Cold Sleep - Chapter 1 - Part 3

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The view from the night bus was pitch black. Nothing was visible outside. Tohru stretched his back as much as the cramped seat would allow. The man in the business suit next to him had his right leg stretched out into the aisle, snoring loudly as the bus gently rocked.

Tohru had missed the last train home, leaving him stranded until a station attendant had kindly informed him that he could still catch a night bus. Thanks to that, he was able to start his journey back that night.

He tried to organize his thoughts: the woman’s words, the former coworker’s words, mixing them together to reconstruct who he was before losing his memory. But it didn’t feel like the real him. Even as he listened to their stories, it felt like he was hearing about someone else—someone he didn’t know.

The former coworker, Ishii, had met up with Tohru at a café shortly after 7 p.m.

"I really thought you had died in that accident," Ishii said, echoing the same thing the woman from the apartment next door had told him.

"But it’s amazing you survived. Wasn’t it a car collision?" Ishii lit a cigarette, pulling it from the chest pocket of his delivery company uniform.

"No, it was a single-vehicle accident. I was distracted and crashed into a utility pole..." Tohru began, but Ishii stopped mid-drag on his cigarette.

"Wait a minute. There was definitely another car involved. A coworker who happened to be passing by right after the accident saw you, covered in blood, being taken away in an ambulance from between two wrecked cars. He said it looked so bad that you might not make it," Ishii said confidently, his face betraying no doubt. Tohru found this odd. Fujishima had told him it was a single-vehicle accident, but Ishii insisted there was another party involved.

"They had one lane closed off for hours. It seemed like a major accident, but when it barely made the news or the papers, we figured neither you nor the other driver was seriously injured. But then you never showed your face at the office again, and you moved out of your apartment. We wanted to visit you, but we didn’t know which hospital you were in. Everyone was saying it was strange and that you might have actually died," Ishii continued, exhaling a puff of smoke. He offered Tohru a cigarette, but Tohru declined. Ishii chuckled at this.

"That’s odd. You don’t smoke anymore?" he asked.

"Not really, no..." Tohru replied.

"But you used to be a heavy smoker. I wonder if memory loss changes your preferences too," Ishii mused. Tohru had no way to compare, as he had no recollection of his past habits.

"Well, that’s not important. So, when rumors spread that you were dead, we started thinking—why didn’t it make the news? Among us, the theory was that the other driver must have been some big-name politician or a high-ranking cop who managed to cover it all up. What’s the real story?" Ishii asked, leaning in, but Tohru didn’t know much more about the accident than Ishii did.

"I’m... not really sure myself," Tohru admitted.

"So, what are you doing now?" Ishii asked.

"I’m staying with a friend and working part-time at a convenience store. I’m broke..." Tohru explained.

"Broke? But you had savings, didn’t you?" Ishii asked, puzzled.

"No, I didn’t save anything," Tohru replied.

"No way. You told me you had about 50 or 60 grand saved up and that you were planning to quit working by next March once you had enough money," Ishii said, frowning.

"But Fujishima never gave me a bankbook or anything..." Tohru started.

"Who’s Fujishima?" Ishii asked.

"He’s the friend I’m staying with now. He said he was my best friend..." Tohru answered, but Ishii’s frown deepened.

"Are you sure this guy is really your friend? I’ve never heard you mention anyone named Fujishima," Ishii said.

Doubt began to creep into Tohru’s mind. The accident details didn’t match what Fujishima had told him, and the savings Ishii mentioned didn’t exist. The more Tohru learned about his past, the more mistrust he felt toward Fujishima, who was supposed to be his only anchor.

"You should have a serious talk with him," Ishii suggested. Tohru gave a noncommittal response, "Yeah, maybe..." But could he really confront Fujishima? Especially about the money? If it turned out that Fujishima had stolen his savings, it would be bad enough. But what if there had never been any savings? Asking Fujishima about the money could make things even more awkward between them, and if Fujishima felt accused of stealing, it could ruin their already tenuous relationship. Tohru feared that if Fujishima decided he couldn’t trust him anymore, he might abandon him.

