Chapter Text
Two days, one night.
That was how long a book stayed on Miyuki Kazuya’s bedside table. Yet the journey this particular book took him through felt like an eternity.
He closed the book and put it on the coffee table in front of him, nearly knocking his half empty cup of coffee down. He then leaned back on the armchair he occupied in the corner of a busy coffee shop, its leather squeaking at the movement.
He couldn’t believe it was over.
Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to finish a book in public, because he felt an emptiness coiling around his heart that only suffocated him more the longer he had to suppress a dramatic display of sentiment.
It may have taken him a little over a day to read, but he invested plenty of his emotions into the characters and story— he watched them grow and evolve, watched them fail until they succeeded, watched them struggle and prevail— he watched them go through every twist and turn the plot took them on until it came to a beautiful conclusion.
He liked to consider himself a mere bystander in the story, so as it came to an end and his door to that specific world shut, he momentarily felt like things were over on his end too. Naturally, he would need some time to move forward from this. He needed to get it in his head that this was a one time experience that he would never relive the same way again, that those were characters he would never experience more with. Almost like losing a loved one.
And while he could simply read the book again, he didn’t want to. Kazuya had a policy of never reading the same book twice. Once he’d put it down, he put it down for good. A second read wouldn’t bring anything new to the table, it wouldn’t bring any new emotions, any new surprises— it wouldn’t feel as special as experiencing a book for the first time.
He took in a deep breath and sighed as he ran his fingers through his bouncy brown hair. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He might as well take a few moments to contemplate what he read before he moved on to his next book later. Reading its summary usually sufficed in helping him move on from his last read. It helped him get into the mindset of a new story— an exciting new world to navigate through.
He’d have to leave and go back to his apartment if he wanted to get started soon, though.
Kazuya picked his phone up off the table to go through the to-be-read list he kept in his notes.
When he found the name of the book he’d just closed sitting at the end of the list waiting to be checked and crossed out his brows shot up, knocking his glasses back down a bit.
He already went through his yearly list?
Two years prior, Kazuya set an ambitious goal of 100 books to read that year. One thing led to another, then a few other things got out of hand and in the way, and he couldn’t finish his list. So the following year, he cut his list nearly by half and actually stuck with it and managed to finish it.
He decided to keep the same goal for the current year— 52 books. A book per week, even though he always finished them in two days.
Still, it couldn’t have been possible. He didn’t break his rule that many times— so why was it only the second week of November with no books left on his TBR list?
Kazuya rose to his feet and was made aware of the growing throbbing ache in his head. He shoved his stuff in his tote bag, and took out his wallet with one destination in mind.
The nearest bookshop.
But first, he needed an extra sweetened double shot to-go to sooth his head and ease the pain.
Kazuya stood in front of the counter and placed his order. As he waited, his gaze travelled around from the pastry and bread on display, then up to the woven straw basket that sat on top of it. A little sign on its frontside caught his attention.
‘Please stop judging me by my appearance!’
At first he internally cringed at the cliché, then he raised a brow at the contents of the basket.
“Would you like anything else?”
Kazuya’s eyes shifted to the barista in front of him, then back to the basket. His question must have rang loud in her ears through the look in his eyes.
“Ah— these books are all staff picks,” she said. “We wrap the covers with brown craft paper to combat that saying about book covers. You know the one.”
“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Kazuya said.
The barista smiled. “Exactly,” she said. “Usually the title and author name would be scribbled on the wrappings, but to be honest with you, we got tired after a while,” she laughed. “Have you ever tried it?”
“I haven’t,” Kazuya shook his head.
“You should!” She said. “Think of it this way: how many experiences have you missed out on just because you didn’t like the cover or the description of a book?”
He couldn’t count the number of times he walked away from books sitting high on the best seller or top picks shelves in bookshops just because nothing attracted him enough to go near.
Kazuya went through several stages when picking books to add to his list. First, recommendations from friends and peers in his literature course. But because those weren’t enough to satisfy his hunger for reading, he’d often browse for recommendations on social media based on books he’d read and liked.
Usually, a simple, minimalistic cover was what he looked for at first. Of course, aesthetic art, striking photography, or a clever graphic design as covers weren’t out of the equation, but he preferred minimalism. Next would be the title, then the summary came after that. And if he liked all three, he would finally read through the first page to decide whether he liked the way the narrative was told or not.
It was quite the long process, but Kazuya was comfortable with it and he was almost always happy with his choices. He didn’t want to waste his time reading through something he would end up hating.
Over-particular for someone who aspired to work with authors and books for a living. But he’d deal with that when the time came.
“I can confidently say a lot,” Kazuya finally said. “But isn’t that the whole point of the visual at the front and the summary at the back?”
At least that was what he concluded through taught lectures. And as an editor, he’d make sure to work hard alongside his assigned authors for no one to be able to walk past their publications, let alone put them down mid-read.
She chuckled. “Not necessarily. Especially with self-published authors,” she said. “Not everyone can find proper editors or pay someone to design a fancy cover. They could turn out to be your favorite author for all you know. Give it a shot if it sounds interesting enough.”
Aside from ending up with something he already had, he had nothing to lose. The wrapped books weren’t as pricey as the ones he usually bought either. He couldn’t say it was within his budget seeing as he already bought and read everything on his list for the year, but perhaps sparing some extra bills for a new adventure would do him good.
Kazuya laughed along with her. “I’d buy one, but what if I end up with something I already read?”
The barista hummed. “I’d be able to arrange for you to return it for another one,” she said. “You can grab one and open it right now to check, if you’d like.”
Kazuya didn’t even need to consider it any further. He needed a book, and a trip to the bookshop sounded rather tedious at the moment. Besides, he knew his shopping habits well enough to know he wouldn’t be walking out of there with just one book at hand. That, and he could hear the pitter patter of rainfall somewhere in the back of this pleasant conversation. It sounded like a fun idea and an easy way to find new favorite authors, too.
He reached out and took the third book out of the pile of four— it was a paperback that felt a bit heavy, but it didn’t feel like there were a lot of pages. 200, at most, Kazuya estimated from years spent losing himself in books of various weights and dimensions.
Kazuya could feel the weight of quality paper as well, and pleaded for it to be coated.
Because 80# coated paper, presumably— hopefully— with premium ink, smelled as good as it felt to flip through.
He gently ripped the packaging off to reveal a black book with a blurred picture that stretched through the lower end blended up into the color. The title sat neatly in the topmost center.
words left unsaid
Kazuya’s eyes went farther down to the right, directly below the title, where the author’s name was written in a slightly smaller font. Kurosawa Mikoto.
He really has never heard of them. That’s one purpose of the brown paper wrappings fulfilled.
Though that kanji looked a bit familiar, Kazuya shrugged the thought away before it even came.
Kazuya’s scanned the black and white picture on the cover. Although a major part of the photograph was stylistically and cleverly motion-blurred out, he could make out a photo of two young boys standing against what seemed to be metallic railing.
The book slipped out of his grip and dropped, and Kazuya let out a sheepish chuckle. He brushed it off as his clumsiness, then he bent down to pick up the book.
“Have you read this one?” The barista’s curiosity had her bend over the counter to peek at his arbitrary selection. “It’s actually one of my picks!”
Kazuya shook his head. “Looks intriguing enough though.”
