it will end soon

Soujiro has been counting days backwards lately. Four weeks until the end, then three, then two. It almost feels like preemptive mourning. Weirdly, it was the same way in prison.

As Fuji’s stay at Otohama draws to a close, while she and he feel Tokyo stepping on their throats, the rest of them don’t even seem to notice. It makes sense, of course. To them, Soujiro and Fuji are transient. Why get attached?

Why does the drive from the hotel to Otohama feel bittersweet now?

Why this sense of finality? It’s not like they can’t return. Fuji might not, but Soujiro will… no, he won’t.

Thirteen days before Fuji leaves, Soujiro parks the car at the edge of the road, where the only thing separating him from the edge of a cliff is a decorative fence. He steps out to lean against the car, to get some fresh air while he still can. The beach lies below, and the sea, and the sun.

Once they go back to Tokyo, he will keep trying to ‘find time’ to return, only to feel too tired to exist during his days off, let alone travel for so long. He’ll keep postponing his vacations, succumbing to the Fujinomiya family’s whims. If he stays in touch with anyone, it’ll be clipped and awkward. Little by little, interest from both parties will diminish, until one of them is brave enough to cut contact altogether.

Otohama right now looks like a huge autumn leaf. If he must, he will take it as a memory.

That’s all it is.

That’s what he tells himself so he won’t quit his high-paying, relatively simple job to move to a tiny village surrounded by cliffs, warmth, and someone he can enjoy silence with…

***

“Hi, papa.”

“...Koharu. You finally call. Do you understand how reckless your actions are? You’re twenty-six, not sixteen. Do you understand how hard it has been for me to keep reporters at bay? To have to lie? To postpone multiple projects due to your whims? If you’re calling so I can arrange for your return, I will not. You’re an adult now. I will not help you. Actions have consequences.”

“I have boy trouble,” Koharu says. “Also, I’m starting a charity.”

There’s silence at the other end of the line. She can tell that her dad is trying to hold back. He’s trying to be Responsible and Proper again. However, if there’s something Otohama has taught her, it’s that the only thing more fragile than one’s body is one’s mind. “ARE YOU PRE—”

“No. Could you please lend me one of your lawyers?”

More silence.

“I haven’t broken the law yet,” she clarifies. “Also, it’s not for me. I miiight need it for my boy trouble.”

“...you said ‘please’...”

That’s what he focuses on? “I sent you an email with the stuff I have for the charity so far. I added you to my list of sponsors. You can decline, but that would mean that many cute old people will sleep in hard beds and… and eat shriveled fish… and die…”

“I’ll take a look at it later. For now, more importantly: Haruko said that she spoke to your boyfriend the other day.”

“Ugh. Soujiro told me. Mama did not speak to my boyfriend. I don’t have one. I can’t have one or the Kerochanfans will get angry.”

“You’re also engaged to Yukida Fumito,” her dad says.

“No I’m not. That was a forty-year old nurse with a wife who, by the way, got transferred to another hospital. My boy trouble is related to somebody else, and I never said that it’s romantic. Um, by the way, if I sing a love song to a man and he says he hates me, does that mean that he likes me?”

“Yes.”

She sighs, relieved. “Just wanted to be sure. I’ve been trying to call mama, but she blocked me as soon as I unblocked her. Can you tell her to stop?”

“I can try, but we both know that it might be futile.”

“Yeahhh… well, what’s important is that you’ll help me with the charity. Thanks! Oh, and…”

“I have not s–and what? More boy trouble?”

“...if… if I accidentally left half my bra outside of the suitcase… ACCIDENTALLY… and I told him to bring the suitcase to me… and he did… but he didn’t react… does that mean he doesn’t like me?”

There was a long, judgmental pause. “Koharu, are you harassing staff again?”

“I’m not. It was an accident!”

“Oh, my dearest Koharu, why must you act as though I don’t know you? Out of all the things I’d protect you from, a harassment lawsuit is not one of them. Of course, if I was a poor villager, I’d date a celebrity, even if I hated her, try to sue her, run away with the money, then file a restriction order.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Koharu mumbles. “I never said anything about dating, either. There will be no dating.”

“Good!”

“Yeah, good. But also bad. But… it’s for the better.”

“Finally thinking like an adult!”

“Mhm.” Koharu hangs up.

Nagumo tolerates Koharu. Every now and then, she might make him laugh. It’s not too hard, really–almost everyone does. That’s it, though. In ten days, she will leave, and they will never meet again.

If not liking her means that he won’t feel the way she does right now, then that’s the best parting gift she could possibly give him.

***

The second time Toshi tries a reconnaissance mission, it begins to rain.

“Ah.”

That’s not good. He hadn’t considered that December often brings along these eerie, gray drizzles that end before he can decide whether to go for an umbrella or not. With their luck, if Toshi brings Fujinomiya to the top of the cliff, she’ll slip, slowly rolling down the hill with grass sticking to her clothes, becoming a ball of destruction that would bulldoze Otohama as though the buildings were bowling pins.

This is what he tells her later, as they practice going up and down the stairs. Fujinomiya has long since stopped using crutches, so he doesn’t have to worry about getting attacked again. She has been avoiding eye contact for the last couple of days, though. Is she gaining self-awareness?

Since she doesn’t respond, Toshi clears his throat. She steps down, he steps down. They face each other. The light above keeps flickering. One moment, the corridor is gold, the next silver. “I’ve heard Christmas in Tokyo is very uh… colorful. I don’t know. I’ve never been there around this time of the year.”

