Cold Sleep - Chapter 1 - Part 5

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On a chilly evening, Tohru pedaled his mountain bike at full speed. March had begun, but there was no sign of the cold easing up. Mornings remained below freezing, with ice forming on puddles. The roads were often icy in the morning, and Tohru had fallen twice since the start of March. He’d kept quiet about it, not wanting to seem clumsy in front of Fujishima, but the older man had noticed the scrapes on his arm. When Tohru confessed that he had fallen off his bike, joking that maybe hitting his head would help him regain his memory, Fujishima didn’t even crack a smile. The next day, he brought home a bicycle helmet for Tohru. Although Tohru felt it was a bit much, he couldn’t ignore Fujishima’s concern, so he started wearing the helmet every time he went to work.

As he turned a corner in the shopping district, Tohru spotted a familiar figure in a long coat. Recognizing the silhouette, he pulled up beside him.

"Fujishima-san?"

The man stopped in surprise and turned to face him.

"Are you just getting off work? You’re early."

"They told me I could go home directly from my last appointment."

Fujishima glanced at his watch.

"Did you just finish work too?"

"Yeah, the cakes sold out, so we closed up shop early. The local high school had its graduation today, so business was brisk in the afternoon. The shop’s booming now that they’ve got a top-notch salesperson. All the high school girls are flocking in to see the dashing me…"

"Is that so?"

Fujishima responded earnestly, missing the joke. He often didn’t catch on to Tohru’s humor, leaving Tohru feeling awkward. In situations like this, Tohru had hoped Fujishima would laugh and say something like, "There’s no way customers are coming just to see you." Feeling embarrassed by his failed attempt at humor, Tohru looked down.

"That was a joke."

"Was it?"

"Of course. I’m not going to attract any customers."

Feeling a bit defeated, Tohru handed the box in his right hand to Fujishima.

"Perfect timing. Here, take this home. Everything sold out today, so I could only save one. I’m going to pick up some groceries for dinner now."

"Got it. Thanks, as always."

Even though this had become a daily routine, Fujishima never forgot to thank Tohru. It was just a cake, but Fujishima treated it like a precious jewel. The way he handled the cake made Tohru feel cared for, and it made him happy. After parting ways with Fujishima, Tohru happily headed into the bustling shopping street, ready to tackle the crowded market.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Recently, Tohru had developed a fondness for hot pots, which meant they were on the dinner table about once every three days. Hot pots were easy to prepare, delicious, and offered endless variations depending on the ingredients. That day, after the persistent fishmonger in the shopping district insisted on selling him some oysters at a bargain price, Tohru decided to make a hot pot with oysters for dinner.

"And you know, every time the old man sees me, he has something to complain about. He’s so picky, like nitpicking at the smallest details. It’s really frustrating. I don’t know how his wife puts up with him."

"I see…"

Fujishima blew on an oyster to cool it down. Tohru had recently noticed that Fujishima couldn’t handle hot food well, something that had become apparent with their frequent hot pot dinners.

"Recently, he even asked if I wanted to learn how to make cakes. I’m a bit interested, but I’m worried that if I say yes, he’ll start treating me like an apprentice and yelling at me all the time."

As he chewed his food, Fujishima continued to respond with polite nods, listening intently to Tohru’s complaints.

"What would you do if I became a pastry chef? Fujishima-san, you’d have all the cake you could eat every day," Tohru joked.

Fujishima’s normally expressionless face softened slightly, a small smile forming. It made Tohru happy to see him react to something so simple.

"But becoming a pastry chef would require a lot of preparation time," Tohru continued.

"Would you have to wake up early?" Fujishima asked.

"Yeah, waking up at five in the morning in this cold weather would be tough. Maybe I’ll wait until it gets warmer. But cakes are strange, you know? The display alone can make them look much more elegant and delicious. The old man’s cakes are made with high-quality ingredients and taste great, but they have this solid, no-nonsense feel to them. There’s no dreamy fluffiness. The shop is pretty plain too. But when I took inspiration from other stores and suggested making the shop look cuter, business immediately picked up."