“It’s a beautiful collection of poetry and prose,” she said. “Read the disclaimer at the back.”
Not poetry…
Kazuya took off the rest of the packaging and balled it up in one hand, while the other turned the book over.
This is for you.
I’m not ready to tell you any of this and I know you hated poetry. Chances of you finding this collection are little to none, but I hope maybe one day if you do find it and do read it, that I’ll be ready.
And that this book and these words would bring our chapter to a close once and for all.
That this book would bring closure for me,
and maybe even for you.
Kazuya blinked and his heart hammered against his ribcage as he finished going through the text. The potential for drama in this is insane, to say the least.
From the summary, all the pieces seemed to be written with someone specific in mind. It wasn’t anything new, especially not with poetry— or so Kazuya’d learned when he tried venturing into it. It wasn’t his cup of tea, though.
On top of it being about someone specific, it was directed at whoever that person may be as well. A part of Kazuya felt like reading this would be a total invasion of privacy, as it felt personal. But as long as it wasn’t his privacy, and as long as it kept him occupied from spending above his budget in a bookstore, he’d invade it, as intended.
A smile pulled the corners of his lips as he paid the barista, thanked her, and put the book in his tote bag. He couldn’t wait to start reading.
So he rushed home.
——————
Kazuya’s roommate and childhood friend, Kominato Ryousuke, wasn’t home with their dinner yet by the time he got back. But that wasn’t anything new.
Bouncing from one foot to the other as he moved around their apartment for two, Kazuya decided to take that time to clean himself up and slip into some comfortable clothing all the while his bichon frise, Mochi, hovered around him seeking his attention. Or maybe he was just curiously trying to figure out what his co-owner was up to. Either way, Kazuya wasn’t in the mood to run around and play with the fluffy white ball of energy that had been stuck at doggy daycare all day.
He wanted to wrap himself up in a fleece blanket and sit in the veranda, windows slid-open, with the book in his hands and Mochi on his lap— so maybe the type of attention Kazuya wanted to give the dog wasn’t exactly the type of attention the dog was demanding, but it’d have to do until Ryousuke got back and took him for his walk.
He didn’t understand where this patience to delay cracking open his new book for as long as he had came from. Had it been anything besides poetry, he would’ve never shoved it in his tote bag in the first place— he’d have already been half-way through reading it on a bench during his walk back home. Maybe half-way was an exaggeration, nonetheless he’d have read some of it already.
But he didn’t. He was nervous enough as it was— the kind of nervous one’d get when setting things up to start something new without any interruptions.
Kazuya wasn’t going to assume that this was going to be a bad experience just because it was a poems and prose collection. No, he planned on going into this with a clear, unbiased mind. He would try to interpret the words and try to find meaning behind them and he would try to enjoy it.
“Come on, Mochi,” Kazuya said as he slid open the veranda’s doors, the tumbling from their washer-dryer there seeping through the entryway. Mochi excitedly strode past him, mouth gaped as he sat down and awaited what his owner would do next.
Kazuya set his newly obtained book on the table, then picked Mochi up and sat with his legs crossed on the chair, laying the dog down on his lap as he shielded them both from the cold with the fleece blanket wrapped over his torso.
He started running his fingers through Mochi’s fur while the other hand picked the book up, and he swore he could feel Mochi’s disappointment by the way his head dropped on his forearm.
But as Kazuya was about to flip the cover to start reading, Mochi’s head perked up— as if he sensed the arrival of the his true owner and savior from another lazy reading night with Kazuya. Much like his namesake and Ryousuke’s partner, Kuramochi Youichi, Mochi preferred Ryousuke over him. The only difference being Mochi didn’t hate Kazuya’s presence.
Due to the inevitable interruption, Kazuya’s commencement of a new book he so desperately needed would have to be postponed until bedtime.
Mochi leapt out of his lap and went back inside, and Kazuya groaned. He hoped he would get at least a dozen pages down before Ryousuke got back, but that wasn’t happening anymore. He slipped his forefinger between the cover and title page and pushed his chair back.
Kazuya followed Mochi inside. He found him in Ryousuke’s hold, head already nuzzled in the nook of his elbow. Mochi chewed on one of the strings hanging down Ryousuke’s grey hoodie.
He’d never seen a pair so attached to one another. And Kazuya was the one who initially caught Mochi’s eyes and affection when they brought him home for the first time. As time passed and as Mochi learned that Kazuya was a homebody who just wanted to cuddle as he consumed book after book, he favored the one who cleaned after him and took him out for walks the majority of the time.
Kazuya’s eyes trailed down to the take-out bag hanging from Ryousuke’s forearm. That was quick— Kazuya was barely out of the shower. He usually took a bit longer with his occasional detours to his partner’s place in the other building on their block. The food would be long cold and Kazuya would be a ways into his book by the time Ryousuke arrived.
Naturally, Ryousuke never told him he usually took the long way home. Kazuya knew better, though.
Still, why did he get here with their dinner piping hot this time?
“You’re back so soon.”
“I was hungry,” Ryousuke set Mochi down and crouched to pet his head, then placed the bag on the table in front of him. “The exhibition lasted longer than it was supposed to and my lunch break was cut short.”
“Very unlike Tetsu-san to allow something like that,” Kazuya said.
Kazuya met Yuuki Tetsuya at a studio when he first began modeling as a part-time job a few years back. He was a professional photographer— only a couple of years older than him— and he dreamed of one day opening his own art gallery. And with his various connections in the art world, it didn’t come as a surprise to Kazuya when Tetsuya managed to find a place and have it ready and open for exhibitions at the age of 26. It soon became a hotspot for all kinds of exhibitions and a go-to place for buyers to find pieces and discover their new favorite artists and photographers alike.
He introduced Ryousuke to Tetsuya and landed him a job as a receptionist that paid well and had flexible enough hours for Ryousuke to work on his own art, and he’d since stopped referring to his art degree as the most useless piece of paper he owned. Not as often as he used to, at least.
Ryousuke threw his body down on the couch and sighed. Mochi stood on two legs while his free paws held onto Ryousuke’s knee, as if asking for a lift up.
“It wasn’t up to him this time,” the older said. He smiled as he carried Mochi up to nuzzle beside him.
“Still,” Kazuya placed the book he’d been holding onto on the floor and he sat down in front of the table. “You rarely come straight back home.” His mouth began watering as he caught a whiff upon peeking into the bag, and he took out whatever Ryousuke ordered from the local restaurant just across the street from their building.
Ryousuke hummed. He was quiet for a second before he spoke again.
“I suppose there were some unexpected surprises.”
Kazuya turned to the side to look at Ryousuke to see what that dramatic pause was about, only to find him bent down to get a closer look at the book by Kazuya’s foot.
“Already moved onto the next one I see,” Ryousuke said.
“Yeah,” Kazuya said. “I didn’t intentionally choose this one, though. In a dramatic way, it chose me~”
“And you’re willingly subjugating yourself to a form of literature you’ve claimed to despise since we were kids, hmm?”
“I mean, the summary sounded interesting enough,” Kazuya attempted to justify.
Ryousuke hummed and sat back on the couch. He ran his fingers through Mochi’s white fur while he kept an eye on the book.
“This was all you could afford, wasn’t it?”
“How do you do it? The thing where you just know everything.”
Ryousuke only stared a second more before he redirected his attention to Mochi, patting and tickling him.
