The Manuscript: Across the Steps

Akari's hands had been numb the entire day.

Last night, he had—quite foolishly—stayed up longer than needed. Thanks to the caffeine boost he impulsively sunk into upon receiving a lightbulb after weeks of writer’s block, he had finally come to the end of his seventh draft.

It wasn’t perfect, that much he knew, but at least he got somewhere.

Before leaving his apartment to head over to his friend’s editor, Yuma, who was luckily free for the entire day, meaning Akari could get through a lot of the manuscript before getting back  to fixing it. That is, if anything needed to be fixed. He never strove for perfection, just for something that got his point through his words.

He hoped to himself on the train ride into the city that it was good enough to at least continue with some of the concept art, of which he’s been dying to get back to ever since his mind cramped up on the final chapter. He could imagine it now…

Heading to the kitchen to pour himself some milk to warm up and rummaging through his cabinets for some snacks. Clearing his paper-filled desk and putting away every item of traditional stationary before setting up his display tablet, opening his PC and getting back to that scene draft he had abandoned back in last year's October.

From what he could remember, it was a scenery concept of one of the middle chapters.

A grand pavilion, surrounded by wisteria draped from above and against the fences sat periwinkle hydrangea bushes that circled the structure. A light cobble path led up to its steps and sat at the single table within was, His Highness. Crown Prince of Ethyrlys and older brother to—

Before Akari’s daydreaming could continue, he was shaken awake by the sudden hustle and bustle of commuters nearby who had bumped against him as the train came to a stop. They would all rush out and as Akari looked up to see where the train had stopped, he had become even more awake.

My stop!

Akari rushed out just before the doors could close on him, leaving the young man slightly adrenaline filled as he shook his head and regained lost composure. After his panting state was checked on by station staff, he reassured them that he was alright before he continued out of the underground to walk the rest of his way.

Outside, he stood under the sun for a moment, relishing in its warmth since it’d been a while since he properly took himself out of his apartment for anything other than groceries. Only one or two weeks really, but being far from his residential area made him feel a little better about being cramped up for so long.

Bzzzt—Bzzzt—Bzzzt—

Akari jolted at his phone vibrating against his hip, quickly fetching it from his pocket to see that it was Yuma trying to call him.

“Yuma?” He held the phone up to his ear.

“Sorry Akari, just wanted to know when you’d be arriving?”

A stern voice came from the other end, calm and frigid but welcoming somewhat. It wasn’t entirely reserved but to Akari, it made him feel as if he was being scolded.

“Oh, I’m only a few blocks from the building, don’t worry about me…”

“Great! That’s all I wanted to know, see you soon,”

“Yeah, see you!”

The sudden check-in seemed out of nowhere—which it was—but considering it was Yuma, a diligently organised person, someone who would crack at the slightest inconvenience, Akari wasn’t thrown off by it at all. In fact, he felt it was in a way, a sign of sorts, telling him to keep on going. You’re almost there.

Occasionally during his brisk walk, he’d hold the manuscript in one arm to shake the other, as the numbness started to get a little more irritating than he would’ve preferred. It wasn’t painful, but there were moments where he would feel as if he was losing all his strength in his grip.

Unfortunately, he could only blame himself.

But who cared, certainly not Akari, as under a few minutes he rushed into the office building and bee-lined his way to the stairs after spotting that the elevators were out of order. But he didn’t mind, he always had a fondness for extra exercise ever since he was stuck to a desk with a shrimp-like posture. His doctor emphasised the importance of movement, especially for someone still so young. And Akari agreed.

He was happy to climb ten floors up to reach Yuma’s office; he’d done it once before, except he wasn’t holding stacks of paper in his arms or book bag, but it was just a task with an extra variable at this point.

Around the ninth floor, Akari stopped.

For some odd reason, his heart started to race, as he slowly stepped down from the stairwell and decided to lean against the wall for a moment. Doubt was a powerful thing, as he suddenly wondered, Am I moving too quick? What if it’s the caffeine talking? Maybe I should reschedule?

Of course, since this was his seventh draft, this must’ve meant Akari was used to writing non-stop and changing things when needed. But he worried about it not being enough.

He consulted with his best friend Haruka, the self-appointed animator of the project, and co-writer before calling to make his appointment with Yuma. Although his friends' words were lovely to hear, that this draft was better and whatnot, Akari couldn’t help but think those were just light words of encouragement.

Then again, he already made the appointment and came all this way.

What else was stopping him but himself?

His grip on the manuscript tightened, as he let out a slow breath, trying to get back into the mood to get his writing checked out. That’s why he was here, after all, it’s not like he was publishing it yet.

With that, he pushed himself off the wall and got back to climbing the last few steps up. Until he finds his hands cramping up again, forcing him to hold the stack of paper under one of his arms as he lets blood flow back into the other to at least hold onto the rail. Though, he hadn’t noticed the person rounding the stairs at the top and before he could look up to move out of the way…

The collision was abrupt and out of the blue. Suddenly Akari felt himself slip back on the steps, and with a weak hand failing to grab onto the metal railing, there was little he could do for himself.

Paper.

Paper was the last thing he saw.

Paper tossed into the air in an explosive cluster above him.

Paper cluttered down the stairwell in an echoed flutter.

His manuscript. The manuscript laid across the steps below.