"I noticed the new sign too," Fujishima said.

Tohru leaned forward excitedly. "You saw it?"

"I passed by the shop while I was out on business. The old rusty sign was replaced with something more stylish."

"Yeah, I picked that one. The old man said something about changing the sign, so I suggested a few ideas based on what I saw in other stores. He complained about the cost, of course…"

"I see," Fujishima replied.

Tohru used to think that talking during meals was inappropriate. But shortly after he started working at 'Port,' he had vented his frustrations about the old man’s gruff behavior during a dinner conversation. Fujishima, though initially taken aback, listened quietly and attentively to Tohru’s complaints. That experience made Tohru realize that Fujishima wasn’t opposed to talking during meals—he simply didn’t speak unless spoken to.

From that day on, Tohru felt comfortable chatting during meals. He would share all sorts of stories, from how the old man had accidentally worn his work pants inside out because his wife, who usually took care of him, was in the hospital, to how a high school girl, now a regular customer, had asked him for advice about her boyfriend. He’d also talk about the random things he noticed, like a pigeon flying into the shop or how beautiful the sky was that day. Fujishima always listened seriously, no matter how trivial the story.

While Tohru talked, Fujishima finished his meal but didn’t leave the table. He would wait until Tohru was done eating. Realizing this, Tohru quickly gulped down his cold rice. When Tohru cleared the dishes, Fujishima would sit on the living room sofa, reading a newspaper or watching the news. If he wasn’t eating cake, these were the only two things Fujishima did.

Just last week, Fujishima had bought a rug. Tohru had accidentally scratched the floor with the sofa legs while cleaning, and when he confessed to Fujishima, he brought home a rug the next day. Tohru had always thought that it would be nice to have something to warm up the cold flooring, especially around the sofa, but he never mentioned it because he didn’t want to spend the money. The deep green rug was soft, almost like sitting on grass, and with each new addition, the once bare living room started to feel more lived-in. There were still fewer items than in his own room, but somehow the living room felt cozier.

After finishing the dishes, Tohru sat down across from Fujishima. Sometimes they would talk; other times, they would quietly read or watch TV. Fujishima was usually the one reading, while Tohru, who wasn’t fond of reading, preferred watching TV. As he watched the news, Tohru would occasionally glance at Fujishima. Even though it made him a little lonely when Fujishima was too absorbed in his book to interact, just being near him was comforting.

That’s why Tohru dreaded the moment when night fell, and Fujishima would get up from the sofa to head to bed. Being left alone made him feel lonely. He hated being by himself, but he could never bring himself to say something as childish as "Stay with me because I’m lonely."

"Takahisa-kun," Fujishima called out, catching Tohru’s attention. He had thought Fujishima was reading but found him looking directly at him.

"Are you enjoying the part-time job?" Fujishima asked simply.

"Yeah," Tohru replied.

Fujishima smiled. "That’s good, then."

He returned his gaze to his book, leaving Tohru to ponder the meaning behind the question. Tohru enjoyed his part-time job. He felt down when the old man yelled at him, but it made him happy when he received praise. The old man wasn’t a bad person, and Tohru felt like he had found a place where he belonged.

A little while later, Tohru heard a soft thud. Fujishima’s book had fallen to the floor, and he was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed. His arm hung loosely, his pale cheek tilted downwards. Seeing him like that, Tohru thought, "He must be tired."

Tohru turned off the TV and let him sleep for a while longer, but midnight had already passed. He was about to wake Fujishima when he noticed how peaceful he looked. Torn between waking him and letting him sleep, Tohru finally decided to turn up the heat in the living room, grabbed a blanket, and retrieved three photo books from his room.

He draped the blanket over Fujishima and sat down at his feet, opening a photo book. He couldn’t think of any other way to pass the time quietly. Tohru didn’t leave the room because he felt that if Fujishima woke up and found himself alone, he might feel lonely. Tohru didn’t know how Fujishima felt, but he knew that he would feel lonely if it were him.