“Despite it being written for someone specific, I found that it could still speak to many people on many different levels,” Ryousuke said. “My interpretation of one passage may be entirely different to yours or Youichi’s for example, so the book overall has a remarkable versatility to it.”
“You read it?” Kazuya asked as he continued to set the takeout containers on the coffee table. “Wait— Kuramochi read it? He hated reading, didn’t he?”
Ryousuke clicked his tongue. “You can’t possibly expect to be up to date on someone you haven’t spoken more than five words to in almost two years, can you?” He asked, a smug look on his face. “But yes, we both read it.”
Kazuya chuckled. “Hmm? So a book that even got Kuramochi Youichi hooked. I’m more intrigued now,” he said.
“And what makes you assume he enjoyed it?” Ryousuke asked.
“He went through the entire thing, didn’t he? I don’t take him for someone who wouldn’t drop a book he wasn’t into.”
“Fair enough.”
Kazuya turned around and watched Ryousuke run his fingers through his short pink hair— and they weaved in far too smoothly given how windy it was earlier. His eyes refused to meet Kazuya’s for whatever reason, and it was strange because Ryousuke was never one to shy away like that.
First he returned home early and now this. He seemed far too focused on Mochi and far too distracted from his surroundings, which was unusual for him.
Kazuya stood up and went to the kitchen to get the dishware they needed for dinner.
Ryousuke was quiet most of the time, probably because he was surrounded by people who had a lot to say. But when he had something to say, he made sure they were words that wouldn’t be a waste of his breath, or they would be something he felt strongly about.
This wasn’t the type of quiet he was used to. Rather, his entire vibe felt off, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it like he usually did.
“Ryou-san,” Kazuya started as he opened up the kitchen drawers to take out some chopsticks and spoons. The familiar silence on the other end indicated that he’d turned his attention to Kazuya.
Kazuya bit his bottom lip and took in a deep breath. “Did something happen?” He asked.
More silence.
Then Ryousuke let out a soft cackle. “Why do you ask?”
Kazuya could hear Ryousuke clearly from where he was, even if the older didn’t raise his voice to carry through. He gathered up the bowls and utensils but made no move to carry them back to the living room.
“I don’t know,” Kazuya admitted. “Something’s felt off about you since you walked in.”
“Elaborate.”
He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he?
They’ve been living together for a little over a year. Since Ryousuke worked near Kazuya’s university, they’d decided to rent an apartment together— which was odd because he was certain he’d heard Youichi speak of moving in together with Ryousuke back then, but it never happened and it was never brought up to him by Ryousuke when they went apartment-hunting together.
Whenever Ryousuke was in a mood Kazuya couldn’t make sense of, he’d try to ask him and Ryousuke would change topics smoothly or brush him off, making Kazuya forget about it entirely each time.
Kazuya went back to the living room with the dishware he’d gathered, finding Ryousuke on the floor, crossed legs shoved underneath the coffee table with Mochi on his lap. Kazuya set the bowls and chopsticks down and sat across from Ryousuke.
He busied himself with setting everything up as he carefully chose his next words. “Don’t you usually stop by Kuramochi’s before coming back?”
“I usually do. What of it?”
Kazuya chuckled sheepishly. “I just find the unusual concerning, is all.”
“Don’t think too much of it,” Ryousuke said, waving him off. “Eat.”
Ryousuke opened up the containers and picked his chopsticks and spoon up. His eyes were void of any emotion— and Kazuya knew that alone betrayed his boredom.
“So are you going to read it even though you hate poetry?”
“I am,” Kazuya said.
“If it’s of any reassurance, it has plenty of positive reviews online,” Ryousuke said.
Kazuya’s hand paused mid-way in bringing a spoonful of rice to his mouth. “I guess that’s good to know.”
“I was put off at first since Youichi was the one to recommend it to me,” Ryousuke said. “But it was enthralling to see all these people talking about how they understood what the author was going through and it does say a lot about us humans, hm?”
“Yeah?” Kazuya looked up at his roommate expectantly.
“That we’re all more alike than we believe,” Ryousuke said. “We’ve all gone through similar situations and experiences that built us up to the people we are today. That maybe we understand one another more than we think we do.”
Yet he dodged Kazuya’s willingness to understand him more every chance he took.
“Are you admitting to you and Kuramochi having problems like all other normal couples do?”
“I never said our relationship was void of problems.”
“So you two are having problems right now. Is that what you’re so upset about?” Kazuya pressed.
“Not on the same level as you and Eijun did, but we are, yes. The difference is we have a healthier way of dealing with it.”
Kazuya’s eyes widened and his brows furrowed. He didn’t know why that hurt. It shouldn’t hurt anymore, right? He and Eijun haven’t been together for a long enough time for both of them to have moved on from the friendship and relationship they’d build over the course of 12 years.
Yes, he was upset about it at first, but he was never one to dwell on the past for too long. If neither of them wanted to stay in that relationship any longer, then Kazuya had no reason to brood about what went wrong, when it went wrong, or if it was him who did something wrong. Even if the events of that night replayed in his head like a broken record for months without Kazuya ever coming up with a different way he could have handled what was thrown at his face.
They both made their decision quick and clear back then— that neither of them were happy; that neither of them had been happy for the longest time— and they both knew they couldn’t do any more to change that at the time. And it was Eijun’s eyes that told him as much. So he simply accepted it, and they both let go of each other for good.
Kazuya wasn’t reluctant about letting Eijun go when they decided to call it off, and maybe Eijun didn’t expect it to go that way. Maybe that was why, for once in his life, Eijun was able to blink away his tears without allowing a single droplet past his waterline. A few lingered on his bottom lashes, but they dried out as quickly as they’d gathered there.
But that was all years ago. And even though it took some time, Kazuya moved on. He was certain he did.
So why did merely hearing Eijun’s name after so long come twining around his lungs and why did it make it harder to breathe?
When he noticed Ryousuke eyeing him, Kazuya took off his framed glasses and focused on cleaning off a spot that wasn’t here. “Oh yeah?” He said. “And how do you do that?”
“He postponed our weekly date night yet again because he took on more work in the studio. So I stole the keys to his apartment,” Ryousuke said as he got back to his dinner. “If he loves work so much why bother coming back home?”
“Isn’t this the exact opposite of healthy?” Kazuya’s brows shot up.
Ryousuke chuckled. “It’s an effective warning for next time he thinks of cancelling on me,” he said. “So it’s healthy in the long run.”
“What a nasty personality you’ve got there, Ryou-san,” Kazuya said.
“Like you’re any better— but thank you.”
Kazuya quietly and absentmindedly finished his meal, muttering a good night to Ryousuke after he helped with the dishes. Then he retreated to his room with his newly purchased book.
Kazuya was fortunate to have a big enough space to choose from a variety of reading spots in the comfort of his own room. Well, maybe not a large variety, as it was either his bed, his reading chair, or the floor.
And the floor wasn’t exactly an option anymore, what with the stacks of books occupying most corners.
Kazuya tried donating all of his read books and borrowing from his university’s library— more so he’d have no choice but to return them eventually— seeing as he didn’t have plans on revisiting any of the books, but some covers were too pretty to give away. Hell, he even bought later editions of some books just because they had a nicer cover he had to add to his collection.