His thoughts spiraled, making his head spin. This wasn’t what he had wanted to find out. He hadn’t come to uncover lies about Fujishima; he had just wanted to learn more about his past self.

"What kind of guy was I?" Tohru asked.

"Well, it’s hard to say... You had a quick temper and were quick to resort to violence, but other than that, you were pretty normal, I guess. You seem a lot calmer now," Ishii replied, echoing what the woman next door had said about Tohru being quick to anger and prone to fighting. Even though the traces of his past self were still there, it felt like he was hearing about someone else, not himself. He wondered if gathering more pieces would help him form a clearer picture, one that felt more real.

"Is there anyone else who knew me? Someone at work, maybe?" Tohru asked, desperation in his voice. Ishii folded his arms and thought for a moment.

"You didn’t seem to have any close friends. I never heard about you having a girlfriend either... Oh, wait, there was a woman who called the office a few times after you left," Ishii said.

"A woman?" Tohru asked.

"Yeah, she was pretty persistent about finding out where you were. I answered a few of her calls myself, so I remember," Ishii explained.

Tohru handed Ishii a memo with Fujishima’s address and phone number, asking him to pass it along if the woman called again. Ishii looked at the memo and commented, "You live pretty far away now, don’t you?"

Tohru and Ishii parted ways before 9 p.m. "I should head home soon. My wife gets on my case if I’m late," Ishii had said. Tohru wanted to ask more questions but didn’t want to impose. As they left the café, Ishii must have sensed Tohru’s disappointment because he patted him on the shoulder and said, "Hang in there. It must be tough, but keep going."

"Give me a call if you need anything. I’ll let you know if that woman contacts us," Ishii added before they parted at the station. But barely a minute later, Ishii came running back, out of breath.

"Oh yeah, I just remembered something," Ishii said, his breath visible in the cold night air.

"It’s not a big deal, but you once mentioned that you were planning to go to photography school once you had enough money saved up. You said you wanted to become a photographer. That’s all, really..."

Suddenly, the vague connection between his past and present snapped into place. "Thank you," Tohru said, and Ishii, looking a bit embarrassed, waved it off before running off again.

The fact that Fujishima had been so insistent on photography school and that his past self had apparently wanted to attend one suddenly made sense. Tohru had thought Fujishima was projecting his own dreams onto him. But now it seemed that photography had been something his past self had genuinely wanted, and Fujishima had known this all along.

Ishii had said, "I never heard you mention anyone named Fujishima." But could a complete stranger know about a dream Tohru had once had? And after Tohru had forgotten everything, would that person still be trying to help him achieve it?

Fujishima had said he would fully cover the cost of school, even if that money came from Tohru’s own savings. But whether it was 50,000 or 60,000 yen, the money would have quickly been used up for tuition and other fees. There was no benefit in it for Fujishima.

Tohru felt guilty, realizing this. If he had known, he wouldn’t have resisted so much. They wouldn’t have had that argument. If Fujishima had just said, "Before you lost your memory, you loved photography and wanted to go to a vocational school. So why not give it a try? You might remember something, or find yourself interested as you go," it would have been easier to understand, and Tohru might have even considered going.

But Fujishima had a way of not saying everything. In hindsight, this felt like a characteristic trait of his. Realizing he could trust Fujishima brought Tohru a sense of relief. Although he had been uneasy when Ishii’s and Fujishima’s stories didn’t match up, now he felt he could genuinely trust the man.

He realized he was being cared for, in Fujishima’s own awkward way. As he sat in the bus, Tohru lowered his gaze. It was ironic that, in trying to recover pieces of his past, he ended up rediscovering Fujishima’s kindness.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

As the bus crossed the prefectural border, the snow seemed to disappear. It was past midnight when Tohru arrived at the bus stop near the station. The cold outside didn’t bother him much, as his steps felt lighter on his way home. After walking for about fifteen minutes, he saw the lights of the convenience store where he worked. From there, he was on a familiar path.