The wind rattled the windows, reminding Tohru of the fishmonger’s words earlier that day: "It’ll snow tomorrow, you’ll see."

Their relationship was a strange one, Tohru thought. Although they called each other friends, they were too formal for that, yet they weren’t distant enough to be mere acquaintances. Even if they hadn’t been particularly close before Tohru lost his memory, he could sense that Fujishima now cared deeply for him. Fujishima wasn’t the type to say things outright, but he showed his concern in his own clumsy way.

Fujishima rarely talked about the past. His silence suggested that Tohru didn’t need to know. When Tohru had tried to uncover his past, he found parts of himself that he didn’t like—parts that had been estranged from others. It would be better to have those memories, but if they were lost, then so be it. He was curious about what the old him had thought and felt, but he also felt it wouldn’t matter even if he knew.

Tohru was genuinely happy with his current life. The old man at 'Port' had jokingly asked him if he wanted to become an apprentice. Kusuda, who often came to buy cakes, hadn’t stopped visiting just because Tohru had quit his job at the convenience store. At home, Tohru had his own chair, his own dishes. This was where he belonged.

Four months ago, Tohru never would have imagined that a once barren living room and an expressionless man would become so dear to him. He set down the photo book and peered into Fujishima’s face, watching him sleep peacefully. His long eyelashes occasionally fluttered.

This man, who was expressionless, clumsy, and had a deep love for cakes—could he possibly like me? Tohru wondered. Could he like me enough to want to kiss me even when he’s not drunk?

He wanted to know how Fujishima felt, but how did he feel about Fujishima? Even now, Tohru sometimes recalled that intense kiss, and every time he did, his body would heat up. He’d masturbated to thoughts of Fujishima more than once. Feeling embarrassed as his fantasies overlapped with Fujishima’s sleeping face, Tohru averted his gaze.

Is this love? Just because someone becomes the subject of your fantasies doesn’t mean it necessarily translates into love. Maybe Fujishima became the subject of Tohru’s fantasies simply because of that accidental kiss. Without it, would he have ever considered the possibility of having romantic feelings?

It was Fujishima who dropped the red ink into the clear glass of water. Once the ink was dropped, it couldn’t be undone. The red ripple spread slowly in the glass, blending in until it left a faint, unerasable tint—one that seeped into Tohru’s emotions.

Even if it wasn’t love, Tohru still wanted attention, to see Fujishima smile, to make him happy, to have him listen.

Fujishima’s sleeping body shifted slightly. His lips parted briefly, revealing a glimpse of his red tongue before closing again. Tohru felt a sharp throb in his lower body. He suppressed the wild impulse to strip Fujishima naked and kiss him. Tohru laughed bitterly at himself, shaking like a dog denied a treat, just because he wanted to kiss Fujishima and was holding back. Perhaps, he thought, this really is something called love.

If there was a wellspring of feelings of love in his heart, Tohru wanted to see it. He wanted to see the invisible.

Suddenly, Fujishima’s closed eyelids tightened, then slowly opened, as if in response. His moist, dark eyes gazed at Tohru, still groggy.

"Takahisa-kun," Fujishima said.

Snapped back to reality by the sudden closeness and an improper expectation, Tohru realized their faces were only about twenty centimeters (7 in) apart.

"...You’ve got some drool," Tohru said, quickly fabricating a reason for their proximity.

Fujishima’s face flushed bright red, and he hastily wiped his mouth.

"I was joking," Tohru confessed.

When Fujishima realized he’d been tricked, his face turned even redder. He pressed his forehead and mumbled in a trembling voice, "Don’t tease me…"

That night, Tohru had a dream—a strangely vivid one. In the dream, Fujishima came into his room and suddenly started taking off his clothes. Even though he boldly invited Tohru with "Do whatever you want," he blushed like a virgin when they finally got to it. The sight excited Tohru, and he ravished Fujishima like a beast, pushing himself into unfamiliar territory and engaging in rough sex.

