Whoosh—!
Aoyama was awakened by the sound of rain.
It was deafeningly loud, like countless palms slapping against rock all at once.
He opened his eyes to see the shelter’s entrance obscured by a gray curtain of water.
A fierce wind whipped moisture under the stone eaves, and the rain fell so densely that the trees just ten meters away were barely visible.
The campfire had gone out.
The ashes, soaked by the rain that had blown in, released only a few wisps of blue smoke that spiraled weakly in the damp air.
Aoyama frowned, quickly sat up, and began to gather kindling to restart the fire.
The lighter took two tries to spark a flame in the humid air.
He carefully piled dry twigs on top, shielding the ember to keep it from going out.
“…So cold.” Kasumigaoka Utaha’s voice came from behind him, terribly hoarse and strained with an unnatural nasal tone.
Aoyama turned to look.
She was curled up on the straw bedding, her whole body drawn into a tight ball.
She had her school blazer wrapped around her, yet she was still shivering.
Her face was flushed with an unhealthy crimson, a fine sheen of sweat covering her forehead, but her lips were even paler than the day before.
“What’s wrong?” Aoyama hurriedly dropped the firewood and knelt beside her.
He reached out to touch her forehead; it was scorching.
“You have a fever.” “…Nn~” Kasumigaoka Utaha’s eyelashes fluttered as she forced her eyes open a sliver.
Her red pupils were unfocused, veiled by a watery haze.
“I feel…
a little unwell…” “You caught a chill last night.” Aoyama touched the back of her school shirt; it was already soaked with sweat.
He considered for a moment before reaching out to remove the drenched blazer from her shoulders.
“Nn~” As the wind rushed in from beneath the stone eaves, her entire body shuddered again.
Aoyama made a quick decision.
In this kind of weather, if a patient with a high fever remained exposed to the draft, their condition would only worsen.
The straw bedding itself offered no real warmth.
The only solution was to provide a direct source of body heat.
Without hesitation, Aoyama sat down, lifted Utaha’s upper body, and pulled her into his arms.
Her back was pressed against his chest, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder.
“Aoyama-kun, what are you…” Utaha murmured dizzily, seemingly trying to speak.
“Don’t move.
We need to keep your body temperature up.” Aoyama draped his own school blazer over her front, blocking the cold wind pouring in from the eaves.
He freed one hand to pull the damp hem of her shirt out of her waistband, allowing the moisture to evaporate more quickly.
“Aoyama-kun…
I feel so sick…” Kasumigaoka Utaha’s body stiffened for less than a second before she went completely limp.
She snuggled deeper into Aoyama’s embrace, like a cat that had found a warm stove, her forehead resting against his collarbone, her nose pressed against the side of his neck.
Her breath was rapid and scorching, each exhale carrying a heat far above normal body temperature, fanning across Aoyama’s skin.
“Aoyama-kun…” Her voice was muffled, a jumble of sounds.
“Hmm?” “You’re so warm…” As she spoke, her arms wrapped around him, clutching his waist tightly.
The grip was much stronger than usual, like a drowning person clinging to a piece of driftwood, her ten fingers digging into his sides.
“Is that so?” Aoyama looked down at the black-haired head buried against his chest.
Her long hair lay scattered across him, the ends carrying a faint, musty scent of sweat.
With her back pressed firmly against his chest, he could clearly feel her rapid heartbeat thumping against his own ribcage through two layers of thin fabric.
“Still so much strength even with a fever like this,” Aoyama shook his head helplessly, freeing a hand to add a few more pieces of firewood to the blaze.
The flames leaped higher, casting an orange-red glow over them both and dispelling some of the dampness.
Just as he reached for the firewood, his gaze inadvertently swept over Kasumigaoka Utaha’s curled fingers.
Her hand had been clutching something, but it slipped loose as she hugged him tightly.
A small bundle of white fabric fell from her palm, landing on the straw mat beside her.
“What’s this?” Aoyama picked it up.
His gaze swept over the white women’s panties in his hand with astonishment.
The thin cotton fabric was wrinkled at the edges, clearly washed and wrung out.
It still felt slightly damp to the touch, though it was nearly dry.
There were no decorations on the fabric—it was plain and clean.
“…” Aoyama fell silent for a moment.
He looked at the white fabric in his hand, then glanced down at the feverish Kasumigaoka Utaha, who was still clinging to him for dear life.
Her skirt had ridden up because of her curled-up posture, exposing her fair thighs.
As the wind blew underneath, the fabric clung to the curves of her legs, fluttering gently.
“I see.” No wonder her walk had been so strange after her bath yesterday.
No wonder she had kept her head down, unable to meet his eyes.
Going commando for an entire night, combined with her clothes being soaked through and catching a chill—it was no wonder she’d caught a cold.
“And then there’s this damn weather.” With this in mind, Aoyama expressionlessly folded the panties in half and set them aside for a moment.
He said nothing—nor could he possibly say anything at a time like this.
Aoyama took out the thermos, unscrewed the cap, and placed it at the edge of the fire to let the water inside warm up slowly.
The flames licked the metal walls of the cup.
After about five or six minutes, steam began to rise from the water.
Aoyama took the cup down and tested the temperature.
“Just right.” Then he picked up the white panties again and spread them out.
Though the fabric was thin, it was absorbent and of a decent thickness.
He folded the panties neatly several times, shaping them into a long, narrow strip of cloth.
Then, he carefully poured the hot water from the thermos over it, letting the fabric soak up the liquid.
A makeshift hot compress was complete.
Aoyama gently unfolded the warmed strip of cloth and placed it on Kasumigaoka Utaha’s forehead.
The hot water seeped through the fabric, radiating a gentle warmth.
He carefully tucked the corners, letting the “towel” fit snugly against her forehead and temples.
“Mmm…” Kasumigaoka Utaha frowned, seemingly sensing the warmth on her forehead.
Her eyelids struggled open just a crack.
Her vision remained blurred for a long moment before it finally focused, revealing Aoyama’s face just inches away.
His chin was less than ten centimeters above her forehead, his jawline sharp and clean.
Stray hairs partially obscured his brow, and his dark eyes reflected the dancing flames of the fire.
Then, her gaze drifted downward.
She saw the…
thing…
Aoyama was holding in his hand.
White fabric.
A familiar shape.
It was the very same pair she had gritted her teeth to wash with cold water, scrubbed, wrung dry with all her might, and smuggled back hidden in her palm last night.
“…” Kasumigaoka Utaha’s pupils constricted sharply.
Even in her feverish haze, she recognized it instantly.
Her cheeks, already flushed from the fever, now burned from the roots of her ears down to her neck, and even her collarbones were stained a delicate pink.
“A…
Aoyama-kun…
That…” Her voice was incredibly hoarse, trembling on the verge of a breakdown.
“What…
what are you holding in your hand?”