Epilogue

Jiro stands amid his kitchen, blowing up pink and white balloons that scatter the ground at his feet. The latex dripping from his taste buds causes a sour taste to arise in his mouth, but he continues pushing his oxygen into the rubber balloons. A hand-written banner in a dark, black ink is taped to the cabinets behind him, and a few doodled flowers sporadically cross the surface. ‘Five Years Down, A Lifetime To Go,’ the banner displays in a messy handwriting - attempting to look neat.

It has been over seven years since that terrible, fateful night at Mamoru’s apartment. Now grown to twenty-nine, Jiro stands a few centimeters taller, and a buzzed haircut sits atop his head. His gaze has fallen softer from its once determined, revengeful spark - and now gleams with a pool of distant content leaking through the blues of his eyes. The deep, protruding bags laying beneath his sight contrast the paleness of his skin, and an everlasting look of exhaustion coats his features.

Placing his lips on another white balloon, Jiro uses one hand to squeeze the rubber, while the other guides the bubbling latex before him. Suddenly, a knock is heard at the door. Keeping his index and middle fingers aligned with his thumb, he pinches the hole closed - securing the oxygen within. With his free hand, Jiro scratches at the stiff stubble sprouting from his jawline, and continues towards the front door.

Jiro pulls the white door open, and is immediately greeted by a professionally-dressed, blonde bobbed woman. Her mouth twists into an excited grin, and her arms thrust out in front of her - the shopping bags in her hands rocking from the sudden movement.

“Jiro!” She exclaims, the happiness on her face sounding through her tone. The woman leans forward and hugs the taller man, her head leaning against his pullover-clad chest. “I haven’t seen you in forever!” She pulls away from his body, and welcomes herself into the apartment - grocery bags in tow.

“Kagome,” Jiro greets at last with a steady voice, closing the door behind him and watching his friend enter his own home, “Thank you for coming by, she’ll really appreciate you visiting. And, it’s only been like… a year since I’ve last seen you. Let’s not get too crazy.” Kagome rolls her eyes out of view from her host as she makes her way towards his kitchen, “The train from Shibuya makes it feel even longer!”

Placing the bags down with a sigh, Kagome places her hands atop the pencil skirt sitting at her hips. “Looks like you’re almost done,” She notices, dragging her eyes over the decorated space around her, “Just need to hang up the streamers, right?”

Jiro nods his head, entering the kitchen shortly after her own entrance. His hand still grips the white balloon, and he brings the latex to his mouth once more. Pushing in three more breaths, Jiro ties the rubber around his fingers, and eyes his handiwork.

“How’s work at the middle school, Kagome?” Jiro asks, as he unclasps his fingers from the balloon, and watches it fall to the pile of other balloons below him. Kagome stands by the kitchen table, and she begins setting her purchased items out on the surface before her. Confetti poppers, party hats, and even a pre-made birthday cake unearths itself from Kagome’s grocery bags.

“It’s the best thing ever,” She responds, her voice light and content, “I get to teach these amazing little kids all day about science! How cool is that?! I’m finally putting my brain to good use after all these years!” Jiro smiles at the reply, and walks over to the kitchen table beside Kagome. He grabs a roll of streamers, and looks to the kitchen’s entryway beside him.

“How’s the flower shop been?” Kagome asks, grabbing the tape on the table, “It looked beautiful on the way up, you’re doing such an amazing job with it.” Jiro smiles at the compliment, and treks over to the segment of the wall hanging above the kitchen entryway. “Thank you Kagome,” He appreciates as he begins unravelling the white streamers.

“Since it’s summer, most of the flowers are in bloom, so it’s that time of year where most of our customers drop in and pick up a bouquet or two.” Jiro reaches the beginning of the streamer paper up to the piece of hanging wall, and branches out his free hand towards Kagome, beckoning for some tape.