When Tohru woke up in the middle of the night, he felt an inexplicable sense of guilt as he changed his underwear. It felt like he had sullied something pure. On his way to the bathroom to dispose of his dirty underwear, he passed by Fujishima’s room. Knowing that the person he had just fantasized about was sleeping behind that door only made Tohru’s body react again. Unable to cool down, he relieved himself one more time in the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet in self-loathing, Tohru wondered what kind of dreams Fujishima had.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

At the shop, Tohru swiftly packed cakes into the largest L-sized box available. The colorful array of decorated cakes inside the box looked like a chaotic scene from an overturned tin of candies. He sealed the dreamlike box with a lid and finished by sticking a sticker embossed with the shop’s name on top.

"You’re getting good at this," Kusuda remarked from behind the showcase.

"I’m a pro now," Tohru said smugly, with a playful snort.

"Yeah, right," Kusuda said with a hint of exasperation. Nowadays, Tohru’s fingers moved deftly, but it hadn’t always been that way. At first, he struggled with the delicate texture of the cakes, pressing too hard and leaving odd indentations. He even knocked over a box of cakes like dominoes once, ruining them completely. On that occasion, Tohru discreetly paid for the ruined cakes and ate them for lunch, only to be caught by the shop’s owner, the patissier Noboru Sakai—known simply as "the old man." Seeing the state of the cakes, the old man smirked and said, "Are my cakes that delicious?"

"You’re clumsy," the old man had told Tohru early on, when he had stood stiffly in front of the cakes like a robot.

"Cakes are just like women. If you grab them too roughly, they’ll break. You have to handle them gently, with care."

Tohru had thought it was ironic to get advice on how to handle women from a stubborn, unsociable man whose wife had all but given up on him. Nevertheless, Tohru gradually learned how to handle the cakes. Although the old man’s cakes were delicious, they were practical and lacked a certain charm. The final products reflected the man himself—solid but without flair.

As a finishing touch, Tohru added a small bouquet of flowers to the top of the box.

"Even stuff like that?" Kusuda peered at Tohru’s work.

"Yeah. Girls are sensitive to wrapping and presentation," Tohru explained as he placed the completed box on the showcase. Kusuda had come to buy cakes for a party, knowing it would be a perfect opportunity to promote the shop. Girls were among the guests, and word of mouth from them was crucial for business.

"Make sure the girls get first dibs, even if the guys want some. Our cakes are guaranteed to be delicious, so when they ask, ‘Where are these cakes from?’ give them this card." Tohru handed Kusuda a stack of pink business cards with the shop’s name, phone number, hours, and a small map printed on them—a suggestion Tohru had made that had since been implemented.

"Even though it’s winter, the room might be warm from the heating, so make sure to store the cakes in the fridge and eat them as soon as possible. I’m counting on you, our walking advertisement," Tohru said with a grin.

"Who are you calling a walking advertisement?" Kusuda retorted.

"Thanks for always helping out, Kusuda-kun," the shop owner’s wife said as she appeared from the back of the shop. She had recently been discharged from the hospital but was still recovering, so she wasn’t in the shop much. Tohru admired her for being so kind and patient, especially considering her husband’s gruff demeanor.

"Since Takahisa-kun started working here and Kusuda-kun began spreading the word, our customer base has grown considerably. We even sell out sometimes now. It’s incredible compared to before. Thank you," she said warmly.

"Well, of course we sell out. We use high-quality ingredients, and our cakes are genuinely delicious. Despite the old man’s personality…" Tohru trailed off, smirking.

"Stop talking and get back to work!" came the old man’s shout from the back, making Kusuda widen his eyes in surprise. The wife, looking apologetic, bowed her head slightly and said, "Sorry about that. He’s just like that."

"By the way, I highly recommend the Fraisier. The custard cream is just perfect, so you should try it too," Tohru said.

