A Peaceful Sunday Morning
Why is it that the moment you wake up, you're still so incredibly sleepy?
“Haaawn—…. Mmm….”
I let out a yawn that nearly split my face open, and with a foggy head I found myself turning that question over in my mind.
The last day of the weekend. Sunday.
That morning.
“Hwaam…. Nngh….”
I wriggled under the covers, clutching my pillow in a halfhearted stand against the sleep that kept rolling back in.
Really, why was morning always this drowsy?
It wasn't as if I'd stayed up late, and I hadn't tossed and turned either. I'd clearly slept well—and yet every morning I was this sleepy.
“….”
Maybe humans had evolved wrong.
Shouldn't we have evolved so that sleep fell away the instant we opened our eyes? I couldn't understand why evolution had decided yesterday's fatigue should just keep trailing after us like this.
I'd rather sleep a few more hours if it meant the tiredness vanished completely.
“…Mmm.”
As I drifted through those useless thoughts, I gradually felt the drowsiness begin to lift.
Sunlight warmed my back and filled the room with light.
No matter how much I complained, the truth was that a few minutes after getting up, the sleep was gone. Today was no different.
I pushed the blanket aside and sat up, stretching my body long and slow.
Drawing a breath into my still-hazy head, I felt the faintly cool autumn air fill my lungs and leave again.
“…Bathroom.”
The sleep was peeling away little by little. I was still drowsy, though.
In that same blank state I rustled myself out of bed and padded over to the bathroom door.
I took hold of the knob and clicked it open—
“…Ah.”
“Mm?”
There was Cecilia, toothbrush in her mouth.
She was in a thin short-sleeved indoor shirt, her hair gathered loosely into a ponytail.
In the brief quiet that followed, she spat out the foam with a soft pteu, rinsed once, and spoke lightly.
“Good morning, Eunhyuk.”
A bright, clear smile turned toward me.
Looking at that expression—as bright as the morning sun itself—I felt a warm little corner of my chest loosen.
“…Good morning, Cecilia.”
And so, still half dazed, we exchanged our greetings.
““Thanks for the meal.””
We said it in unison and rose from our seats.
Cecilia promptly gathered the dishes and carried them to the sink, while I gave the table a quick wipe in the meantime. A neat little division of labor.
“Let’s see….”
Almost the same moment the water began to rush, her hands started moving.
The soft scrape of scrubbing and a faint hum filled the bright room.
“You could just let them pile up a little. There aren’t that many anyway.”
“Still, isn’t it better to finish them right away?”
“…I guess so.”
I rinsed out the dishcloth, watching Cecilia’s hands work through the dishes with quiet efficiency.
“? What is it?”
“Nothing. Just worried your hands might get dry.”
“My hands?”
She blinked down at her wet fingers.
“They don’t really feel like anyth—”
“Even so, if you keep getting them wet, they dry out easily. Especially in fall and winter. Something for moisture… let’s see….”
I hung up the wrung-out cloth and headed for the drawer unit.
In the bottom drawer—more storage bin than drawer, really, where we kept the small odds and ends—
“Here it is.”
I pulled out a bottle of moisturizing lotion that was still nearly full.
One of the daily essentials we’d bought the last time we went for underwear. Buying it had been fine; using it had never quite happened, so it had just sat in the drawer.
“Moisturizing hand lotion…. Perfect.”
“What’s that?”
Cecilia finished the dishes in a hurry and came over, drying her hands on a towel as she asked.
Instead of answering, I popped the cap open with a sharp click.
“Can I see your hands for a second?”
She tilted her head, puzzled, but held them out anyway.
Small and soft—though a little dry right now. I gently took them and squeezed a dab of lotion onto her palms.
“Ah—cold.”
She flinched at the first touch, but that was all. After that she simply stared at the white liquid on her hands with open curiosity.
“So… what do I do with this? It doesn’t look like something you eat.”
“You rub it into your hands. Like this….”
I set the bottle aside and, by way of demonstration, began working the lotion into her skin myself.
First I spread the white cream evenly around her hands, then slid my palms over hers, massaging it in with slow strokes.
…It felt remarkably soft.
Cecilia’s small hands. Me, kneading them between both of mine.
A beat late, the situation started to feel a little embarrassing.
“I—I can do it myself, Eunhyuk.”
“Ah. Yeah.”
Apparently she felt the same. With a faintly flushed face she slipped her hands free of mine.
“Mmm, like this…?”