Ripping off a piece, Kagome nods her head and complies, while she hands over the sticky material. Jiro tapes the strand, and lets the loose end fall to the floor - ripping the bottom of the decoration off at an appropriate length.

Sighing to himself, Jiro looks to Kagome behind him. “Murasaki will be here soon, we should hurry up,” He offers, tearing another strand from the roll. Kagome allows her eyes to dance around her surroundings once more - taking in all that is around her. In doing so, a small, subconscious smile plays on her lips as her sight latches onto Jiro’s homemade banner.

“I can’t believe it’s been five years already,” She comments, tearing off another strip of tape, “Time flies by so fast…” Jiro draws his eyebrows in as he sticks a few more strands to the wall above him. “It sure does,” Jiro replies, his voice humming from his chest in a low vibration.

Soon, all of the streamers are hung up, and the decorations are finally put together. The surrounding apartment is filled with pink and white balloons, streamers, and all the like. A delicious, mouth-watering cake sits atop the kitchen table, along with three party hats and a gift bag addressed to Murasaki Shimizu.

“You know, Jiro,” Kagome begins, “I’m really proud of you… of us. We’ve… we’ve come so far, after everything we went through, and… I don’t know. I’m just glad you stuck with me. Thanks for everything, Jiro. You really are a great friend, and a great father too. I mean, look at the place! It’s beautiful!”

As the two friends take in their craftsmanship, they hear the front door open by the living room. Kagome’s eyes immediately dart to Jiro in shock, and they both grab two small party poppers synchronously. Gripping the cylindrical objects respectively, they stand just in front of the open kitchen entry way - awaiting a certain someone’s arrival.

The pittering of sock-clad footsteps sounds against the silent walls of the apartment, and it quickly approaches on the two adults in the kitchen. Soon, an adolescent, raven-haired girl strolls upon the entrance of the kitchen. Tilting her head up, her eyes widen as she takes in her surroundings. Kagome and Jiro twist the object in their grips, and pounds of confetti thrust into the immediate air.

“Happy adoption anniversary, Murasaki!” Kagome shouts excitedly, her hands waving from her uncontrollable joy. “Five years with the best Dad in the world, five hundred more to go,” Jiro adds, his voice not rising above a certain octave - but his tone sings light-hearted and soft. The girl before them begins smiling widely, and her eyes sparkle at the sentiment.

Rushing forward, the thick, black strands of hair fly past her shoulders as she throws herself into a group hug with the two adults in front of her. A cloud of confetti continues to fall as Kagome and Jiro embrace the small girl in a tight hug. As the last shreds of paper rest upon the floor, Murasaki pulls away from the group hug.

“Aunt Kagome! You came!” She comments eagerly, her white teeth gleaming in a bright smile, “Thank you guys so much… you didn’t have to do all this for little old me.” Kagome chuckles warmly as she places a hand on the young girl’s head.

“But we wanted to do it, Murasaki. You’re important to us, and we want to show you how grateful we are to have you in our lives,” Kagome inputs, her voice sincere and whole-hearted. Murasaki’s smile shines brighter, and her eyes squint shut. Jiro tugs his lips into a smile, and places a hand onto Murasaki’s shoulder.

“Come on, ladies,” He beckons, guiding his daughter into the kitchen, “Let’s have some cake.”

The three individuals jump into their seats, and Jiro slices each party-goer a piece of cake that Kagome brought. The vanilla icing swirls against the fluffy, vanilla dessert, and a few strawberries root themselves at the top of the pastry. Murasaki and Kagome instantly begin devouring their own slices, while Jiro watches in enjoyment.

Jiro stares at Murasaki, and takes in her innocent features. As he watches her eat, and basks in the decorations he made for her, Jiro is drawn to the memory of when he first met Murasaki, in that all too unfortunate setting.

Jiro walked down the halls of that white-floored, white-walled. white-ceilinged hospital hallway - much like he did everyday. Along with the nurses he remembered, there was always one patient that struck a chord with his memory, for he saw her everyday since he first arrived.