Walking this route made him feel more at ease than the shabby apartment where he had supposedly lived for years. He felt like he was truly going home. In the morning, when he had left, he was stubbornly determined never to return if his memory came back. But now, seeing the familiar scenery and feeling the comfort it brought, his heart trembled. He recognized that this place was his home now. He just wanted to return to a warm home, to be with someone who cared about him.

He stood in front of the door and checked his watch. It was 12:30 a.m. Fujishima knew it was Tohru’s day off. He might be worried since Tohru hadn’t left any note or contacted him, and was coming home so late.

He quietly opened the door, thinking that Fujishima might already be asleep. The hallway was dark, but light spilled out from the living room.

“I’m back,” he called out, trying to sound casual as he addressed the back of Fujishima’s head, which was visible over the edge of the long sofa in the living room.

“It was cold outside. It might snow here too…” Tohru’s words trailed off as a loud thud startled him. Rounding the sofa with apprehension, he first noticed a wine glass tipped over on the coffee table. Fujishima was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the sofa, gripping an amber-colored liquor bottle of an unknown brand. Looking closer, Tohru saw two empty bottles lying haphazardly at Fujishima’s feet. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bloodshot, his hair disheveled. His shirt, untucked from his slacks, was wrinkled, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. Tohru was shocked—he had only ever seen Fujishima impeccably dressed and groomed. The sight of him in such a disheveled state was almost surreal. Tohru had even thought that Fujishima was the type of person who would never indulge in something as ordinary as masturbation.

Fujishima’s right hand moved, bringing the bottle to his lips. He took a swig directly from it and slammed the bottle down on the table with another loud thud. Unsure whether Fujishima was just a bad drunk or in a foul mood, Tohru stood there, stunned, watching the man sway on the sofa.

“Tohru,” Fujishima called out. It was unusual—he typically referred to him as “you” or “Takahisa-kun,” which always felt somewhat awkward. Today, though, he used Tohru’s name, and with it came a sense of anger.

“W-where… where have you been?” Fujishima stammered, his speech slurred.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be late without letting you know,” Tohru apologized, the words coming out naturally. Fujishima stared at him, as if searching for something in his expression, then suddenly lowered his head.

“I… I thought you wouldn’t come back,” Fujishima muttered.

“Why would you think that?” Tohru asked, surprised.

“I thought… maybe your memory had returned,” Fujishima replied.

Tohru sat down across from him and uprighted the fallen glass on the table.

“Even if my memory comes back, I’d still return here. After all, I got kicked out of my old apartment for not paying the rent. I can’t go back there now,” Tohru said.

Fujishima buried his face in his hands. He sank further into the sofa, kicking the coffee table in front of him. The wine glass teetered on the edge, and Tohru quickly grabbed it.

“I didn’t know you drank, Fujishima-san. I never noticed,” Tohru remarked.

“Of course, I do…” Fujishima snapped, his tone sharp. It was different from his usual aloofness—there was something cutting about it. Sensing that Fujishima was in a bad mood, Tohru felt it might be best to retreat to his room, but there was something he needed to say first. He rubbed his fingers together on his lap.

“The reason I was late today is that I went to my old apartment and talked to a former coworker,” Tohru explained.

Fujishima suddenly straightened up. “W-what did you say?”

“I thought that if I talked to someone who knew me before, it might trigger a memory…” Tohru began.

“W-who gave you permission to do that?” Fujishima’s voice thundered, startling Tohru. He was clearly enraged, his clenched fists and trembling shoulders betraying his anger.

“I told you yesterday it was pointless. It’s meaningless,” Fujishima snapped, dismissing Tohru’s actions outright. The cold sting of the snow from earlier flashed in Tohru’s mind—the long hours on the train and bus, the fact that he hadn’t remembered anything after all that effort. Despite everything, he didn’t regret going. At least he had realized Fujishima’s kindness.

He had planned to thank Fujishima after telling him what happened, to express his gratitude for everything he had done. But Fujishima’s harsh words swept away any feelings of gratitude, leaving only a growing sense of anger.

“I wouldn’t know if it was meaningless unless I tried,” Tohru retorted. Fujishima shook his head with his eyes closed.

