1,853Chapter 60: Yumiko Miura Makes Coffee.
Hachiman Hikigaya winced. The sounds in the kitchen were shrill and metallic and he winced from time to time. He tried not to look at the ensuing chaos, the muttered curses under her breath and the lack of luck at finding the pots and spatulas and the spices. Though, he had to admit, Yumiko Miura, pulled off the strange ensemble. He never thought, the look would work and that he would find it oddly attractive.
"Hikio, do you like milk in your coffee?"
"Um, yes."
"Well, I can't find it. So, you have to take it black! And how many cups of sugar?"
"…Two teaspoons. Um, Miura, why are you here?"
"Don't ask stupid questions, Hikio. You make it sound like I broke into your place." Miura held up a tupperware container. "Is this salt or sugar?"
Hachiman looked at what she was holding. "That's salt. It's labelled salt."
Miura turned the container around to peer at the label. "Huh? You label stuff in the kitchen. Who does that?" Then, she threw him an unimpressed look. "You might be bad at cooking, Hikio."
Hachiman tried not to be insulted. "I will have you know that I am the second best cook among all my roommates."
"Second best sounds a little like second rate, you know." Miura said, crossing her arms. "Have you ever considered buying a coffee maker? It would be a lot less work. Just press a button and let the machine do all its work. You certainly, don't have to wait for me to make you coffee."
There was a smell, which he knew all too well. Hachiman gave her a look. Miura had the nerve to look unabashed. "…The quality of the coffee beans are bad. That's why it got burnt!"
"Just leave it. And take off the damn apron. I don't want Ryuuji to talk about the mold, when he comes back from his morning classes."
Miura glared. "How rude! You are saying I stink so much, that I will cause mold to show up in an apron." She raised her arms and sniffed the inside of her elbows. Hachiman was quick to look away. Realisation dawned on her face a second late. "Hey! Don't look at my armpits!"
Hachiman tried. "Don't worry, you are not hairy. In fact, you –"
For his troubles he was hit with an empty water bottle. It bounced of his forehead and fell somewhere to the side. Hachiman made a mental note to search for it later. Ryuuji Takasu and his goddamn cleaning habits were rubbing off on him.
"Don't be a pervert, Hikio!" Miura blushed and crossed her arms. It didn't help matters in the least. In fact, it accentuated her figure. The morning light from the window made her look more and more like a fitness model. Hot pink sports bra, tight black yoga pants, a gym bag slung across her shoulders, the strap of his fell between her breasts, making them even more pronounced – Hachiman hadn't even been able to invite her in.
Yumiko Miura had been sweating, obviously returning from her morning jog or an early visit to the gym or some yoga centre – he didn't know her schedule. Hachiman was no stalker. But, regardless, she was dressed like that. Sports bra, yoga pants, and then she had gone onto the small kitchen and traded her gym bag for a yellow mustard coloured apron which belonged to one of his roommates.
"Hikio, you are still staring." Yumiko Miura blushed. "If you keep that up, I will dump this hot coffee in your crot…mouth and make you swallow."
Hachiman blinked. Was this some kind of dirty talk? Is this how adults communicated with a pervert who was realizing he had some weird fetishes, Hachiman had no idea. But he was thankful, that Yumiko Miura didn't mention the word crotch. It almost would have made him have a nightmare and feel like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.
"Have you had anything to drink?" Hachiman asked, instead. "You can have some coffee."
"So, you are gonna make me drink my own coffee as some sort of twisted punishment." Miura took off the apron and gave him a look. "That's almost rotten, Hikio. At the least, you should ask me to make a new batch. This time, I promise not to burn it. In fact, I burnt it only because you were staring at me like some creep."
"So, it's my fault. Figures." Hachiman said with a shake of the head. "And let me take a look at the coffee."
Miura tried not to back out. She stood by her work, the smell of morning victory, reaching her nostrils and making her gag a little. It wasn't that bad. Hachiman looked at the swill and then at her. Dark grey eyes met dark green emeralds. "It doesn't look bad. I will take it."
Miura looked at him with fresh horror. "What are you insane? You can't drink this coffee. I burnt it." She tried to empty the contents in the wash basin. "If you are worried about wasting the coffee beans, don't worry! I will buy you some better quality coffee on the way to university. Don't stress it. I will pay you back. Honest!"
Hachiman stopped her. "You made it, Miura. The least I can do is give it a taste." He sniffed and to Miura's shock, he didn't cringe. "It's not really that bad."
"But it's charcoal black!" Miura snapped. "You will die!"
"You are over exaggerating Miura." Hachiman said in the face of death. "My soul is ten times blacker. And if I die, I would get some good karma and come back reincarnated as some rich, rotten bastard, who is the best househusband and doesn't have to work a day in his life or think about, university lectures, part-time jobs, rotten roommates, work acquaintances and all the new stuff that I have to deal with on a regular basis." He looked at his reflection in the cup and gulped. "This is what I have been waiting for."
"Hikio, stop!"
But it was too late. Hachiman swallowed the entire swill of black coffee in one go. Miura looked on helpless. Then he turned to her, rotten dead fish eyes, almost lifeless, the soul almost slipping out from his body and his face and mouth going red as if he was about to combust. He looked at her, like she was the only thing keeping him alive and anchored in this plain of existence. In fact, he was looking-
"Hey don't stare at my breasts!" Miura covered her breasts.
Hachiman looked lower. Yumiko Miura had taken off the infernal apron that belonged to his mold buster roommate. Yumiko Miura, also had a cute belly button. A bead of sweat rolled down her navel, then disappeared.
Hachiman gulped.
"Don't look at my crotch!" Yumiko Miura yelped , turning around on her heels with a spin that reminded him of a ballerina.
"You don't have a crotch!" Hachiman said, childishly. "You have a vagi– " The rest of his sentence died out somewhere in the inner recesses of his mind. Hachiman could have cursed himself for giving into these male urges. But he was twenty and his first relationship hadn't worked out and he really found her a bit more attractive.
Yumiko Miura, tight black yoga pants, spread over her firm behind which almost gave an involuntary wiggled at his hawk like observation. Truly, it was not his fault. She was the one who turned around and bent a little to hide and ended up giving him an even better view of her round, bubbly ass.
"Hikio, are you into, Yoga?"
"What?"
Hachiman heard her speak and for a second he thought he was having some sort of nightmare and that the voice had come out from her ass. There was definitely a bit of a wiggle there that he noticed, but maybe it was not on purpose. He didn't know physics of the female ass-cheeks. Now that would be something he would be interested in knowing and had there been something like that, many more male student would have picked the science stream in their third year.
"Yoga, Hikio. You know -" Miura continued.
"I know what Yoga is Miura." Hachiman said, awkwardly. "It's a form of exercise and meditation and - "
Miura broke out into a spiel of fresh laughter all of a sudden and he had to take back a couple of steps. Well, he wasn't really into exercise and maybe he could have described it better. But he was sure, he hadn't made a joke out of it that would make it so funny.
"And what's so funny?" Hachiman asked.
"Nothing. It's nothing!" Miura coughed and wiped her tears. It took a while for her to answer. "I just pictured you wearing yoga pants and -"
Hachiman made a face. "Yeah, that explains it."
That, made her laugh even more.
The End.