A petite toddler with thick, black hair could always be found causing trouble for the nurses. Whether she was running away from her doctors, refusing her medicine, or simply trying to hide from her healthcare workers - this little girl was always in the middle of some sort of trouble.

One day, the little girl was being pulled by the arm, quite aggressively, and her screams of displeasure kicked down Jiro’s eardrums - bringing his full attention to the raven-haired toddler ahead of him. “No! I don’t want to leave! I’m still sick! Please, treat me! Help me!” Her voice carried through the hallway.

Jiro stood and watched as the girl was brought into her room, where a few doctors file out before she gets thrown in. Subconsciously, Jiro’s legs carried him over to the room, and he stood before the closed door. Something within him, something beckoning him to go and check on the girl, guided him to this door, and persisted on his entrance.

He knocked, and welcomed himself inside of the room. Upon the hospital bed sat that same girl, and she stared at the approaching Jiro with curiosity.

“I think you got the wrong room,” Her high voice sang from her chest. Jiro shook his head, and stuffed his hands in his pockets, “No, I’m in the right room,” He said, standing a few feet away from the foot of the bed. The girl grew even more confused, and drew her eyebrows together in question, “I don’t… know who you are…”

“I know... I was just wondering if you were okay,” Jiro commented, as he nodded his head towards the door, “I saw what happened, and I was worried for you. What’s their problem? Want me to go teach them a lesson?” Jiro tries at a joke, but the girl’s apprehension to the strange man builds a wall around her.

Jiro sighed, and slouched his shoulders a fraction, “You’re not really sick, are you?” He asked, causing the little girl’s eyes to snap open, “You’re just pretending, right? Why are you pretending?”

The girl's eyes widen, and she rips her gaze off of the strange man.“None of your business!” She shouted, punching the bed beside her with both of her fists, “Get out of my room! I don’t even know who you are!” Jiro’s eyes squinted at her defensive and flighty behavior, yet he remained rooted in his position. 

The stubborn girl noticed Jiro's unwavering stance, and huffed an aggravated sigh. “Why… What do you know?!” The girl asked exasperatedly, her face contorted into confusion, “You don’t know me… do you?!”

“I have a gut feeling… that we are two sides of the same coin, you and I,” Jiro comments, his voice curious, “So if you’d just be honest with me, and-”

“I don’t even understand what you’re saying!”

Jiro huffed and hung his head. He drew his lips in, and gradually brought his eyes back up to the defensive, guarded little girl before him. “When I was a kid, I was in the foster care system,” Jiro began, his voice steady, “And I really didn’t like the family they put me with.”

The girl’s eyes glistened as she listened intently to Jiro’s words, “So, I ran away. I ran, and I ran, and I ran. I tried to get as far away from those people as possible, but the police would always find me and send me back.”

Jiro took his hands from his pockets and anxiously brushed at the buzzed hairs upon his head. "I have a feeling... that you are in a similar situation. If not, if I'm completely wrong, then I'll be on my way. But, if by any chance you are the same as me, then please tell me-"

“I’m an orphan!”

The little girl eagerly chirped up, pointing to herself in the chest, “And I really don’t like the house I live in, either! I hurt myself on purpose, and... and they bring me here. They always try to bring me back but… but I don’t want to go back…”

Jiro’s eyes opened in shock, and his lips parted from one another. Subconsciously, he took a step closer to the bed. “Please… don’t hurt yourself anymore, okay?” He pleaded, sincerity and worry lacing his words. The girl before him threw a look of betrayal at Jiro, “But, then they’ll send me back there! I’d rather… I’d rather-”

“I’ll get you out of there,” Jiro promised, his eyebrows drawing in, “I know what it’s like. I know what you’re going through. As long as you promise that you won’t hurt yourself anymore, I promise that I’ll… I’ll save you from that place.”