“Even if they said I wouldn’t remember, that doesn’t mean the chances were zero,” Tohru argued. But Fujishima turned his head away, showing no interest in listening.

“It’s because you wouldn’t tell me anything, because you cornered me mentally, that I had to go all the way out there!” Tohru shouted.

After a brief silence, Fujishima’s slurred voice murmured, "Such a pointless thing to do..."

Tohru’s mind heated up in a flash. He stood up from the sofa and glared down at Fujishima.

"You don't understand how I feel. You can't even begin to imagine how it feels to have your mind go blank, unable to figure out what to do, and still be told to 'do this' or 'do that.' You can't understand the fear of not seeing what's around you, not even noticing the cliff right in front of you, yet still being told to move forward. You can't possibly grasp that sense of fear, can you?"

Fujishima slammed his hand on the sofa.

"Is this life, starting from zero, really so painful? You lack for nothing in terms of food, clothing, or shelter, and still you get to start fresh—is that so unbearable? What's your problem? Is it dissatisfaction that's driving you to dig into the past? Just say it. Whatever you want, whatever you wish to do, say it right in front of me."

It's fundamentally different. Just because everything around me is taken care of doesn't mean this 'feeling' will disappear. It's like being handed a box where you can't see what's inside but are told you mustn't lose it, you mustn't let go of it. Of course, you'd become obsessed with what's inside the box, desperately wanting to know its contents. The more you're told you can't let go, the more you want to know.

That's exactly how it is with memories you can't recall. I know there's a sealed memory somewhere in my mind. But I can't see it. I don't know what it is. And even though I can't understand it, I can't forget it or throw it away either. The desire to 'know' is the only thing that remains, lingering endlessly.

"If you really care about me, you would just leave me alone. Then I wouldn't have to stress over what you say."

The man hung his head.

"Don't just stay silent—say something!"

Fujishima staggered to his feet but tripped over himself and fell back onto the sofa. With a sigh, he roughly ran his hand through his hair.

"…I'm not going to interfere with you anymore. Do whatever you want, however you want."

It felt like I’d been suddenly cut off, and for a moment, I nearly cried. As if to brace myself against the crumbling feeling from my legs, I shouted back.

"Fine, I will! I'm not going to rely on your help ever again!"

The words of separation burst out from deep within my throat. Driven by that momentum, I dashed out of the living room, slipping on my shoes as I ran outside. I sprinted full speed, shaking off any hesitation.

In a midnight park, I stopped as a soft sensation touched my face. Snow had begun to fall, even though it hadn't been snowing earlier. I pressed the cuff of my coat against my nose and sniffled. Tears started flowing, uncontrollably. I didn't want to think about why I was crying.

In the distance, I saw the lights of a 24-hour convenience store. I walked toward the light, staring at the black ground as snowflakes melted into it. I couldn't think of anywhere else I could go.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The midnight shift at the convenience store was staffed by Kusuda and Yoshii. Yoshii, like Kusuda, was a regular on the night shift and often worked with me. He was easygoing and never complained, even when I occupied the simple bed in the changing room at the back of the store, even though I wasn't on duty. But when Yoshii came in for his break, I felt bad and left the break room, dragging a folding chair to the corner by the register and sitting down.

Looking at the clock, it was 3:30 AM. Outside the window, the snow had turned into a blizzard at some point. Even though there were no customers, the cheerful background music playing in the store somehow made me feel even more irritated.

"So, you got into a fight with a drunk Fujishima and ran out of the apartment?"

After hearing my story, Kusuda let out a long breath, his arms crossed.

"All I did was go ask some old acquaintances for information, but he made it sound like what I’m doing is meaningless, and that pissed me off…"

"I kind of get where you’re coming from, Takahisa. So, did you learn anything from your acquaintance? Did it jog any memories?"

I slumped forward.

"And then the protagonist recovered his memory, and they all lived happily ever after. The end."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Idealism."

Kusuda sealed the conversation with a final blow: "So, in the end, you didn’t remember anything, huh?" Sitting in the chair, I shook it restlessly like an impatient child.

"Apparently, I used to have a really short temper before I lost my memory. I was even the type to hit women without hesitation…"

"You? Hitting someone?"