Kusuda tilted his head in curiosity. "I thought you didn’t eat sweets? Do you actually taste everything?"

"Not everything, but I do eat some. The Fraisier is Fujishima’s top pick. He says it’s absolutely divine."

"Hey, Kusuda-kun," the shop owner’s wife called from the register, leaning forward slightly. "What kind of person is Takahisa-kun’s girlfriend? He won’t tell me anything about her, but she must really love cakes..."

"He keeps saying it’s just a male friend who’s really into cakes and that they live together," Kusuda replied, laughing at the idea of Tohru having a girlfriend. His laughter seemed to convince the wife that Tohru indeed didn’t have a girlfriend, but she was surprised when she learned that his roommate was a man close to thirty.

Because of the rain that started in the afternoon, there were fewer customers than usual. Typically, the shortcakes would almost sell out, but about ten were left this time. The shop owner’s wife packed the leftover cakes into a large box and handed it to Tohru as he finished cleaning up and prepared to leave.

"Is it really okay to take all of this?" Tohru asked, surprised.

The wife smiled warmly. "They won’t last until tomorrow, and it would be a shame to throw them away. I’d much rather have them enjoyed by someone who loves them. If you have any leftovers, share them with your friend or his girlfriend."

The word "girlfriend" felt out of place as Tohru left the shop. He had never imagined Fujishima having a girlfriend before. It wouldn’t be surprising if he did, but Tohru was certain he didn’t. He had a few reasons for that certainty. If Fujishima had a girlfriend, he wouldn’t have taken in a friend who had lost his memory and allowed him to stay with him. Since Tohru had moved into the apartment, he could count on one hand the number of times the phone had rung. Besides, Fujishima was...

Tohru placed his helmet on his head, slung his daypack over his shoulder, and grabbed the cake box. As he headed around the back of the store to get his mountain bike, he noticed a figure standing near it. The lingering rain clouds had made it darker than usual, so he couldn’t tell who it was at first. Cautious, he approached, worried it might be a bike thief. But then he recognized the familiar black long coat—it was the very man who had been occupying his thoughts, standing out in the cold, lost in thought.

"What are you doing here?" Tohru asked.

Fujishima murmured, "I was passing by... I thought I’d walk home with you."

Realizing Fujishima had been waiting for him made Tohru’s face soften with joy. "You should have come inside the shop. It must’ve been cold out here."

"I wasn’t waiting long," Fujishima replied.

However, his right hand, holding his bag, was red from the cold, and his lips were tinged with blue. Tohru had a feeling that even if Fujishima had been waiting for an hour or two, he would have downplayed it and claimed he had just arrived. Tohru removed one of his gloves and handed it to Fujishima.

"Here, put this on," Tohru insisted.

Fujishima shook his head. "No, you wear it. I’m fine."

"Just put it on and carry the cake box. I’ll keep one hand in my pocket," Tohru persisted.

After several refusals, Fujishima finally gave in to Tohru’s insistence. He put on the glove on his right hand and took the cake box.

"This box is a bit heavy today," Tohru noted.

"Yes, it is," Fujishima agreed.

"It rained, so a lot of cakes were left over. You’re in for an all-you-can-eat treat," Tohru said with a smile.

Fujishima’s mouth twitched slightly, as if trying to form a smile despite the cold. Tohru walked slowly, pushing his bike to match Fujishima’s pace. Walking would take twice as long to get home, but that was fine with Tohru. He was happy that Fujishima had waited for him so they could walk home together.

"...So, Kusuda has his eye on someone in his seminar..." Tohru began, chatting as they walked. But then he noticed something unusual—Fujishima seemed particularly distracted. It wasn’t uncommon for Tohru to talk while Fujishima listened and occasionally nodded, but today Fujishima’s responses lacked the usual attentiveness. His eyes kept darting around, as if he were searching for something.

"Fujishima-san," Tohru called his name, causing Fujishima to startle and look up.

"Is something wrong? Is there something on your mind?" Tohru asked, sensing the change in Fujishima’s demeanor.