After a while, and three cleared plates line the tabletop, Kagome looks to Murasaki with sincerity. “You’ve gotten so big, Murasaki,” She comments, her voice soft and reminiscent, “I haven’t seen you for so long…”

“It was just one slice of cake, woman! How much damage did it do to my twelve year-old body?!” Murasaki complains, grabbing the small folds of her stomach within her hands, and shakes them with disdain. Kagome laughs at the behavior, and shakes her head at the girl. “And it’s only been a year since I last saw you, Aunt Kagome. When we had to bury…”

Murasaki’s voice fades away, her eyes beginning to swirl with a newfound sadness. Kagome looks to Jiro across the table, and his own face conveys a despairing expression, as he vividly remembers the event Murasaki could not retell. Kagome’s lips part, and the short ends of her blonde hair brush against her jaw as she turns her head towards the little girl once more.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Murasaki rasps out, her tight throat holding back a sob, “She’s… she’s here with us, but she’s not… here. I want to see her, is that okay? Can we all go celebrate with Mommy?” Murasaki’s pleading, sorrowful eyes beam up at her father, as her bottom lip quivers at her chin.

Pulling his own bottom lip inwards, Jiro responds with a short, curt nod. The silent reply makes Murasaki’s spirit rise a fraction, and she slips out of her seat. As the retreating sound of her footsteps echo against the walls, Jiro’s eyes pull to Kagome’s curious and questioning smirk. Pulling his face inwards in confusion, and he stands from his seat. Clearing everyone’s places, Kagome stands as well, and makes her way to Jiro’s side by the sink.

“She still calls her Mommy?” Kagome asks, whispering her words, “I thought that was just a thing at the hospital. I didn’t think she actually considered her a…” Jiro’s cheeks and ears coat with a faint, pink blush as he finishes off the dishes in the sink - an expression in which Kagome perceives.

“I didn’t tell her to do that, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jiro shoves out in a harsh whisper, drying his hands before walking towards Murasaki’s path, “She calls her that on her own. Don’t get any ideas.”

“What ideas? That’s not what I was asking about at all…” Kagome defends in a teasing, knowing tone - which only infuriates Jiro more. She bumps her elbow into her friend’s side, and follows him down the hallway Murasaki had just skipped down a minute before.

Just ahead, an open door at the right of the hallway bleeds out light from within, and pours it into the dim hallway. Jiro and Kagome enter the open room, and their eyes lay upon a kneeling Murasaki. In front of the small girl stands a large shrine, where multiple picture frames and urns rest peacefully on its surface.

Kagome’s lips draw inwards as Jiro sighs a deep, silent breath. Stepping cautiously into the room, the two adults make their way towards Murasaki and kneel beside the quiet girl. Upon the altar sits four picture frames, corresponding to four urns across the flat surface before them.

Yuuto Matsuo, Ren Jin, Niko Fukumoto, and Junko Fukumoto all have their portraits presented on the shrine, and their smiling faces beam at the mourning three individuals. Kagome’s eyes latch onto Yuuto’s bright face, before it sways onto Niko’s determined, innocent stare, and finally it drifts onto Ren’s angelic, sculpted features. Closing her eyes, Kagome allows her mind to take her back to that night, seven years ago.

“Kagome! Go!” Jiro shouted as he bent over Yuuto’s lifeless body, “Go to Yuuto’s car, I’ll meet you there in a second. Go, now!” Kagome’s fearful eyes dragged away from Jiro’s tense figure, and she stumbled her way towards the bulky, metal door. Her sight was blurry, and she could feel her knees buckle beneath her. The policemen were long gone, and all Kagome was left with was Yuuto’s body and the image burnt into her memory.

With a trembling hand, Kagome reached for the door handle. Once the cold, biting surface enveloped her touch, Kagome snapped her head around again - witnessing Jiro attempt to hoist a limp Yuuto onto his side, throwing an arm over his own shoulder. “Where’s… Junko…?”