One thing led to another, and he ended up with four sturdy stacks of books beside his bed, on which he placed a reading lamp. He was almost certain it was a fire hazard, but he was too desperate for book storage to care.
He often fell asleep with the lamp on as he read before bed, and he often left it on— which was why he kept a carton of spare lightbulbs under his bed.
Each of the four walls of his room either had book or wall shelves, organized by genre. The only spot left bare of shelves was on either side of his window, in front of which he had a navy armchair and a footrest— where he often found himself sore in the morning. To clarify, he rarely fell asleep because a book was boring. Rather, he’d fall asleep in an attempt to push through the night and read as much as he could to finish a book and move on to the next.
So many books, so little time.
Behind the chair was his trusty floor lamp— its bulb needed switching out sometime soon as the light was getting dimmer by the day.
Since he was ready for the night, Kazuya walked past his chair and climbed onto the middle of his bed, sitting up properly against his pillows at first but slowly sliding down.
He looked at the book on his lap, his eyes tracing the the photo on the cover. His hands tingled as he felt the matte finish of the black cover.
Kazuya took a deep breath, and he cracked it open. He took a moment to look at the title page, then he skipped past all the boring stuff till he got to the dedication page.
To you.
He stiffened but steeled himself, and he flipped the page to the first piece.
——————
Summer, 2008.
Eijun looked up at the house in front of him. This was where they’d be living now— Akasaka residential area.
It was a hard enough move to Tokyo despite not having stepped foot here ever before in his life. And now he’d have to get used to living here, far away from all the friends he grew up with and the environment he grew up in.
Visiting Nagano wouldn’t be entirely impossible, as it was only an hour and a half away by train. What was impossible was the unreasonable need he felt to be there everyday despite not living there anymore.
His worries grew beyond how he was going to cope with waking up in a different room every morning or how he'd be going to a different school, or how he was going to have to make new friends.
No, what he was worried about was coping with change. In his 12 years worth of experiences, he'd never come across changes as drastic as these all at once. And for a moment he thought maybe it wouldn't have been an ordeal had he been older, but he could see the reluctance in his parents eyes as they packed their belongings back in the house that had their earliest memories etched in its walls— all for better opportunities and an easier life. He was happy with the way things were.
Catching beetles with his friends, running around fields that seemed to stretch out to the horizons, playing baseball freely, and not having a single care in the world besides what was in front of him. Although his closest friend, Aotsuki Wakana, did confess to him before he moved. He couldn't reciprocate her feelings, so the dynamics of their friendship sort of shifted, which made things a bit awkward before he left.
Eijun really couldn't stand change in any form.
The most upsetting part about this move was that he had no one to lean on. There was a wide enough age gap between him and his parents and grandfather that drew a thick line between what he was and wasn’t comfortable talking about with them. Besides, his parents already had their hands full with the move and adjusting to their new jobs. So on top of trying to muddle through with the move, he worried about going through it alone because everyone else was too busy.
A moving company his parents’d hired left after helping them bring in boxes filled with their belongings and unpacking them where they were meant to be. Eijun and his grandfather had just seen them off by the front gate while his parents organized things indoors.
Eijun was putting his clothes away in his closet when he'd found his elementary school’s baseball jersey. He paused and his shoulders dropped. His stare bore holes into the uniform long enough for his eyes to become glossy and he had to blink a few times to bring focus back into them. Tossing the jersey back into the box, he stood up and left his room.
It was all stupid and confusing on top of being painful. All it brought about were feelings of frustration he didn’t know how to act upon or if he should.
Eijun ran down the stairs and shouted to whoever was listening that he’d be stepping out, voice coming out quaky.
He needed some fresh air. Maybe he could even walk around and explore the neighborhood while he was at it.
Eijun stopped at the entrance to put on his shoes and he mentally prepared himself for the heatwave that would hit him once he walked outside, a groan rumbling in his throat as he did. Tokyo’s summer was as unforgiving as he heard it would be.
It wasn’t sunny, so he didn’t have to squint to adjust his eyes to the light. He stepped into the little yard they had, noting his mother already had her pots out to be utilized after she’d settled in— a hobby she’d wanted to get into for coping with the inevitable stress that came with her career, or so he’d heard from his grandfather.
A shuffling of feet attracted his attention past the gate, where he could see soft strands of light brown hair sticking up and bouncing as a boy slightly taller than him stood at the tip of his toes to peek inside behind the thick black frames of his glasses. His sharp lidded eyes widened when he noticed Eijun.
Then with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he gestured for Eijun to come closer.
“Hey,” the boy said. “I take it you’re our new neighbors?”
Eijun carefully walked towards the gate and opened it, finally getting a full glance at the other. He eyed him suspiciously, puffing out his cheeks, and flaring his nostrils, and he nodded.
“My dad told me to give you these,” the boy held out a plate of honey rice cakes in a decent variation of color, and another of hikkoshi soba— quite old fashioned, but a nice gesture nonetheless. They were organized and wrapped with care. “He would’ve tagged along but he was in a hurry to get somewhere. Told me to send his apologies for not being able to greet you and your family himself,” he said monotonously, evidently reciting what his father had probably repeated to him all day while instructing him on what to do.
Either that or he had a way with words better than anyone else his age. Despite his voice dripping with boredom, Eijun thought there was something charming about the way he spoke.
He accepted the plates and thanked him.
The boy’s eyes silently wandered over to the house as Eijun comfortably took a closer look at him.
At the first glimpse, his posture, vocal tone, and sharp eyes exhibited a hint of indifference and sense of wanting to be anywhere but here doing anything but this.
Underneath that, Eijun spotted a flash of something else in his eyes. And he wasn’t sure what it was until they landed back on Eijun, and he finally spoke.
“I’m Miyuki Kazuya, by the way,” he said. “I live just across the street.”
What Eijun saw was pure nonchalance. It was the ease in which Kazuya approached him. It was a display of how comfortable and confident he was.
“Sawamura Eijun,” he grinned.
Kazuya nodded and took a sharp breath before he spoke again. “How old are you?”
“I just turned 12 last month, ” Eijun answered.
“So we’re a year apart then,” Kazuya said. “I’m turning 13 in November.”
“Ah— I guess I should address you more formally then!”
Kazuya chuckled. “No need,” he said. “It’s a relief to see more people our age in the neighborhood! We just moved here last year so I know how you feel.” Kazuya said. “You can talk to me if you need anything, but if it requires too much effort on my part I’ll introduce you to kids more reliable than I am!” He grinned widely.
“That totally negates your initial offer!” Eijun shouted, flustered. And it only made Kazuya laugh.
“That’s the whole point!” he’d said.
Eijun’s brows furrowed and he shook his head. How reassuring it was going to be to have someone like him around. He ignored the other and shifted the heavy plate of rice cakes and hikkoshi soba from one arm to the other.
“So this is your first move,” Kazuya said. “I take it you’re not too happy about it, are you?” he leaned in and whispered.
Someone he’d just met read him so easily yet his family couldn’t figure out something as simple as that during the packing process and the car ride here. Or maybe they did but still went with their decision of dancing around the elephant in the room. Still, if anyone were to get him to open up about this it should’ve been his family, not someone he’d only known for two minutes.
And Kazuya seemed to be brimmed with the desire to help by using his personal experience even if he tried hiding it.
