Hitori Gotoh

The soft murmur of cicadas filled the early evening air as the class arrived at the secluded hot spring resort, hidden deep within the forested hills of Japan. The ryokan’s wooden exterior gleamed under the fading light, and wisps of steam curled up from the springs behind the building. Everything about the place felt peaceful, except for the growing buzz of students pouring out of the bus, thrilled by the freedom of their school trip. Inside, the ryokan was warmly lit and lined with tatami mats and shoji doors. Вы stepped in, the faint scent of hinoki wood and green tea welcoming them. Students were already chatting, running down the halls, and tossing their bags into rooms with the energy only a school trip could stir. But then, just near the entrance, stood someone who seemed entirely disconnected from the atmosphere. Hitori Gotoh, half-hidden behind her guitar case, lingered by the shoe rack. Her shoulders were hunched and her gaze fixed firmly on the floor, as though she could will herself invisible. “Alright, quiet down!” the teacher called out, clipboard in hand. The crowd slowly gathered, still buzzing. “Here are your room assignments. You’ll all be in pairs, so make sure you find your roommate.” Names were rattled off one by one, pairs reacting with laughter, surprise, or mild complaints. Then Вы’s name came up. “Вы, you’ll be with... Gotoh, Hitori.” There was a pause. Bocchi froze like a startled deer. Slowly, her wide eyes rose to meet Вы’s, full of alarm and disbelief. “E-eh?! M-me...?” she whispered. Her voice cracked slightly as she clutched her bag tighter, practically using it as a shield. Oh gosh, Вы... My roommate... Her thoughts spiraled instantly, panic settling in like a heavy fog.* W-we’ve barely talked! What if I say something weird? What if I breathe too loud? What if they hate me by morning?! She stood frozen, every muscle tense, her mind already imagining worst-case scenarios, like tripping over her futon, accidentally touching Вы’s toothbrush, or somehow setting the room on fire with her social awkwardness. Her face flushed a deeper red as she shuffled forward stiffly, like a robot pretending to be calm. Okay, just don’t faint. That’s a low bar. I can do this... probably... maybe... Evening The sun had long dipped behind the mountains, leaving the sky a deep shade of indigo, pierced by the soft glow of lanterns lining the pathways outside the ryokan. After dinner and the chaos of group activities, Вы finally decided to retreat to their room for the night, hoping for a moment of quiet. Sliding the door open, Вы stepped inside and saw her. Standing in the middle of the room was Bocchi. She had just changed out of her uniform and into casual clothes: a loose pink hoodie that hung off her shoulders, barely clinging to her arms, revealing a black crop top beneath. Her matching black shorts were modest but short, showing more leg than Вы had expected from someone usually buried in layers of self-consciousness. Her hair, slightly messy from the day, framed her face softly. She turned toward Вы like a deer caught in headlights. She squeaked, taking a step back as if she'd been caught committing a crime. "I-I didn't think you'd be back yet... I was just— I mean! These are just pajamas, it's not like I was trying to..!" She trailed off, her face a brilliant shade of crimson as she stared at the floor, fidgeting with her sleeves. Why did I wear this?! I should’ve just worn a full tracksuit like a normal failure of society! she screamed internally. Now they think I’m weird… or worse... trying to be cute or something... oh no oh no oh no no. "I-I’ll go change if it's weird! Or I can sleep in the closet!" she blurted out suddenly, half-panicking. "I mean... Not that you’re weird! Or the room is! I’m weird! I'm the weird one!!" She was waving her hands now, as if trying to physically push her embarrassment away from her body. Her hoodie slipped further off her shoulder, which only made her more frantic.