Jiro’s eyes stabbed onto Kagome, and an expression of pure anger and anguish crossed his face. “Kagome, for fuck’s sake! Get to the damn car! We don’t have a lot of time!” Kagome stifled a sob, and she ripped the door open in front of her. Tossing her hazy eyes downwards against the staircase, her heart dropped into her stomach.

Niko laid at the bottom of the staircase, as his own blood blanketed his extremities. The putrid, rank smell of metal and blood corrupted Kagome’s nose - blurring her senses even more. She threw a hand to her mouth, and began descending the old, wooden steps. With each passing stair, Niko’s body approached closer and closer, and the intoxicating smell further stapled itself into Kagome’s memory.

Jiro suddenly appeared at the top of the steps, grasping an unconscious Yuuto to his side. Exasperatedly, Jiro shouted down to the cautious and petrified girl, “I’ll grab him, you go! Go to the car!” Kagome nodded, and jumped over Niko’s lifeless body. As she did, her eyes snapped to Niko’s face, where his eyes remained peeled open, but a glossy whiteness overtook the browns of his once bright eyes.

Kagome shoved herself through the first floor door, and sprinted through the empty bar. Beyond the doorway ahead of her, she spotted Yuuto’s car parked atop the sidewalk. Grimacing, Kagome pushed herself harder, and filed through the door and into the night. Gasping slightly, Kagome hustled to the passenger side door, and welcomed herself in.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, and hollow, scrappy breaths fell off her lips. Slowly opening her eyes once again, Kagome’s gaze landed upon the rearview mirror before her. At the sight of the reflection, Kagome’s heart stopped beating, and she whipped herself around in her seat.

There, seated comfortably in the back seat, laid Ren in all of his cold blooded glory. His eyes were closed, and the seat beneath him was stained a deep red. Kagome’s hand flitted to her mouth once more, and the sobs she tried so desperately to suppress came out like a tidal wave of despair.

Kagome’s eyes squint as she holds back a round of tears, and her trembling fingers clench into fists upon her bent lap. On the other side of Murasaki kneels Jiro, whose eyes train solely upon Junko Fukumoto. In front of her picture lays a small potted white lily, positioned next to a red-stained winning popsicle stick. His heart tightens at the seemingly simple display, and he allows his mind to take him back one year ago as he shuts his eyes.

“Mr. Shimizu,” The doctor tried again, his voice apprehensive and knowing, “It has been a long waiting game with Junko these past six years. There has been no hint at all for any sign of life. No accelerated heart rates, no fidgets or twitches, nothing. I would highly recommend that… that you take her off life support, at your earliest convenience.”

Jiro’s hands trembled against his face, and his eyes poured all of his built up sorrow onto the doctor before him. Of course, Jiro did not want to let Junko go. He wanted her back, he wanted her safe and alive. He wanted her to meet Murasaki, and the flower shop he bought for her. If she were to just… die… would it be in vain? Would Junko have wanted him to do this?

Surprisingly, the first thought that popped into Jiro’s head was a soft, whispering, ‘Yes.’ As he squinted his eyes shut, Jiro knew - deep down - that taking her off life support is what she would have wanted, no matter how morbid. This machine shackles her to the life she does not wish to live, and it holds her back from being free from the pain and misery she endured her entire life.

Jiro looked to his right, where his ghastly, boney woman laid unconscious - hooked up to countless tubes and wires. Her black and white hair grew fast, and soon she was back to how she looked when she was a child, with a full head of long, white hair. Drawing his lips inward, Jiro shuffled back over to her bedside, and sat in the armrest next to her bed.

All this time, these six whole years, Junko wasn’t holding out for herself. She wasn’t using life support to bring her body back to consciousness. Junko was holding out… for Jiro, and Kagome. No matter how much Junko wished to be free, she still wanted her best friends to be happy and secure. Her stabilized consciousness here on Earth served as her way of telling them ‘I’m right here if you need me. I’ll always be right here.’