Kusuda stared at me intently.

"Wow, you really can’t judge a book by its cover."

"That was before I lost my memory."

Since I knew he was joking, I could laugh. Kusuda was laughing too.

"Violence and all that—it’s hard to imagine it from the current you. I mean, here you are, sulking because of a fight with a friend, coming to vent at your part-time job like some lonely little kid."

His teasing made my face flush.

"Shut up. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. After all, I’ve only got four months of memories."

"Oh, poor baby, are you lost? Want your big brother to walk you home?"

When I feigned a punch, Kusuda exaggeratedly pulled back.

"Violence is bad. Peace forever."

The automatic door slid open, putting an end to our banter. A few customers trickled in, so Kusuda was too busy to keep me company. I felt lonely all of a sudden. Watching his back as he processed sales, I started thinking about Fujishima again. Just remembering what he said made me angry, made me curse him under my breath. Yet, despite that, I couldn’t help wondering if he was worried about me after I ran out, and the thought made me feel pathetic.

As I slumped forward, Kusuda tapped me on the shoulder.

"Hey, maybe it’s time for you to head back. When he said 'do as you like,' it wasn’t like he was telling you to leave, was it?"

"But…he didn’t try to stop me when I left."

Kusuda tapped his finger on the counter.

"Maybe you just want Fujishima to pay more attention to you?"

"That’s not it."

"Yeah, it is."

Kusuda declared with full confidence.

"I said it’s not!"

Even though I was stubbornly denying it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right. Being around Fujishima was exhausting. Our personalities didn’t match. All the things he said irritated me. But when he said he wouldn’t interfere anymore, I felt lonely. I felt abandoned.

The store’s clock chimed four times with a small, echoing "pong, pong" sound. During the day, the noise is drowned out by the hustle and bustle, and the time signal often goes unnoticed, but at night, the sound resonates through the quiet. Kusuda stifled a big yawn.

"Damn... I’m getting sleepy. Ten minutes until Yoshii comes out. Tell me an interesting story or something to keep me awake."

He asked me to talk to keep him from dozing off, but I refused, saying, "I can’t do a comedy routine on my own."

"Memory loss, huh..." Kusuda muttered suddenly, without any context.

"I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s it like to forget everything about yourself?"

I thought for a moment. During that pause, Kusuda yawned again.

"The closest thing I can compare it to is the feeling when you wake up in the morning."

Kusuda’s eyes, red from sleepiness and yawning, narrowed slightly.

"You’ve had a really good sleep, more than enough, and then you wake up. The morning light hits your face, and it’s so bright that you feel dazed. That’s how it felt at first. Everything was white, and that dazed feeling just kept going. It was like the light was shining into my head, making everything inside just as white and empty... It was terrifying."

Kusuda tilted his head. I was frustrated by how poorly I was able to convey that sensation.

"But that was in the beginning. It’s not like that anymore. I only have four months of memories, but I’ve learned to look back on them. When I went to ask about my past self, I realized something: even though my current self is vague, hearing about the past me felt like hearing about a stranger—it didn’t seem real at all. My current self is uncertain, but it’s still more real than the past self I’ve only heard about."

I stared at my palm. This was Tohru Takahisa’s hand, seen by Tohru Takahisa himself. The same hand that the pre-amnesia Tohru Takahisa would have seen. It felt like I was looking at someone else’s hand. A chill ran down my spine. I suddenly felt like I was something that shouldn’t exist. That thought scared me, and I started talking quickly.

"Speaking of which, there was one strange thing about the accident…"

"Accident?" Kusuda asked.

"Yeah, I was told by Fujishima-san that it was a single-vehicle accident, but one of my old acquaintances mentioned that there was someone else involved."

"Hey, isn’t that kind of serious?"

Kusuda, who had been half-asleep, suddenly widened his eyes.

"Whether it was single-vehicle or involved someone else doesn’t really matter to me. The insurance covered the medical bills, and even though I lost my memory, I’ve recovered."