“Sawamura, I know the coolest spot in this neighborhood where we could stuff our faces with those rice cakes and no one would know. What our parents don’t know won’t hurt them, hm?”
He was already trying to make plans with him— unbelievable.
“I think that’d upset your parents,” was all Eijun said as he let out a nervous laughter and briefly threw a glance to the side.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Kazuya shrugged. “Come on, we can grab some ice cream and drinks from the 7-eleven down the road. My treat.”
Eijun took a reluctant step forward.
“Only if you take full responsibility for any trouble I might get into!” he shouted.
He couldn’t afford it right now.
Yet again, the worst his mother would do was yell at him. He still didn’t want to cause that kind of stress for her though. Not right now. It was his grandfather he was afraid of. And he still made a move to drop the hikkoshi soba by the front door, ready to dash off with the good stuff and do as Kazuya said they should.
“Say it louder, will you?” Kazuya said. He grabbed the rice cakes from Eijun and took charge in leading the way. “You’ve got yourself a deal, though.”
Eijun made sure to securely lock the gate behind him as he followed.
Once they’d made it to the convenience store, Kazuya told him to wait outside while he got what they needed. He came out with a tad too many flavors of ice cream and a few cold drinks.
“It might get warmer in the afternoon, we should at least be prepared,” was how he rationalized his cravings.
Eijun continued following Kazuya, who had both the heavy plate of sweet rice cakes dangerously hanging onto his grip, and the plastic bag filled with ice cream and drinks, swinging from side to side in his chirpy stride. He glanced back every once in a while to see if Eijun was still behind him.
He watched in admiration as Kazuya walked shoulders back and chin high, the gleam he noticed earlier never faltering each time their eyes met.
Maybe Eijun was insane for following someone who had yet to say anything about himself besides his name, but something told him Kazuya only saved backstories for special circumstances.
Kazuya took him to walk along a creek at a neighborhood park and they continued to move farther and farther away from all the mothers and their strollers and the little kids chasing each other and playing around.
They crossed a small bridge that took them across the canal, and when they walked upwards through a woodlot on a hill, Eijun considered the possibility of this being a kidnapping and that maybe he shouldn’t have trusted a stranger so much just because he was around his age.
He believed he had nothing to lose at this point though, and he reluctantly went along with it.
When his legs began aching going up the incline, they reached the small power station sealed off with chainlink fences. Kazuya led him through a tight corner between a bunch of bushes and the fence, until they got to a narrow stone edge.
“Watch out,” Kazuya said. He handed Eijun the plate and plastic bag and he jumped a short distance down to the ledge. Then Eijun did the same. “Lucky, no one’s here today!”
While Kazuya plopped down on the ground under the shade of a small tree and dangled his legs over the edge, Eijun stood still and his eyes widened slightly at the view that stretched out before him.
He had a clear prospect of the skyline of the city from here. And it was the perfect view, too. Not too high, and not too low. It helped that they were already in a hilled neighborhood, so they didn’t even have to climb that far up for this.
Like every other city, Tokyo’s skyline was packed with high-rise buildings, except he couldn’t compare it to Nagano in any way. What lied beyond it, which Eijun knew for a fact was more buildings, stretched out into the misty horizon. All that remained visible were the mountains and peaks on the outskirts of the city.
“Amazing, right?” Kazuya said. “Come on, sit,” he patted the grass next to him.
Eijun trudged, looking around for anyone who might pop out and kidnap him. When he didn’t find anything suspicious, he sat down with his legs crossed. He wasn’t feeling particularly risky with his life that day— not when he had a stranger’s oddly comforting company to worry about.
“I come here alone a lot. I wanted to bring Ryou-san once— he’s a year older but he’s one of our neighbors and he has a bother your age,” Kazuya said. “He caught a cold and cancelled on me, so you’re the first person to accompany me here. Pretty cool, right?”
“What do you do here exactly?”
“Mostly hide from my dad whenever I’ve done something wrong,” Kazuya grinned. “I first found it after I accidentally broke a whole stack of plates…”
Eijun laughed. And it was surprisingly genuine even to him given his current state of mind— and when he did, he had a tendency to lift both his legs off the ground.
Kazuya bent forward laughing at him.
“Oh so you can laugh!” he said. “I thought you’d be as gloomy as you looked.”
“I’m not like this all the time, you know,” Eijun said. “I can’t exactly help it, being in a new environment and all.”
Kazuya hummed as he dug through the plastic bag that sat between them. He handed him an iced vanilla milkshake.
“Well either way, I can’t let you go on like this any longer,” he said. “Eat up!”
Eijun smiled and accepted the treat.
Maybe Kazuya was right.
As soon as he’d gotten home hours later, he finally found a reason to put ink into the pages of the new notebook his mother bought him prior to the move.
…
It’s crazy how different the sky would look from one place to another.
Even crazier that I could see so much more looking up now.
And although it was terrifying at first, I quickly found comfort in your company.
Then it wasn’t so scary anymore.
Maybe there’d be peace for me here despite it all.
——————
Summer, 2009.
As soon as Eijun stepped out of the house, he spotted Kazuya dismounted from his bike, standing next to it while he kept a firm hold on its handlebars. His eyes were cast to the ground behind the glasses that outstretched his face, and he didn’t seem to notice Eijun yet.
It’d been a year since Eijun’s move, and the two have gotten quite close despite the age difference. When he moved, Eijun didn’t think he’d get as close to others as he had with his childhood friends back in Nagano, but he did.
He walked forward to the outer gate and when he unlocked it, Kazuya finally took notice of him and instantly perked up.
“Did you bring it?”
Eijun nodded once firmly and motioned to his backpack. “And I haven’t played a second of it yet, as promised!”
He secured the gate behind him and walked closer to the other.
“What are we waiting for then? Let’s go already,” Kazuya said. He gave his bike’s seat a pat, inviting Eijun to hop on.
He raised a brow. “Are you sure this is safe or are you tricking me into falling flat on my ass, Miyuki Kazuya?” Eijun asked.
Kazuya laughed, scooting forward to the front edge of the seat. “Yep, I’ve done this plenty of times before with Kuramochi, just hang on tight and don’t let go~”
“Has he ever fallen off?” Eijun asked before he took a step toward the bike.
Kazuya’s eyes darted up then rolled to the left. “I’ll be honest with you,” he took a deep breath, and Eijun swallowed thickly, awaiting the rest of it.
“He hasn’t.”
Eijun let out a relieved sigh and kneed the back of Kazuya’s thigh. “Don’t scare me like that!”
“Alright let’s get this over with,” Eijun said as he hesitantly lifted his leg and moved it across the bike. He let it down carefully to balance himself and immediately hung on to Kazuya’s small waist for dear life. The latter turned his head as far to the back as he could to shoot Eijun a look.
“You’re not even gonna pretend to be brave about this, are you?”
Eijun loosened his arms and a nervous laughter vibrated through his throat. “Not when I’m risking my life just to go play in the park!” he said.
Kazuya laughed loudly and most obnoxiously. He had one foot on a pedal and the other on the ground to balance the bicycle. He didn’t seem to be ready to take off quite yet, and Eijun didn’t know what he was waiting for.
Eijun pulled an arm away from Kazuya’s waist and he wiped the sweat slowly beading on his forehead then flapped his hand in an attempt to fan his face, thinking of the comfortable time they’d have had under the cold of an AC instead. He groaned. “Why can’t we just play video games at your place? I haven’t even been out long and I think I’m about to have a heatstroke.”