"It’s nothing," Fujishima replied curtly. But Tohru could tell something was off. The long walk home, which should have been pleasant, felt lonelier than if he had been walking alone.

"You..." Fujishima suddenly spoke up in the midst of the crowded station area. "Did you give your old workplace the address and phone number of our apartment?"

"Uh, yeah," Tohru admitted.

"Why did you give it to them?"

The accusatory tone in Fujishima’s voice made Tohru nervous. "I only gave it to one person. After I quit, there were a few calls from a woman claiming to be an acquaintance. I told my old colleague to let me know if she called again. Did Ishii call?"

"Yes," Fujishima answered with a grim expression, lowering his gaze.

"Did he say anything else?"

"He just asked if you were doing well."

"That’s it?"

"Yes."

It had been almost three months since Tohru visited his old place. In that time, Ishii hadn’t reached out. Would Ishii really make a call just to ask about Tohru’s well-being? Could there have been more to the conversation? Perhaps Ishii had mentioned the woman who had been calling?

If Ishii had told Fujishima about the woman who had been calling, why hadn’t Fujishima mentioned it? Was he hiding something? Though there was no proof Fujishima was lying, Tohru’s imagination ran wild. A reason to hide it... maybe Fujishima didn’t want him to know. After all, Fujishima liked him.

Perhaps the woman who had been calling was Tohru’s girlfriend before he lost his memory, and Fujishima was afraid that if they reconnected, they would get back together. While Tohru found this line of thinking selfish, a sweet and sour sensation welled up in his throat. If only that were true, it would mean Fujishima was more human, feeling jealousy rather than being cold and detached.

At first, Tohru thought they were incompatible. But after spending so much time together, he started to understand why his past self had been friends with this man. Fujishima wasn’t talkative, nor was he particularly skilled or charming. He rarely smiled, and despite being a man, he had a deep love for cakes...

Tohru glanced at Fujishima’s profile as they walked side by side. He had only known Fujishima for a few months since losing his memory, but Fujishima knew so much about him. He might even know about Tohru’s past relationships. It felt unfair that everything about him was laid bare while Fujishima remained a mystery. Tohru wanted to know more about Fujishima too.

"Fujishima-san," Tohru called, making Fujishima look up.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Tohru asked bluntly. Fujishima’s expression suggested he was wondering why Tohru would ask such a question, but he answered straightforwardly, "No."

Hearing that, Tohru felt a mix of relief and confirmation.

"But you like someone, right?" Tohru continued.

There was a slight pause before Fujishima responded. "Yes."

"What kind of person?" Tohru asked.

Fujishima stopped walking. He stared at Tohru with slightly parted lips, then looked up. Tohru followed his gaze to the sky. Snowflakes were beginning to fall—heavy, wet snow, laden with the weight of rain. Fujishima seemed to forget Tohru’s question as he gazed up at the sky, and after a moment, he started walking again as if he had come back to reality.

Tohru hurried after him. Snow melted on Fujishima's nape as he walked ahead, hunched over and silent, making Tohru think it looked particularly cold. He pulled out a scarf from his backpack, intending to wrap it around Fujishima's neck. But as he did, his hand brushed against Fujishima's pale nape. Fujishima flinched, letting out a small yelp and dropping the cake box onto the ground.

"S-Sorry, I just wanted to lend you my scarf. Your neck looked cold... I wasn't trying to mess around with you. I’m really sorry."

Fujishima held his neck and looked down. "…You don’t need to apologize. I was just a little startled."

"I’m really sorry."

"I said it’s fine," Fujishima replied curtly.

It wasn't intentional, but Fujishima's indifferent tone made Tohru worry that he was upset. Concerned, Tohru leaned in to check Fujishima's face. It was red... and when Fujishima noticed Tohru’s gaze, he shrank back as if frightened, his eyes wide and teary, making Tohru feel as though he had done something cruel.