Fujinomiya nods, eyes on the floor.

Toshi doesn’t ask what’s wrong–not yet. Not until he finds out before the I’m-fine-you’re-not dance begins. “Do you have any plans? You’ll be traveling the day before, so please remember to rest.”

“I will.”

“Will you remember to rest, or will you actually do it?”

“M–ah!”

She slips. He saw it coming. Toshi has to grip the handrail with his right hand, meaning that he gets her full weight on him. Weirdly, Fujinomiya scrambles to move back as soon as she can. So it wasn’t… intentional? Either way, because she’s not quite used to sudden movements yet, she ends up slipping again.

“And this is why you focus on the session,” Toshi says. “I told you to lead with your injured leg.”

Her hand is on his back. She says nothing.

“...ready?”

“No.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Physically?”

“No,” she mumbles.

“Good.”

“No. Not good.”

“We can talk about that later, Ms. Fu… please. Come on now.” He tries to get one of her hands on the rail, but she’s resisting, and he can’t exactly exert much strength in this position. “You’ll actually squish me at this rate.”

It’s the first time he hears her laugh. It’s short and breathy, but it’s there. “I know. Sorry. It was scary.”

“Yeah?”

“One moment.”

“One. Moment’s over. Hands on the rail.” She doesn’t resist this time and, as he steps back, she manages to stand on her own. “There we go. You’re doing great.”

Fujinomiya sticks her tongue at him.

“Charming. If I were you, I’d put that back before I bit it…” He trails off. “Like. I meant you’ll bite your tongue if you do that while heading downstairs. It’s dangerous.”

She complies, averting her gaze again. Thank fuck. She didn’t catch the accidental double entendre. Despite himself, Toshi can’t speak again until they’re at ground level. After checking her pulse with two fingers on her wrist, he confirms that it’s elevated because of the slip. No other reason. None.

Toshi leads her to the lobby, where Mr. Oda is crocheting again. “Good afternoon,” he greets. “How’s this looking, Koha-chin?”

…what did he just call her?

This name seems to flip a switch; in a second, she’s springing to Mr. Oda, ignoring Toshi’s, “Wait!”

“Oda-chiiin! Nagumo’s being mean to me!”

“Wait. How—” Toshi stops once Mr. Oda aims at him with a needle again. “Fine, sure, whatever, just sit down. No abrupt movements.”

Fujinomiya does. Upon appraising Mr. Oda’s half-finished mittens, she concludes, “Looks great! See, Nagumo? This is what you could do with your time instead of being rude to women.”

“What.”

“He’s always like that,” Mr. Oda says. “Why do you think he’s old and single?”

“Easy now,” is Toshi’s reply.

“Now, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I don’t have a spouse or children. Never wanted ‘em. Back when I wasn’t an old geezer, I was the weird one for thinkin’ this way. One day I woke up and found that everyone else had found someone to walk with. But that’s when I realized that I didn’t care. The problem is, most of you care. One day you wake up and find that you miss someone who could be walking with you, had you taken the last step.”

Salient advice, except that to Toshi, that last step leads to broken careers, the clinic shutting down, and a precipice.

Mr. Oda says, “I think loneliness is like broken glass, lodged deep in your hearts. Lots of you try to take the pieces out, but your fingers bleed, and you don’t like the pain, so you’d rather leave the shards there than let the wounds heal. You meet someone, but those shards are too sharp, and too painful. You end up makin’ them bleed, too. You put your arms over your heart like that’s gonna help anyone. Like that’ll keep the shards from hurting anyone anymore. It won’t. But again, I’m just a spouseless, childless old geezer talkin’.” Mr. Oda hands the mittens to Fujinomiya. “Hold these for me. Gotta pee.”

Reflexively, Toshi heads over to help him, but Mr. Oda holds up a hand.

“My pee streams are very loud.”

Thus Toshi sits next to Fujinomiya. She’s examining the mittens. He’s watching the cracked, damp ceiling.

It’s cold. A few of the heat radiators aren’t working. There aren’t many patients around this time of the year; some of them have families to visit or be visited by. Weirdly, for the first time in years, Dr. Shimazu did not take time off.

“Once you return those mittens, we can go upstairs,” Toshi says.

“What did you think about what he said?”

“I’ve always thought that Mr. Oda is smarter than he leads on, but he’s also very… private. I’m glad he shared that wisdom with us. I suggest you put it into use once you return to Tokyo.”

“And you, Nagumo?”

“We’ll see.”

“Will you stay lonely?”

They glance at each other from the corners of their eyes. Neither of them smiles. “With all due respect, Ms. Fujinomiya, my private life is none of your concern.”

“It is.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because–do I seriously have to answer that?”

“Yes,” she says. “Answer it. That way, I can… put Mr. Oda’s advice into practice… once I’m back in Tokyo.”

Just a few weeks ago, the lobby used to be yellow around this time of the afternoon. It’s white now–everything is white. Thin, slushy rain casts shadows on the wall, the floor, Fujinomiya’s skin.

Toshi opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He can’t say it, neither fuck you, leave me alone, you weird stalker, or…

Fujinomiya smiles. “Can we go to the cliff the day before I leave?”

Weird. This is where she’d usually be pressing him into doing her bidding. “It might snow.”

“That’s fine. I like snow.”

“Me too.”

Me too, Fujinomiya.