“That’s what all the iced water is for, Sawamura.”
“And if any of our DS’s batteries die?” Eijun asked, hoping he could persuade Kazuya to just go inside and play there.
“That’s what the nearby cafés are for, and it’s why he told us to bring some cash since they won’t let us recharge without ordering anything. You brought your charger, right?”
Eijun nodded. “Kuramochi-senpai really has this entire thing figured out, doesn't he?”
Guess once Youichi's mind was made up there was no going back. He’d displayed that several times already over the past year, but in instances like this it was tiring.
“He does,” Kazuya turned to face ahead. “Where’s your thirst for adventure, Sawamura? Besides, aren’t you in the baseball club? I thought you would be able to withstand the heat the most.”
“I am, but even we draw the line at humidity!”
Kazuya laughed. Eijun briefly wondered how long he’d find this endearing for until it became annoying— although with how charming Kazuya was, he doubted it would ever.
As a whoosh of hot air blew past them, Eijun looked ahead to see Youichi cycled past them, with Ryousuke and Haruichi trudging behind.
“Race you guys there!” Youichi’d said as he passed them.
“You-san slow down!!” Haruichi shouted as he cycled as quick as he could.
Ryousuke quietly smirked in their direction when he cycled by, and it made a shiver crawl down Eijun’s spine.
Kazuya got to pedaling himself. He didn’t seem like he wanted to fall too far behind the others, so Eijun clung back onto his waist as they took off.
They ended up going to the same park they always went to, albeit a more lively part of it. As close as it was to the neighborhood all five of them lived in, at least Kazuya had the decency to skip out on walking there in the heat.
Since Kazuya had an extra load in the form of Eijun riding with him, he took responsibility and moved more carefully, thus resulting in them arriving a few minutes later than Youichi and the Kominato brothers.
As soon as Eijun got off the bicycle and Kazuya proceeded to park it alongside the other two’s, he noted they’d hogged a couple of benches right under what seemed to be the largest tree they’d seen in the park. At least they could hide from the sun’s harsh rays in its shade.
There was a line of restaurants and cafés— just as Kazuya’d said— as well as a convenience store a few steps off from where they were sitting. Quite strategic for a bunch of middle schoolers.
Apart from the informal greetings, all of them were quietly taking out the snacks they’d prepared. Youichi’s mother cut up an entire watermelon into bite-sized cubes and split it into three containers for them to fight the heat. He put one between Ryousuke and himself, one between the brothers, and gave the last one to Kazuya and Eijun
Kazuya’d frozen ten bottles of water overnight and gave two to each. Since they were nowhere near melted enough for them to drink, Eijun ran down to the convenience store nearby and bought a couple of bottles for now, along with the ice cream he knew Kazuya liked for each of them.
The Kominatos brought nothing, with Ryousuke speaking up claiming he shouldn’t have to since he was the eldest and Haruichi was the youngest.
With all of them finally seated in comfortable positions, they each took out their DS’s and their own copy of the recently released Pokémon Platinum.
They all booted up the game and started playing, each of them occupied with choosing their names and character appearances. Amongst all the commotion and excitement, Eijun’s voice carried over to Youichi’s end.
“Kuramochi-senpai, which starter did you pick?”
When he first met Youichi, he quickly became comfortable with him. Like Kazuya, he was easy to talk to and easy to be around— minus how he got pretty physical with him whenever he got worked up. Not a single of one of them was as high maintenance as they’d looked, nonetheless, which was exactly what Eijun needed amongst all the changes in his life.
Youichi leaned forward to peek at Eijun, whose lips pressed together and puckered outwards, and brows furrowed towards one another.
“Chimchar—” Youichi answered. “I’ve chosen fire starters since first gen.”
“You know, Chimchar’s ears kinda remind me of yours,” Ryousuke chimed in from beside Youichi. “So it’s fitting in a way.”
Eijun and Kazuya choked out in laughter, and Youichi dropped his DS on his lap and rubbed both his ears with a scowl on his face.
“Ryou-san!” Youichi whined. “Was that really necessary?”
“Harsh, onii-san…” Haruichi said.
“Don’t worry Youichi,” Ryousuke gave him a couple of pats on the back. “You’ll come to terms with them eventually. Or hopefully grow into them, whichever comes sooner.”
“Sooner than you growth spurt hits, that’s for certain.” Youichi muttered.
Maybe they all heard wrong. Maybe they didn’t and Youichi just couldn’t hold himself back from saying what they all thought but never dared entertain. One thing was for certain though. Eijun knew this wasn’t going to end peacefully. And since he was kind of the one who initiated this conversation, Eijun was definitely going to be at the receiving end of whatever wrestling move Youichi’d learned since he’d last seen him.
“Ahh-Haruichi! Which starter did you pick?” Eijun shouted to try to shift the attention to something else.
Luckily, Haruichi understood what he was going for. Probably because he knew something the rest of them didn’t know about how Ryousuke really felt about his height.
“I-i chose Piplup!” Haruichi chimed in. “How could I pass up on choosing a cute little penguin-like Pokémon?”
Little, he’d said. Maybe not the brightest choices of words in this situation.
While the rest of them were freaking out and trying to calm the storm before it came, Kazuya had his head turned away from the rest of them at the edge, and he was in muffling his laughter, clutching his stomach to keep his amusement at the situation to himself.
Ryousuke still hadn’t made a move, and was focused on his handheld console, pretending he hadn’t heard anything. Youichi on the other hand, was frozen in place, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets and mouth open, seemingly refusing to believe those words came out of his mouth.
“Youichi,” the addressed boy, Haruichi, and Eijun visibly flinched, awaiting what he was going to do about the situation at hand, while Kazuya began shaking next to Eijun, unable to contain himself much longer. “Could you repeat that? I didn’t quite catch what you said.”
“He was talking about Chimchar’s evolution!” Eijun flailed his arms in front of him. “Wasn’t he Haruichi?”
“Y-yes, he was!” Haruichi said. “You know how Chimchar remains more or less the same height until his final evolution—”
“I believe the question was directed to Youichi. Be quiet, you two.”
They all collectively turned to look at Youichi, who gritted his teeth.
“I said, sooner than you growth spurt hits, that’s for certain! It’s a reflex, Ryou-san! You can’t expect me to sit back quietly while you bully me for something I can’t control!”
“So you decided to take a jab at something I have no control over,” Ryousuke said.
Then a silence settled in as they all looked at Ryousuke, anticipating what he would do next.
“Well played.”
Kazuya finally couldn’t keep it in any longer, and burst out in laughter.
“What?” Youichi asked, inching a little farther away from Ryousuke but keeping his wide eyes at him, openly staring.
“You heard me, you did well defending yourself,” Ryousuke said, nodding. “I want you to take a second to think about who you’re defending yourself against before you open your mouth next time, though.”
“Right, of course!” Youichi said as he let out a nervous laughter. “My in-game rival is waiting for me to kick his ass, if you’ll excuse me then!”
They all laughed. Then their conversation slowly died down as they carried on playing and progressing through their games individually.