"…I’m not comfortable with people touching my neck," Fujishima muttered in a small voice. Tohru wanted to ask if that was really the only reason, but he held back.

"Oh, the cake! Is it okay?" Tohru suddenly remembered the box. Fujishima seemed to remember it too, finally noticing it on the ground. He picked it up and peeked inside, his face immediately twisting with disappointment.

"It might not look perfect, but it’ll still taste the same," Tohru tried to reassure him, though it was clear from Fujishima's expression that the cakes hadn't fared well. As Tohru leaned in to look inside the box, Fujishima flinched again. His face was tense, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his hands holding the cake were trembling.

"Why are you so tense?"

The redness in Fujishima's face deepened even further. And in that moment, Tohru suddenly realized—this man liked him. Fujishima whispered in a small voice, "Let’s just go home," and started walking ahead. Tohru followed, pushing his bike. When had it started? Had Fujishima liked him from the beginning, even before he lost his memory? What kind of relationship did they have before? Were they really just friends? Even if someone told him they had been lovers, it wouldn’t feel strange at all now.

His body tingled with anticipation. He wanted to say that he liked Fujishima too, that he really liked him. He wanted to kiss those flushed cheeks and hold Fujishima close. When they got back to the apartment... he would say it. He would tell Fujishima that he liked him, and then he would kiss him endlessly, not just in his imagination but for real.

Fujishima stopped walking. Tohru, realizing that the signal was red, also came to a halt. Everything else faded into the background as he focused solely on Fujishima. Amidst the gray crowd, only the man’s figure seemed to stand out in vivid color.

"Tohru Takahisa."

Just before the light turned green, Tohru heard his name being called from behind. He turned to see a woman standing there. She seemed a couple of years older than him, dressed in black from head to toe—a black coat and black boots. Though her face was unfamiliar, Tohru couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was glaring at him with a terrifying expression.

A shadow passed before his eyes. Fujishima stepped in front of him, placing himself between Tohru and the woman. Before Tohru could even wonder why, the woman slammed into Fujishima. The impact reverberated through Tohru, who was standing behind him. After the collision, the woman staggered back, turned on her heel, and ran off in an instant.

"That woman…"

She knew his name. Tohru tilted his head in confusion, trying to understand what had just happened. Then, before his eyes, Fujishima collapsed to the ground, sinking to his knees.

"Fujishima-san, what’s wrong?" Tohru called out, but there was no response. Fujishima remained crouched in front of the crosswalk, drawing cold stares from passersby. Tohru quickly moved his bike aside and knelt in front of Fujishima.

"Are you feeling sick…?"

Something was dripping onto the ground at Fujishima's feet. A dark puddle was forming. Tohru realized only then that something red and dark was spilling out from between Fujishima's fingers as he clutched his abdomen. He didn’t understand what had happened. Fujishima hadn’t even cried out...

"Aaaaah..." A scream pierced the air from somewhere behind him.

"Call an ambulance, call an ambulance…"

It wasn’t Tohru who said it. He just sat there, paralyzed, unable to move, staring in shock at the bloodied man in front of him. Blood-soaked fingers grabbed Tohru's arm. Fujishima's narrowed eyes looked up at him in pain.

"…Don’t tell anyone I was stabbed. Don’t tell them. This is an accident."

Only then did Tohru realize that the woman had stabbed him.

"But… that woman…"

Tohru’s voice wavered, filled with shock.

"Please, promise me you won’t say anything," Fujishima gasped, coughing. There was no way Tohru could refuse the plea from the man struggling to speak.

"Okay, I won’t say anything. I promise," Tohru agreed, his voice cracking. Fujishima, his face pale, managed a faint smile.

"…If I die, everything I own will be yours."

The specific nature of his words sent a chill down Tohru's spine.

"What are you talking about? You’re not going to die."

Blood from Fujishima's body began to soak Tohru’s jeans, the warmth spreading through the fabric. The nauseating smell of blood made Tohru dizzy. Why is this happening? Why is this happening to us? As he struggled with panic, feeling like he might cry, Fujishima’s grip on his arm tightened. Fujishima leaned his face against Tohru’s chest as if seeking comfort.

