37: Dorayaki

                                    

                                          
There was a problem.
                          
Clad in my pyjamas, hair a dishevelled mess on my shoulders, eyes squinted into slits, I gaped at the entity currently standing at the threshold of my front door. Tousled black hair, icy blue eyes, an indifferent countenance, an immaculate maroon uniform.
                          
He couldn't be real; had to have been a figment of my imagination my still sleepy mind had conjured up. Because there was no way...
                          
My grip on the doorknob tightened. I shoved it closed.
                          
"No Okito," I recited. Then gently reeled it open again. "Okito..."
                          
My eyebrows creased together. Frowning, I shut the door again.
                          
"No Okito... Okito..."
                          
Strange. He hadn't vanished. One more time.
                          
He slammed his palm against the back of the door before I could try.
                          
"Stop doing that already."
                          
His voice sent a newfound jolt through me, stripping me from my sleepy daze. I jerked back, scanning his exasperated frown and the counters of his very much real face.
                          
"Okito?!" I didn't care that I'd shouted. My mind was already spiralling beyond rational thought. "Th-the real one?"
                          
"As real as I'll get." Grateful that I'd come to my senses, he rose a plastic bag to proper eye level. "Is your mom home? Mine was so insistent I take this over—"
                          
"Wh-wha... Why are— Sabotage?" Words were spilling from my mouth in an incoherent swirl. "Are you here to poison me and officially take my position as president of the Baking Society? I knew this day would come!"
                          
I grasped at strands of my hair. Was this going to be my end? I let my guard down and he was going to let me have it, was that it? Oh no. What should I do?
                          
I barely heard him sigh.
                          
He calmly stuffed his hands back into his pockets, bag dangling from his arm. "And you're not listening..."
                          
"H-how many nights have you planned this? You thought I'd be easy in the morning didn't you? You're assured I'm some fragile maiden who can't protect herself?"
                          
He silently watched me panic for a while longer—handsome face still as ever—before speaking again, "Look, I only came here to give this to your mom. Stop jumping to weird conclusions."
                          
But I wasn't listening. Fists raised, I hopped from foot to foot. "Don't think you've won, Okito! I've concocted countless poisons in my lifetime—and yes, I'm talking about my desserts up until late. If you so desire I'll mercilessly conjure the ultimate toxin yet again to defeat you!"
                          
"The only thing I desire is you taking this detergent off my hands to give to your mom."
                          
"Y-you want me to drink detergent?!"
                          
"Didn't say that." He heaved another breath. It was after watching me for a split second longer that he did the unthinkable. Bending forward so that his face infiltrated my proximity, lips centimetres from mine, he called, deep voice screeching my heart to an abrupt halt, "Hello? Is anyone home?"
                          
A shiver darted up my spin, summoning goosebumps across my arms. I lurched back at once, shielding my mouth and hot cheeks with the fabric of my elbow. "D-don't get so close without warning, idiot. I'm home."
                          
Okito did me the favour of retreating. His poise still hadn't faltered, not that I expected otherwise. While I was the type to wear my emotions on my sleeve, he was an emotionless brick that took forever to revert to clay.