Eijun focused on catching as many of the Pokémon he encountered and filling up his Pokédex, so he fell behind to Kazuya and Haruichi in terms of story progress. Youichi seemed to be doing a little bit of both, alternating between wanting to catch up to the number of Pokémon Eijun’d encountered, and to wanting to avoid spoilers of what happened ahead where the other two were at— making him fall behind in both aspects. And Eijun was almost certain Ryousuke wasn’t even playing a Pokémon game, let alone Pokémon Platinum.
The first casualty took place somewhere past the four hour mark. Youichi, the mastermind behind this entire outing, hadn’t charged his device fully— he made everyone else pause their gameplay until he got to a charging port. So they headed into the bakery, just in time for an early lunch.
Youichi, Eijun, and Haruichi went ahead to look for a table with two power outlets right below, and they plugged in their devices while they waited for Kazuya and Ryousuke, who were by the counter choosing between the variety of bread and pastries for all of them to share. Eijun was in for a lecture from his mother afterwards about their meal of choice, but he was enjoying himself too much to care.
They deliberately took their time eating to allow time for the recharge, and as soon as they were done, Kazuya and Haruichi got to plug theirs in— Ryousuke decided he was done playing for the day, so he wasn’t going to recharge now— while Youichi and Eijun made their way to the counter to order drinks.
As they waited for their DS’s to recharge, they lost themselves in game strategy chatter— but they were playing Pokémon, so that was pretty much limited to the perfect type match in battles. Youichi pulled out an entire color coded chart he’d worked on based on combined notes from predecessors of Pokémon Platinum. Kazuya and Eijun mocked him for not knowing these by heart after all their play-throughs of the games in the franchise.
They went back outside to continue playing and that time around, their batteries lasted as long as they were advertised they would— six whole hours. By that time, it was already past seven at night and things started to wind down. Eijun could tell Youichi was tired of playing already and that Kazuya was falling asleep but trying to keep up with Haruichi’s pace— and that was when they decided to call it a day.
It was a bit early and the sun was still up, but it was fine, especially since they should at least have a decent dinner at home since they only had bread for lunch.
So they started gathering their belongings to prepare to head back home.
Eijun was done and was waiting out on the other three while Kazuya and Youichi bantered over which of them was going to complete the game first.
“Ryou-san, where’s the closest bathroom?” Eijun asked. He’d wait until he was back home, but he knew better than to put himself through that again.
“It’s a walk ahead just behind the convenience store, you can’t miss it~”
Eijun nodded. “Thanks!”
“Do you want me to come with?” Haruichi, having overheard, asked.
“I’ll be fine, thanks!” Eijun started lightly jogging where Ryousuke pointed him towards.
Once he went past the store, he stopped and looked left and right, but couldn’t locate it. He looked up at a signpost nearby, and it pointed him right— and sure enough, he could see the structure shaded by the trees. It didn’t add up seeing as there was no path that led straight there though, so Eijun cut through the grassy area, momentarily influenced by Pokémon that a wild one would jump at him at any moment.
And just as he closed up on the building, he noticed there was a path that led there after all, just a little farther from where the signpost was.
He must have lost his footing somewhere between, because before he knew it, he had fallen over on his knees and hands, but kept himself up. His arms, legs, and front were soaked.
It took him a second too long to realize he had fallen into a puddle that ran a little too deep for the middle of a park, alas, it’d rained pretty hard last night. He’d dodged a bullet with keeping his backpack aside from the shoulder straps dry, but he had a feeling things weren’t looking good for his legs and hands.
He felt his backpack get yanked upwards, helping him out of the pond, ass first into muddy grass— as if that was any better.
“Are you okay, idiot?” Kazuya asked as he extended a hand for Eijun to take.
“Who are you calling an idiot?” Eijun shouted.
“You, of course!” Kazuya chuckled. “I nearly tossed a stone at your head when I saw you go straight through the bushes— what were you thinking? After a rainstorm, no less. Be thankful I came after you!”
“Yes yes, my lord and savior Miyuki Kazuya, what could I have done without you?”
“Haha,” Kazuya mocked. “Your knees and palms are all scraped up, who’s laughing now?”
Eijun looked down and groaned. Then his eyes lit up despite the irritation from his skin.
“Now my mom’ll be iffy about us hanging out,” he said.
Kazuya looked away, letting out a laugh. “You say it as if I won’t survive without you. I still have those guys, you can hide away indoors and walk to school by yourself if you want~”
Eijun hummed. “I don’t see them around, do you?”
“They had to go on ahead— hey, you weren’t serious about your mom, were you?”
Eijun let out a laugh as he dusted some of the mud off his hands and took Kazuya’s hand.
“Come on, let’s go home!” Eijun said.
So they hopped on Kazuya’s bike and he silently cycled them both back.
And all his mother did was never let him out after a rainy day again.
…
Someday, we’ll forget about a day spent under the blazing sun and shades of green.
Someday, you may recall it was as ordinary as any other spent playing outside.
Someday, I’ll have the courage to tell you it wasn’t.
Someday I’ll remind you of how you saved me that day.
Its memory etched in my heart just as this pen’s etched it on this page.
And someday, I’ll fill every line in every page of this notebook as an insurance that my heart won’t ever forget.
——————
When Kazuya came to, he was in the comfort of his bed but felt the uncomfortable sensation of something poking at his temple.
He pulled the source of his discomfort away, and slowly opened his eyes to allow them to adjust to the brightness surrounding him.
It took longer than usual for him to get out of his morning daze. When he turned to the side and saw the book clutched loosely in his hand, his body went limp. His lids got heavier each time he tried to blink the dryness out of his eyes.
He found the strength he didn’t know he had so soon after he woke up to tighten his grip, as if he was afraid he’d lose it much like he’d lost himself in the eight poems and prose he read before passing out.
Kazuya wanted to say he made a connection with the book. He wanted to say he interpreted the passages exactly the way the author meant for them to be interpreted. He understood those were the author’s emotions during specific events in their life. Obviously Kazuya couldn’t possibly know the context in which those pieces were taken out of.
The prose were easy to follow. They brushed thin coats of paint over faded images in Kazuya’s head, and just when he thought he’d recovered a memory he felt relatable to the writings, he dismissed it.
He opened the book and quickly shuffled through the pages to get a sneak-peek of what was ahead. Then he landed back on page 21 out of 230, where he stopped. Rather, where he fell asleep reading that particular poem over and over trying to understand the meaning behind it. He understood it as a whole— he just lost track of time and energy trying to find the depth behind the words or an underlying connection to an experience in the author’s life.
But he couldn’t. And this was what he hated about poetry.
So from his previous experiences reading poetry, he decided it would be wise to take a few hours off to read a YA book or manga.
He set the book aside and kicked his duvet covers away from his body, then he stood up and made his bed.
Kazuya had a meeting with his supervising professor regarding his graduation thesis later at noon and a few errands to run after, so he’d have to go out now if he wanted something else to read in between words left unsaid.
When he left his room, he noticed that Mochi wasn’t up and about, which meant that he and Ryousuke were still asleep— he slept in his roommate’s bedroom whenever Kazuya closed his own door before he could slip in. It was like they never set up an entire corner of the living room for Mochi to have his own space.
Kazuya quickly got ready to leave for the day. And since it was nearing 10AM, he figured he’d grab some bread and an iced latte from the Family Mart down the street to have on his way to the bookstore. He checked his bag for the squeezy bottle of sweetened condensed milk he kept in there to use instead of sugar or sweeteners. Once he made sure he had everything, he set off.
