Sanagi’s face was scrunched in pain, and she held a hand over her right cheek, scratched by Kousaka. When she removed her hand, he saw a wound about a centimeter long bleeding dark red blood. She slowly looked at the blood on her palm, then slowly looked toward Kousaka. I did it again, Kousaka thought. “…I was just going to say I was leaving,” Sanagi said without inflection. “Did you hate me touching you that much?” Kousaka hastily apologized, but Sanagi wouldn’t hear it. With a scornful glare, she took her bag and left the room, slamming the door shut. Kousaka just stood there for a while. The slamming sound of the door kept echoing deep within his ears. Then he remembered something, took off the bed sheets and pillow cover, went to the bathroom, and took off his clothes. He tossed them all in the washing machine, hit the switch, and took a shower. She’ll probably never come here again. So he thought. Kousaka couldn’t speak about his obsessive cleanliness this late on. It had been a reaction he would demonstrate to anyone, not a special dislike of being touched by Sanagi. If he did honestly confess it to her, she might just take it as a poor excuse… but it would still be far better than not