Careful What You Think, Pervert! (My Dirty Thoughts Became Real)-Chapter 25: “We Are Now Trapped in the Most Cliché Setup Possible, and My Life Is Over.”
Chapter 25 - “We Are Now Trapped in the Most Cliché Setup Possible, and My Life Is Over.”
Setting: After-school cleanup duty.Location: The cursed supply room behind the gym.Mood: Tension. Dust. Emotional claustrophobia.
It started like this:
"Hey Kazuki, help me move these mats."
That was Aya.
Then: "Sensei said to check the costume shelf."
That was Kokoro.
I was dumb enough to follow both instructions at once.
And now?
The door is closed.
The lock is jammed.
We are trapped.
Me.
Aya.
Kokoro.
One tiny supply room.
One brain slowly short-circuiting.
"Did you seriously lock us in?" Kokoro deadpanned.
"No! The door's just old and the latch is weird and—"
Aya sat down on a crate with a dramatic sigh.
"So this is it. We die here. Trapped between awkward feelings and a mop that smells like mold."
Kokoro crossed her arms. "I'd rather be trapped with the mop."
I opened my mouth to argue.
Then shut it.
Because honestly?
Fair.
Minute 3 of Confinement:
No one speaks.
I'm sweating.
Not from heat.
From dread.
Aya finally breaks the silence.
"Alright, Kazuki. Truth time."
Kokoro narrows her eyes. "Oh no."
Aya smirks. "Yes. It's the classic trope moment. Small room, no escape, raw emotional exposure."
"I hate tropes," I mumble.
Aya leans in.
"You love them."
She's not wrong.
I'm the main character in a slow-burn romcom where my thoughts become reality. The trope-ometer exploded three arcs ago.
Aya claps her hands.
"Let's play a game. Everyone gets one question. No dodging. No lies."
Kokoro: "I'm out."
Aya: "Coward."
Me: "Can I just evaporate instead?"
Aya: "Nope! I'll go first."
She turns to me, eyes laser-focused.
"Do you want me?"
My heart flatlined.
"W-What kind of—"
"One question. No dodging. I warned you."
Kokoro looks away.
I can't breathe.
The words are on the tip of my tongue.
But they're all wrong.
Aya smiles.
It's small. Soft.
Sad.
"You don't have to say yes. I just wanted to hear the silence and know what it meant."
She leans back.
"Your turn."
I'm too stunned to move.
So she gestures toward Kokoro.
"Ask her. Come on."
I look at Kokoro.
Her arms are crossed.
Her eyes unreadable.
But her breath is shaky.
I ask, without meaning to:
"Why do you still wait for me?"
Her gaze cuts into me.
Then softens.
"I stopped."
Silence.
Then, she adds:
"But some part of me still hoped you'd stop making me."
Aya: "Oof."
Kokoro: "Shut up."
Aya: "No, that was poetic and tragic. Like an indie drama with sad piano music."
Me: "Can we not die like this?"
Aya: "Kokoro, your turn."
Kokoro doesn't even hesitate.
"If your powers didn't exist—would you have ever noticed us?"
The question hits like a punch to the soul.
I stare at my shoes.
"...I don't know."
Kokoro nods. Quietly. Like she expected that answer.
"But I do know this," I add. "I didn't fall for you because of the powers. I panicked because of them. But the feelings..."
They came later.
Real.
Slow.
Terrifying.
Aya looks away.
Kokoro looks up.
And I want to run.
But I'm trapped.
In this room.
In this moment.
In this story.
Minute 17 of Confinement:
I sit between them.
They're quiet now.
Like the questions hurt too much.
Like the truth doesn't taste good anymore.
I speak.
"I can't fix everything. I can't stop being... me. And I don't know who I'm in love with."
Aya doesn't move.
Kokoro closes her eyes.
"But I know this," I say, "I want both of you in my life. Even if it's messy. Even if I don't deserve it."
Silence.
Then—
Kokoro: "You don't."
Aya: "But we still stayed."
Suddenly—BANG!
The door bursts open.
Natsuki-sensei stands there, holding a flashlight and a bottle of tea.
"...Did I just walk into a light novel climax?"
"No," I croak. "You walked into my emotional meltdown."
She sips her tea.
"About time. I was getting bored."
We walk out.
Back into the hallway.
Back into a school lit by sunset and regret.
Kokoro walks ahead.
Aya walks beside me.
And I walk knowing:
Something broke in that room.And something new started growing in the cracks.
Later That Night – My Room
I sit at my desk.
Notebook open.
And I write one sentence.
"I don't want the story to choose for me anymore."
Then I close the book.
Turn off the light.
And dream of two hands reaching out—
And not being afraid to take either one.