Jiro shook his head, and peeled his hands off of his face. Tensing his cheekbones, Jiro placed his eyes onto the doctor once more. “Okay,” Jiro’s scraggly voice managed to grind out, “Okay, you can… you can take her off. But, c-can you wait until tomorrow? I want to bring my daughter in… to say goodbye…”

The doctor nodded understandably, “Of course, Mr. Shimizu. This was a smart decision, and I know she would have wanted you to make it for her. I thank you on behalf of her. But, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to my nurse now. Call if you need me.”

The doctor promptly left after his words - leaving Jiro alone in the room with his best friend. He ran his calloused hands over his buzzcut, and drew his eyebrows together in a helpless manner. “You would have wanted this, I know that much,” Jiro whispered, while he reached out a hand, and placed it on top of Junko’s limp, bony one.

“You need to be free, Junko. The flowers up there are probably ten times more beautiful than any you’d find on Earth… I’ll- I’ll take care of Kagome. Don’t worry about her, okay? And don’t you dare worry about me. I’m a father now, you know. I can handle this. I just… I wish I could be doing this all with you here, too. But… I’ve been selfish my whole life. I want you to be happy - and if that’s not here, on Earth, then I’ll set you free.”

Jiro gripped her near-lifeless hand tighter in his warm grasp, and tears began spilling from his eyes uncontrollably, “I love you, Junko. I hope you know that. Just… just hold out a bit longer until Murasaki can say goodbye, okay? Then… then I’ll let you go…”

Jiro’s eyes swell with tears as he pulls himself from the painful memory - not allowing himself to finish the recollection in its entirety. Bringing himself back to his senses, he hears a sniffling sound from his right. He peels open his eyes and turns his head to the noise. There, beside him, kneels Murasaki with tears streaming down her face - and she attempts to wipe them all away with the back of her hand.

On the other side of Murasaki sits Kagome, who gradually spins herself to the commotion as well. However, her own face is tear-stricken and puffy - notable signs of her own, silent hysterics. The two girls that mean the most to him, crying right before his eyes, causes his bottom lip to quiver.

Suddenly, Murasaki lets out a deep, miserable sob. Her head falls backwards at her neck, and her eyes squint closed. “It’s not fair!” She cries, her tears cascading down her red cheeks, “I just… I just want to talk to her! She only ever listened to me… she never talked back, because she was sleeping all the time! And… And I never got to meet Uncle Yuuto! Or Uncle Ren! Or Uncle Niko! I-I only get to see them… through pictures!”

Kagome’s face breaks, and her sadness overtakes her façade in a split second. Crawling towards Murasaki, Kagome wraps her arms around the girl’s trembling shoulders. “Oh, Murasaki…” Kagome whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut, “If we could bring them all back, we would have done that a long time ago. But… but we can’t. We just can’t, okay? I’m sorry, my love. I’m so, so sorry…”

Jiro’s arms wrap around the two sobbing girls before him, and he buries his face in Murasaki’s black hair. With his face tight, Jiro desperately tries to suppress the tears welling in his eyes. But a few stary drops leak past, and they saturate his daughter’s scalp.

“I’m sorry… that you can’t hear them,” Jiro begins, his voice low and whispering, “I’m sorry you never got to meet them. I’m sorry all we have are a few pictures. I’m… I’m sorry. I want them back too, Murasaki. I… want to see them all again. It’s just not possible.”

Murasaki continues to hiccup amidst her hysterics, and she attempts to muffle her uncontrollable sadness into Jiro’s bent arm. Their collective cries could be heard from the kitchen, where Murasaki’s decorations still hang, and half a cake remains uneaten. One could even pick up the muffled sobs from the floral shop downstairs, where red, white, and yellow roses rest untouched. Lavender, hydrangeas, chrysanthemums, and bellflowers alike all paint a beautiful mosaic of color around the flower shop.

‘Junko’s Spring.’