Although he had a foolproof system, it often brought out a tendency to take his time picking out a single book.
If he had several books he couldn’t decide from, as he found himself during this particular trip, he circled round and round until he either bought them all, or none. In this instance, he was running out of time since he had a meeting with his prof at 12— which, needless to say, he wasn’t as prepared for as he would prefer to be, but his passion towards his thesis would do.
He chose his major, Japanese literature, because it was what he consumed for a good portion of his personal time, anyway. And since he felt he wasn’t ready for the real world yet even after taking two years off to sort through his personal problems, he pursued a master’s degree, which ultimately may have been a mistake because he had no idea what he was doing with his thesis yet.
Kazuya already has his job secured as an editor in a major publishing company, called Kadokawa future publishing, where he interned during his gap year, and only when he started the semester did the regrets of not starting now kick in. He had the time of his life and his higher-ups seemed to adore him, so maybe it wasn’t the wisest choice to continue his studies. At least his dad was all too happy to continue funding him for the following year. He thought it would give him a boost, and so did some of the colleagues he worked closely with at the company. So he applied, thinking it would do no harm.
And boy, did it do exactly that.
He already had the job experience, and through that, he knew whatever he was getting himself into with another year of papers, assignments, lectures, meetings, and workshops would have absolutely nothing to do with whatever he’d be doing at work as an editor, and absolutely nothing to add onto what he had already learned in his first four years.
Yet, here he was. His tuition had already been paid for, so he might as well get that overpriced thick piece of paper— qualification. He could’ve paid himself from the money he’d saved up from his part-time modeling work, but his dad insisted and Kazuya caved in.
It was almost 11:30, and Kazuya knew it was about time for him to wrap things up at the bookstore and choose one of his three finalists if he wanted to make it to Keidai’s Mita campus, where his meeting would be held, on time.
He’d never done this before, but he closed his eyes, laid the books out on one of the tables stacked with books, took a deep breath, and picked one up. Since he wasn’t too disappointed, he thought it wasn’t that bad a choice.
So he paid up and began his 10 minute walk to campus.
While he should have been thinking about his meeting, and while he should have been excited for the new addition to his bookshelves, all he could think of was the book on his makeshift nightstand.
——————
As soon as he finished his meeting, during which he didn’t impress his supervisor whatsoever, Kazuya made his way back to his apartment building, which was strategically a five minute walk from campus.
The elevator doors closed up and it ascended, bringing Kazuya back home. He unlocked the apartment door and began taking off his shoes, then he stepped inside.
“Youichi?” Ryousuke called out.
“Nope, are you expecting him?” Kazuya shouted back. Mochi rushed over to the entrance hall, wagging his tail, and he bent down to pet him in greeting, as he usually did. “I’m just here to grab a book.”
Ryousuke didn’t say anything, and Kazuya did what he planned to do anyway.
He took big strides to his room, grabbed words left unsaid off his makeshift bedside table, and he went back to the entryway to put his shoes back on, then he left. He wanted to head to a coffee shop near Kadokawa’s headquarters where he’d worked a few years back, and it was quite the trip as it was. The coffee and the café’s vibes were worth it, though.
He pressed the button to call the elevator back up and waited. When the doors slid open, he was met eye to eye with the one his roommate’d been expecting.
His timing couldn’t have been more off.
Youichi looked away first, he brought an arm up to rub the back of his neck.“Hey,” he’d said.
Kazuya nodded in acknowledgment. “Long time no see. How’ve you been?”
This was a rare situation, and the several times it’d happened, Youichi would be quick to leave the room or area or Kazuya would pretend he hadn’t seen Youichi. But it was hard to do that with someone you’ve locked eyes with, wasn’t it?
“I’ve been good,” Youichi said. “You?”
Within their group of friends, the Kominatos knew how to stay neutral when Kazuya and Eijun broke it off and decided against staying friends. Youichi, on the other hand, took it all too personal and decided to meddle. And since Kazuya wasn’t the type to mull over any loss, he gave Youichi an ultimatum. Either he’d stop trying to fix things and move on like Kazuya and Eijun were trying to, or he wouldn’t be in Kazuya’s life anymore.
A single last-effort attempt on Youichi’s part gave Kazuya his answer.
It was shitty, yeah, but the decision wasn’t his to make. It was a decision that concerned the two of them only, and whatever Youichi said or did to try to fix things wouldn’t change a thing. So to incessantly have had him following him around for weeks after the breakup, trying to get Kazuya to talk to Eijun and Eijun to talk to Kazuya, trying to get them to fix the unfixable— it was tiring. Especially when it was already hard for Kazuya to face the facts and move on without constantly being reminded of the mistake Youichi thought they were making.
After a lot of shouting and arguing, they turned their backs on a 12 year long friendship.
“Yeah, me too.” Kazuya said as he walked past him and into the elevator. “I should get going, Ryou-san’s waiting for you,” he said as he pressed the button for the first floor. “See you around.”
Youichi didn’t turn around. “See you,” he’d said.
Kazuya let out a deep sigh when the elevator doors closed. He didn’t harbor any ill feelings toward Youichi. If anything, he understood where he was coming from when he tried to insert himself in Kazuya and Eijun’s mutual breakup two years ago.
He understood that maybe Youichi just didn’t want to see the life he’d known for 12 whole years collapse and change all of a sudden. Kazuya understood because that was how he felt too, for the second time in his life. But it was inevitable in a way. He never thought it would last.
Kazuya shook thoughts of the past to the back of his head as he arrived to the ground floor.
Not wanting to waste any more time, he power-walked to Mita station near his campus to catch the upcoming local Nishi-Takashimadaira line train to Otemachi station, where he then switched to the Tozai line to Kagurazaka station.
All in all it took 25 minutes, give or take, so Kazuya was fine standing by the train’s doors until he arrived. From there, he exited the station and it was barely two minutes of walking from a specific exit until he got to the café.
When Kazuya first started university, weekends often meant that he would pack up whatever book he was reading and café-hop for somewhere cozy to read. During his year interning at Kadokawa, his peer at Keidai and fellow intern Sanada Shunpei would often drag him for coffee and silent reading in each other’s company after work hours.
They stumbled upon a rare artisanal coffee roastery that shared its space with a bookshop that offered a small collection of books. It had a laid-back atmosphere aside from when they hosted coffee-tasting events— to which Kazuya often took the liberty to participate in, as unusual as it was for him to do.
Through the wall to ceiling black-paneled windows, he could see the coffee shop wasn’t busy, and he instantly beamed in a small victory. He walked past the two customers occupying the outside tables, and he opened the door to the shop. There was no one in queue, so he stood in front of the white counter lined with wooden dark walnut panels at length.
Kazuya eyed the selection of light snacks in display in front of him, and opted for the lemon tart, not exactly craving anything sweeter than the latte he planned on having. When the barista came up in his line of vision, he ordered his fourth glass of iced latte for the day. And then he found comfort on a chair facing the windows looking over a parking lot across the street.
After drizzling his latte with sweetened condensed milk, he mixed it and took a sip through the metal straw, grinning at the taste. He took the collection out of his tote bag and he cracked the bookmarked page open once more.
Kazuya’s eyes scanned the text on the page.