Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 9: Oversized Sweaters and Greek Greetings (Patreon)

“I-Is it really okay for me to tag along?” Yui asked, her voice a soft, nervous whisper as she awkwardly matched my pace, careful to stay half a step behind me like a lost little chick trailing after its mother.

“Yes,” I nodded, glancing back at her. “You plan on staying at the library until closing again tonight, right?”

“Ugh...” Yui flinched, shrinking into her oversized clothes. She knew she was going to stay until the doors locked because she simply had nowhere else to force herself to work, even if she felt guilty for troubling the staff. “I-I am so sorry for the inconvenience!”

“It’s fine. But if you pass out from low blood sugar again tonight, you’re definitely going to cause a massive panic for the evening shift.”

“Ugh...”

I couldn’t help but look at her helplessly before softening my tone. “But, are you actually okay with eating at the place I’ve picked out?”

“Ah, um, yes. I don’t mind at all,” Yui nodded quickly.

Honestly, she probably didn’t care what we ate. She looked entirely devoid of appetite. Her mind was likely still trapped in the agonizing spiral of her writer’s block, desperately searching for a single drop of inspiration to escape the slump that had been haunting her. But the moment she had spotted me walking out for my lunch break, she had instinctively followed me out the doors.

I certainly wasn't her mother, but anyone could tell Yui was drowning. And even if I couldn’t say it out loud, I knew what she desperately needed right now was the sun.

Stepping out onto the bustling Kamakura streets, the midday heat washed over us. Yui’s skin was incredibly pale, almost translucent, completely untouched by the summer sun. Despite the heavy, frumpy cardigan she wore to hide her figure, a thin sheen of sweat had formed on her fair neck. She looked like fragile, beautiful snow that might melt if touched too roughly.

She really is breathtaking, I thought.

I remembered seeing her author portrait in a famous literary magazine a few years ago. The confident, radiant young woman in that interview felt worlds apart from the gloomy, slouching girl walking beside me now. The creative industry was notoriously brutal. Yet, this current, vulnerable version of her had its own dangerous charm—giving off the incredibly soft, gentle aura of a woman who was just a little too easy to push around.

Still, beneath that fragile exterior, I knew she had a raging fire inside her. To fight against a multi-year slump and still desperately show up to the library every single day to write—that took an insane amount of willpower.

I knew I couldn’t magically fix her manuscript. But I did know that you couldn't write on an empty stomach and a broken spirit. Instead of chaining herself to an ergonomic chair and staring at a blinking cursor, she needed to step outside, feel the breeze, and actually look at the world she was trying to write about.

It was easy for me to say, of course. I had the ultimate safety net: a stable, guaranteed civil servant paycheck. But for a novelist whose entire livelihood depended on royalties and the unpredictable whims of the market? The fear of the words suddenly stopping must have been paralyzing. It might be fine to coast on savings for a year or two, but what about a decade? Two decades? What if she wanted to start a family?

“................”

Let’s stop thinking about that.

That kind of heavy future was way too far away. My job right now wasn't to be her life coach; it was just to accompany her and hopefully lift the heavy burden off her chest for an hour. If I tried to involve myself too deeply in her personal life, I’d be overstepping my bounds.

After all, no matter how friendly we were, I was just a municipal librarian, and she was just a patron.

You could call it a friendship, but as an adult, I was highly cynical about labeling things. Adult friendships were incredibly fragile. A "good friendship" could end in five seconds the moment someone tried to pitch me a multi-level marketing scheme, sell me useless online classes, beg to borrow money, or ask me to co-sign a loan. The moment any of that happened, I would instantly, heartlessly cut ties. I had worked too hard for my peaceful, stable life to let someone else's mistakes tear it apart.

But Yui wasn’t like that. She was a genuinely good, sweet person, and I truly just wanted to see her smile.

“I’m not sure if it will suit your tastes, but this shop has a lot of great options,” I said, guiding her down a narrower side street where the salty sea breeze mixed with the mouth-watering aroma of fried food.

“What kind of food?” she asked, her curiosity finally peaking through her gloom.

“Comfort food. The kind of warm, homey stuff your parents would make. It’s simple, but I crave it on days when I just want to relax.”

“Oh...” Yui’s expression softened into something incredibly melancholic. “I haven't visited my parents in a while... I can't wait to see this plac—”

Gyuuuuu.

A long, pitiful, and undeniably loud rumble suddenly vibrated from her stomach, echoing clearly in the narrow street.

“................”

Yui froze instantly. She slapped both of her hands over her stomach, inadvertently pressing her arms directly beneath her massive chest, completely emphasizing the lush, heavy curves her cardigan was supposed to hide. She lowered her head, her face burning so hot I could practically see the steam rising from her ears.

“I’m glad you’re so excited about the food,” I said, my voice entirely deadpan, desperately trying to hold my smile.

Even though her long black bangs were hiding her eyes, the bright crimson blush spreading down her fair neck was completely exposed.

“...You are such a bully, Motoi-san,” she pouted, glancing up at me with teary, embarrassed eyes.

