and mouth.
Shin very carefully withdrew his hand from Yankumi's shirt. He cleared his throat, desperately searching for the cool composure he was so admired for. His composure wasn't up to dealing with the sight of Yankumi, ruffled and well-kissed, and staring at him as if the world had just shifted beneath her feet.
"Sawada," Yankumi said.
Shin's legs felt shaky. He stood anyway. "I think," Shin said, very slowly, very clearly, "that you should leave. Right now." He needed a cold shower. He needed to smack his head into the nearest hard surface, repeatedly, until he remembered why kissing Yankumi was an incredibly bad idea.
Yankumi removed her glasses, and set them down on the table next to the couch. "You aren't my student anymore," Yankumi said, voice slowly gaining in confidence as she spoke. Her jaw was set in the same stubborn line Shin had grown used to seeing when Yankumi faced down angry thugs. She had never pulled her shirt off for any of them, though.
Shin barely had time to note that Yankumi's bra was frilly, and pink, and ridiculously girly before she jumped him. Shin's cool reputation bid him a fond farewell when he yelped in surprise, Yankumi squirming in his arms. He wasn't sure if it was nerves or passion, but Yankumi's hands were locked in the collar of his jacket, pulling the material so tight that Shin could hardly breathe.
He'd never considered the possibility that sex with Yankumi would kill him, Shin thought, a little hysterical.
"Yankumi!"
"I'm not wearing a shirt, Sawada. You should call me Kumiko," she said.
"You're strangling me," Shin gasped.
Yankumi's eyes rounded. "Ah!" she said, and released Shin so quickly that he nearly toppled backwards. She was blushing again. "I've never done this before," she admitted--as if Shin hadn't guessed that months ago--"but. . . I want to. With you."
When had forming complete sentences become so difficult?
She was beaming at him.
"I'd like that," Shin said, and bit his tongue a second later. Stupid, he thought, so stupid: "I'd like that?"
Or maybe not, because Yankumi looked relieved--as if she'd thought that Shin would change his mind about her. As if he could give up on her. It didn't matter if Shin didn't know exactly what he was doing, because he knew Yankumi.
"Kumiko," he said.
Shin hardly even minded that his head collided with the floor when she knocked him over. Perfect was overrated.