"But whether someone else was involved or not makes a huge difference. If there was someone else, you’d probably have to compensate them for damages, or it could even lead to a lawsuit, right?"

"But... I don’t know which story is true…"

"Maybe someone’s taking advantage of your memory loss. What if that 'friend' is actually a lie, and Fujishima-san is the one who caused the accident? He might have told you it was a single-vehicle accident to avoid being blamed."

Kusuda’s voice had a tense edge, and I couldn’t help but give a wry smile.

"No way. That guy may be unsociable and annoying, but he’s not the kind of person who would do something bad."

Kusuda furrowed his brow and pulled his chin back.

"You never know. You’ve only been with him for a few months—you can’t really see someone’s true nature in that short amount of time."

Even though I couldn’t believe it, one question started to connect with others, forming a thread of doubt. Fujishima didn’t tell me much about my life before the accident. He got really angry when I tried to ask about my past.

There were other odd things too. Less than a week after my injury, I was transferred to another hospital. Fujishima said it was because he knew a doctor there, but maybe it was actually to hide the truth by taking me far from where I used to live.

If, as Kusuda suggested, Fujishima was the one responsible for the accident, then there would be nothing good for him if I regained my memory—only bad things. It wouldn’t be surprising if he reacted badly when I tried to learn about my past.

"But then again, if Fujishima-san was the culprit, he could’ve just left you alone. After all, you lost your memory and don’t remember anything. And if it was the kind of accident that left you with a serious injury, the police would have been involved, and it wouldn’t be something that could be easily covered up. So, maybe that theory doesn’t hold up after all."

In just a few minutes, Kusuda dismissed the dramatic “Fujishima as the perpetrator” theory. As I listened, I suddenly remembered something.

"That’s right. An old acquaintance who used to work with me mentioned that before I lost my memory, I really liked photography and was saving up to go to a photography school. Fujishima-san knew that, which is why he kept pushing me to take up photography again. So, he’s not lying about being my friend. He’s not the perpetrator."

Yes, he’s not a bad person. He hasn’t lied. Finding a reason to trust the man, I felt a sense of relief.

"So, Fujishima-san was trying to encourage you to pursue the photography you wanted to do before you lost your memory, even after you lost it."

Hearing that made Fujishima seem like a really good person. Kusuda put his hands on his hips and exaggeratedly stretched out his words.

"See? I told you from the start that photography was probably your hobby before you lost your memory. But you insisted, ‘No way, it’s not that,’ didn’t you?"

It was a straightforward fact that left no room for argument. I responded modestly.

"I couldn’t help it. I really wasn’t interested. I was hoping for some kind of ‘aha’ moment, like something would click in my head when I found something I liked."

"Well…"

Kusuda shrugged his shoulders.

"Still, Fujishima-san is a pretty cool guy."

I looked up at the man across from me.

"He doesn’t say anything, which makes him seem awkward but also strangely admirable. Normally, someone would just tell you straight out, ‘You used to like this, so why don’t you try it again?’ But he didn’t do that. Maybe he, like you, believed in the idea of memory through feelings."

Believe… believe in feelings. Believe in people. The loneliness that had been gnawing at me suddenly felt warm. Even though I didn’t understand myself, even though my existence was uncertain, Fujishima still trusted the “me” that exists now.

"What should I do?"

I muttered seriously, clasping my hands together, and Kusuda tilted his head.

"I want to go home."

"Then go home."

But it wasn’t that simple. We’d had a huge fight. It wasn’t as easy to just walk back in after the things I’d said. There was no way Fujishima wasn’t upset by the harsh words I’d thrown at him. The threshold of the home I’d so easily run out of now felt insurmountably high.

"But…"

As I muttered, I glanced out the window of the convenience store and saw a figure approaching quickly. Even from a distance, I had the inexplicable feeling it was Fujishima, and I hastily crouched down behind the register.

"What’s the matter, all of a sudden?" Kusuda looked down at Tohru, who was crouching at his feet, with a puzzled expression. Tohru tugged on the hem of Kusuda’s pants and pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence with a small "shh." When the automatic door opened, Kusuda reflexively put on a cheerful smile and greeted, "Welcome!" But then, with a surprised expression, he glanced down at Tohru again.