“Sensei is just too cute, after all.”

“C-Cute...?!”

The casual praise completely shattered whatever composure she had left. Her face turned a brilliant, ripened-tomato red, and her lips parted in a soft, breathless gasp as she looked at me in pure shock.

Was it the truth? Or was I just playfully dodging her accusation? Before Yui could process the sudden romantic tension spiking in the summer heat, I stopped walking.

“We’ve arrived.”

“Pegasus... Bento Shop?” Yui blinked, reading the bright blue awning.

It was a tiny, takeout-only storefront tucked between two older buildings, just a few minutes from the library. The name was undeniably dramatic for a place selling fried chicken and rice, and the logo was a surprisingly detailed, winged mythological horse.

“The owner is a massive Saint Seiya fan,” I casually dropped the trivia I had learned a few days ago.

“That retro armored battle manga?”

“Did you read it too, Sensei?”

“I did, but...” Yui shifted her weight awkwardly, her thigh brushing against her skirt. She looked up at me through her thick-rimmed glasses. “Could you... maybe not call me 'Sensei' anymore?”

“Is that okay?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

“Um,” she nodded slowly. “Calling me Sensei in public might attract too much attention...”

She was right. Even though she was currently in a slump, she was still a millionaire bestseller. She hated being recognized; she just wanted to write in peace. The pressure of carrying her fans' heavy expectations was exactly what had crushed her love for the craft in the first place.

“So, what should I call you?” I asked. “Actually... now that I think about it, we’ve never properly introduced ourselves.”

“You’re right.”

We both let out a soft laugh. It was incredibly weird. We had spent so much time together in the quiet aisles of the library, yet I only knew her as "Sensei," and she only knew me by the surname printed on my cheap plastic nametag.

“Then again, you actually know my name, Sensei.”

She knew my surname, but I technically didn’t know her real name. She strictly used a pen name for all her publications to protect her privacy from overly obsessed fans. Still, as the librarian, I knew her real name because she had to present her identity card when she borrowed the book.

“Amami Yui,” she said softly, the summer breeze catching a few strands of her dark hair.

“Amami Yui?”

“That’s my real name,” she explained, her voice shy but melodic. “Amami means 'heavenly ocean,' and Yui means 'tying garments.'”

“Amami Yui...” I tested the name on my tongue. It felt perfect. Amami perfectly represented the vast, brilliant depths of her creative mind, and Yui perfectly matched her adorable habit of wrapping herself tightly in oversized clothes to hide from the world.

I kept that second thought strictly to myself.

“It doesn’t really suit me, does it...?” she muttered, her shoulders slumping into a gloomy posture again.

“No, not at all. It’s a genuinely beautiful name. I’m really glad to finally know it.”

“O-Oh...” Yui’s eyes widened, her chest rising in a sharp breath. She stared at me, completely flustered, clearly wondering how on earth I could say something so direct and embarrassing without even blinking.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Your name...”

“My name?”

“What is your full name? It isn't fair if I’m the only one who introduced myself.”

Was this how the game was played? I smiled and decided to play along.

“Shizuki Motoi. That’s my name... Amami-san.”

The moment the syllables left my mouth, it felt incredibly intimate. Calling her by her real name instead of her professional title sent a strange thrill through me, though it would definitely take some getting used to.

“Shizuki Motoi?” she repeated.

“Shizuki from Shizu (quiet, calm), and Ki (tree or timber). And Motoi means foundation, or cornerstone.”

“That suits you perfectly!” Yui suddenly exclaimed, stepping slightly closer.

“What do you mean?” I raised an eyebrow. Was she subtly trying to say I was boring and wooden?

“N-No! I mean, it’s a wonderful name!” she panicked, waving her soft hands in front of her chest. “You’re just... you’re very reliable. You’re calm and supportive. So... I think the name fits you beautifully.”

In her mind, Motoi was an absolute pillar of stability. Even though he had only been at the library for a few weeks, he handled everything effortlessly, making him someone she subconsciously wanted to lean on.

“...............”

I wasn’t entirely sure what to say, but I could suddenly feel a deep, burning heat rising in my own cheeks.

Was it just the temperature of Kamakura? It was freaking hot at noon, after all.

“Ahem. Shall we go order now, Sensei—” I caught myself as Yui’s cheeks instantly puffed out in annoyance, making her look exactly like an angry, adorable pufferfish. “I mean, Amami-san.”

“Yes, Motoi-san.”

She smiled, and the sheer radiance of it felt like an absolute cheat code.

Stunned by her sweet expression for a dangerous second, I quickly shook my head to wake myself up and stepped toward the shop’s counter.

“After you, Amami-san.”

“Y-Yes.”

Yui stepped up beside me, her heart fluttering. She couldn't deny that Motoi looked incredibly cute when he was shy—especially since she had a perfect view of how red the tips of his ears had become.

But her romantic daydream was instantly shattered the moment the chubby shop owner slammed his hands on the counter and practically bellowed his greeting at them.

“KALOSORISATE!”

Yui jumped, completely stunned.

Yup. This bento shop was definitely weird.