Using the lotion as lubricant, she rubbed her palms together and glanced up at me for confirmation.
I nodded.
A little wonder layered itself over the color in her cheeks as she murmured,
“It feels kind of strange…. Nice smell. But it’s all slippery.”
“It’ll soak in soon enough. After you do the dishes, or whenever your hands feel dry—just squeeze some out and put it on.”
As I said it, I noticed lotion on my own hands too—leftover from putting it on hers.
“Hm….”
I rubbed my palms together, spreading it thin.
Halfway through, the soft feel of those small hands came back to me, and a faint heat rose under my skin.
“?”
A little shy, I looked away.
That I’d idly thought I wish I’d held them a little longer was a secret I intended to keep.
Time drifted on like that.
Around eleven in the morning, both of us were lounging with books.
“Come to think of it, I never asked….”
Cecilia was lying on her stomach on the bed, working through a collection of short stories. Watching her, I finally put the question that had been sitting in the back of my mind into words.
“Hm?”
“Does your tail feel okay? That was the main reason we went clothes shopping, after all.”
“Ah, this?”
She set the book down on the bed and twisted to look behind her. From the small of her back, a silver-white tail swayed gently side to side.
“Mmm~…. Definitely a lot better than before.”
“Well, we did switch to better pants.”
“It’s still a little tight, though. Just a tiny bit.”
I nodded, listening.
Even after picking for tail room, size, and fabric, it was still a little confining. Mildly disappointing—but she’d said it was better than before, so I supposed we ought to be content with that.
To make it any more comfortable than this, we’d probably have to…
“…Get something custom-made, short of that….”
“C-custom-made? Isn’t that expensive?”
“…It is. Probably.”
At that, Cecilia looked at me with a worried expression that said then we don’t have to buy it. I nodded back.
Even if I made decent money for a convenience-store part-timer, I didn’t have the kind of savings that let me throw custom clothes around freely. And Cecilia wouldn’t want anything that expensive either.
This one would have to stay on hold.
“Well, sooner or later clothing stores will start carrying beastkin clothes one by one.”
“…You think so?”
“They will. Probably.”
I couldn’t be certain, of course.
Still—where there’s demand, products follow. Once otherworlders became a public fact of life and started working and living in earnest, related goods would surely begin to appear.
When that would be, I had no idea.
“Let’s talk about something else, Cecilia.”
“Ah, okay.”
“Are you really fine without pajamas? The clothes themselves aren’t cheap, but picking up a couple extra sets wouldn’t be a big problem.”
The next topic was her sleepwear.
Originally we’d planned to buy pajamas for her during yesterday’s shopping trip, but she’d objected and the idea had been dropped. Which was why she was currently in plain shorts and a short-sleeved shirt.
Well, that looked comfortable enough in its own way, so it wasn’t really a problem. The question was pure curiosity.
“Those… pajamas. They’re clothes you change into every night, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know—I’m just not used to the idea itself…. Isn’t regular clothes enough?”
“Hmm.”
Honestly, I didn’t wear separate pajamas either, so when she put it like that I didn’t have much of a comeback. After a short think I opened my mouth again.
“I’ve heard the fabric feels nice, or that it helps you sleep better….”
“I kind of feel like… do I really need that?”
“Well, it’s a matter of taste. I was just curious.”
Everyone had different preferences; I wasn’t about to give her a hard time for not wearing them. It would have been pretty ridiculous coming from someone who didn’t wear them himself.
“Then my turn. One question for you.”
“Hm?”
She closed the book she’d set down with a soft tap and looked over. Judging by how thin the remaining pages had been, she’d finished it.
“Is that book any good?”
“This?”
I fluttered the volume I was holding; she nodded.
“Eh… so-so? Good enough to kill time with.”
After a brief pause I gave her the honest take.
Ordinary fantasy. An ordinary novel. It had started as a web serial and been bound into a book, so the pacing was relatively brisk—but beyond that, it was unremarkable. A familiar kind of story with nothing particularly striking about it.
“Can I try reading it?”
“I don’t mind, but I’m not sure it’ll be your thing. It’s a little male-oriented….”
I set my current book aside and reached for the first volume of the series on the shelf.
“Here.”
“Thanks.”
She took it and began turning the pages at an unhurried pace.
I watched the soft flip, flip of paper for a moment, then returned my eyes to my own book.
The quiet stretched on, paper rustle and breathing mixed together.
Sunday. A peaceful day.
There was still plenty of time left until tomorrow.