Hurried footsteps approached the register, and the sound of labored breathing could be heard.

"Excuse me, but may I ask you something…"

It was unmistakably the voice of the man Tohru had argued with about three hours earlier.

"I believe a man named Tohru Takahisa works part-time here..."

Kusuda nudged Tohru’s foot with the heel of his right foot, silently asking, "What are you going to do?"

"Yes, he does… but, well, he’s not on shift today."

"I see… um, actually…"

Fujishima hesitated slightly.

"Do you happen to know where Takahisa-kun might be?"

Kusuda nudged Tohru’s foot again. Tohru looked up at him, making an "X" with his fingers in front of his mouth, signaling, "Don’t tell him."

"Sorry, I really don’t know…"

Kusuda replied smoothly, pretending to be clueless.

"Do you know anyone who’s close to him?"

"Honestly, I don’t. Sorry."

There was no doubt about it—Fujishima had come to the store to look for him.

"I see. Sorry to bother you while you’re working…"

The sound of footsteps started to fade away. Regret washed over Tohru as he wondered if he shouldn’t have hidden. But then the hurried footsteps returned to the register.

"Um… if he shows up for his shift, or even if you just happen to see him, could you please tell him that Fujishima apologizes?"

Fujishima left. After some time passed, and Kusuda confirmed, "He’s really gone this time," Tohru remained crouched under the register, unable to stand even though there was no longer any need to hide.

"It’s cold outside, but the guy was sweating, and he wasn’t even wearing a coat."

A pang of guilt struck Tohru’s chest.

"You know, I’m sure it’ll be fine if you go back home," Kusuda encouraged him, but Tohru couldn’t bring himself to say, "I’ll go." Despite the fact that someone was worried enough to come looking for him after their fight, Tohru felt too ashamed to stand up. Instead of apologizing honestly, he had chickened out and hidden. It was the epitome of uncool.

"Honestly, you sitting there like that is just in the way when I’m trying to ring up customers."

With that, Kusuda shooed him away, and Tohru curled up in the chair he had been sitting in before. The sound of Kusuda’s heavy sigh echoed painfully in Tohru’s ears.

"What does Fujishima-san like?"

The question came out of nowhere.

"Like… what he likes?"

Tohru slowly lifted his head.

"For example, what brand of cigarettes he likes."

"He doesn’t smoke."

"It doesn’t matter. Just think of something."

What Fujishima liked… what he liked… Tohru mentally rummaged through his memory. Fujishima always ate without showing any expression, so even if he had preferences, Tohru couldn’t tell. When they were in the living room, Fujishima only watched the news, and if Tohru was watching a variety show, Fujishima would disappear without a word. Photography. But… that had originally been Tohru’s hobby. Whether Fujishima actually liked it or not… As Tohru thought about this, he realized something. He didn’t know anything about Fujishima. Not a single thing.

"Come to think of it, I guess he’s okay with sweets."

Kusuda said this as if it were a definite fact, then walked over to the snack aisle and picked up a strawberry shortcake in a plastic case. He rang it up, put it in a plastic bag with the store’s name on it, and handed it to Tohru.

"If you bring a cake as a peace offering, it might help start the conversation."

Kusuda’s thoughtfulness made Tohru happy, but he couldn’t imagine Fujishima reacting like a girl over a piece of shortcake. His anxiety spilled out in his words.

"But… will he eat it?"

"Of course. He bought chocolate the other day, didn’t he?"

"Chocolate?"

Kusuda pouted, "Don’t you remember? You were the one at the register."

"Remember, he came to the store late at night and bought coffee and chocolate? That’s the kind of thing high school girls or office ladies usually buy, so I thought it was unusual for a guy. I figured he must like sweets."

The memory of Fujishima buying something chocolatey returned to Tohru. He had indeed bought it, but Tohru couldn’t picture the expressionless man eating something sweet. Still unsure whether Fujishima would actually eat it, Tohru didn’t want to reject Kusuda’s kindness. So, he finally picked up the bag with the cake and got to his feet.

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