CHAPTER 02
(Roland’s Point of View)
Iris can be scary sometimes. She’s too precise — she leaves no room to escape.
But that scariness has the color of the midday sea — it pushes me straight toward the light.
“Is the tea too sweet?”
“‘Sweetness: moderate.’ Since your smile’s here, the balance is just right.”
“You just said ‘balance,’ didn’t you?”
Iris smiled softly and handed me a tube of hand cream.
“Your hands are dry. They’re getting scraped by all the paperwork.”
“Thanks.”
I opened the small bottle. A scent of citrus and honey drifted out.
Her fingers brushed the back of my hand, leaving warmth behind.
(Right after I wrote ‘kind of cute’ on the self-evaluation form, this is cheating, isn’t it?)
While silently protesting, I obediently rubbed the cream in.
“Iris.”
“Yes?”
“I— no, I… like the parts of you that can’t be measured.”
“The parts that can’t be… measured?”
“For example, when you suddenly fall silent — like you’ve lost your way beyond the data.
But that hesitation always comes from trying not to hurt anyone.
That part of you… I like.”
Saying it out loud made me a little afraid.
‘Like’ can’t be quantified, and yet I said it anyway.
Iris lowered her gaze and smiled faintly.
“…I dislike uncertain things. But that ‘like’ just now… I don’t dislike it.”
Somewhere deep in my chest, I heard the sound of a thread coming undone.