"The apartment, the money—it's all yours. Live as you please. Do whatever you want… freely..."

The grip on Tohru’s arm suddenly loosened, and the strength drained from Fujishima's body.

"Fujishima-san! Fujishima-san!" Tohru shouted, his legs trembling as he tried to keep Fujishima from slipping to the ground. He took off his jacket and pressed it against the bleeding abdomen, but the blood wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop…

"No… this isn’t happening. Please, open your eyes. I’m telling you to open your eyes, damn it!" Tohru’s frantic cries mingled with the distant sound of an approaching ambulance. Snowflakes fell onto Fujishima’s pale face, melting slowly and trailing down his cheeks like tears.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

At the emergency hospital where Fujishima was taken, Tohru found himself facing a middle-aged doctor in the dim waiting room. The doctor began with, "This is difficult to say, but…" before explaining without hesitation, "The bleeding is severe, and his internal organs have been damaged. His condition is extremely critical. You should prepare yourself."

"You’re his friend, right? Could you contact his family?" the doctor asked, pressing the harsh reality onto Tohru, who was too shocked to speak. Fujishima’s family… Tohru had never really thought about them before. It hadn’t seemed relevant. Of course, Fujishima had a family. He couldn’t have come into this world alone. But Tohru didn’t know anything about them. He had no idea where Fujishima was born or how he had lived.

Tohru opened Fujishima’s briefcase in the waiting room, hoping to find a phone number or address for his family. But the address book in his planner was blank—there was nothing written in it. Fujishima, like Tohru, didn’t carry a personal cell phone, but he did have one issued by his company. Tohru checked the contacts, hoping for a clue, but there were only about ten entries—company names and the hospital where Tohru had been admitted. There were no contacts listed for parents or any friends.

As Tohru continued searching through Fujishima's bag, he found a business card holder. The card inside bore the name of ‘Tamasako Seishi Co. Ltd.’, along with the company's address and phone number. Tohru used Fujishima's cell phone to call the company. A man with a middle-aged voice answered the phone and was shocked when Tohru informed him that Fujishima had been in an accident and was in critical condition. When Tohru asked for Fujishima's home address, the man responded, "I don’t know it."

"He joined our company as a mid-career hire about six months ago. He's a serious but quiet guy, and we’ve only ever talked about work."

Six months ago... that was right around the time Tohru had his own accident, and it seemed that was when Fujishima had switched jobs.

"Did he ever mention anything about his family? I need to get in touch with them somehow," Tohru pressed, desperate for any lead.

The man on the other end of the line fell silent for a moment before saying, "Now that you mention it, I think he once said something about not getting along with his family, but I don’t know the details."

It became clear that no one at the company knew much more about Fujishima's personal life. Reluctantly, Tohru forced himself to leave the hospital, even though he wanted nothing more than to stay by Fujishima's side, and returned to their apartment. He searched every corner of the apartment, hoping to find something—anything—that might point to Fujishima's family or their contact information. But there was nothing. Not a single postcard, photograph, or even a scrap of paper with a note on it. If Fujishima had completely severed ties with his family, it wouldn’t be surprising if he had intentionally erased all traces of them.

In the end, Tohru found nothing and returned to the hospital with only Fujishima's insurance card. As he pondered how he might contact Fujishima's family, a new thought began to form: Was bringing his family into this really what Fujishima would want? Would he want to see the family he had gone so far as to sever ties with, now that he was on the brink of death? Despite the gravity of the situation, Tohru couldn't stop his selfish thoughts. He began to think, wouldn’t it be enough if it were just him? Wouldn't it be okay if Fujishima remained just his? His Fujishima—awkward, unfriendly, but his alone.

Tears welled up in Tohru's eyes. He pressed his hand against his forehead, trying to stem the flow, but in the cold, dim waiting room, his sobs refused to be silenced.

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