Expired First Love: Section 1 - chapter 2

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

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Uno arrived at the hotel too early. The ceremony hall wasn’t open yet, and there were only a few people around. After signing his name in the guestbook, Uno sat down on a sofa in the lobby. He glanced around, but Murakami was nowhere to be seen. He felt a mix of wanting to see him and not wanting to see him, leaving him uneasy.

Looking out of the hotel window, he saw a cherry tree. The buds were swollen, ready to bloom. Cherry blossoms... Hanami (cherry blossom viewing). Speaking of hanami, Murakami loved hanami too. They had done hanami camping trips, but Murakami still wasn't satisfied. He would often head north with a few close friends to chase the cherry blossoms and have fun.

"Uno-san!"

A figure in formal attire who had just finished signing the guestbook ran up to him. It was Takechi, a junior from the camping club who had been especially close to Murakami and Kagami.

"It’s been a while."

Takechi gave a crisp greeting, saying, "Long time no see."

"You haven’t changed at all, senpai."

"That’s not true. What are you doing now, Takechi?"

Takechi said he was involved in design at an automobile manufacturer. Uno quickly exchanged business cards with him.

"I produce DVDs and CDs for magazine supplements, so if your company ever needs promotional items like that, I can give you a good deal."

Takechi eagerly bit at the suggestion, saying, "Really? That’d be awesome!" As they talked, Uno kept glancing toward the entrance... but there was still no sign of Murakami.

"Are you looking for someone?" the sharp-eyed junior noticed.

"Ah, no. I was just wondering if Murakami is coming."

Takechi’s expression suddenly stiffened.

"Murakami-san? He’s not coming. Kagami-san said he didn’t invite him."

"Huh? Why not? Did they have a falling out?"

Kagami and Murakami had often gone out together, sometimes with their girlfriends. Murakami had become closer to Kagami than Uno, who had met him first.

"Uno-san, you really don’t know, do you?"

The ominous tone in Takechi's voice piqued Uno's curiosity.

"Know what?"

Takechi looked up at the ceiling as if pondering, then muttered to himself, "It’s better to be cautious."

"Murakami-san has been borrowing money from old acquaintances. He hasn’t been paying it back, so it’s become a bit of a problem..."

Uno tilted his head in confusion. Borrowing money? From whom?

"I lent him 500,000 yen myself, and he hasn’t returned it yet. Kagami-san said he lent him a million."

Uno struggled to process what he was hearing. Borrowing money and not repaying it—it was something he had heard of in real life and seen in dramas, but he couldn't imagine it being true of Murakami.

"He told me he had cancer and needed surgery but didn’t have the money. I couldn’t just ignore that after hearing it. He’d done a lot for me, and I figured if he was sick, he wouldn’t be able to work and pay me back right away. So I waited two years. Then, Murakami-san got evicted from his apartment for not paying rent, and I lost contact with him. When I started asking around among our old university acquaintances if anyone knew where he was, I found out that five other people had lent him money and hadn’t been repaid either."

"But Murakami works at a major company..."

"He was let go the year he joined."

Seeing the shocked look on Uno's face, Takechi sighed.

"Uno-san, you really didn’t know anything, did you? Apparently, Murakami-san’s boss was involved in some wrongdoing, and Murakami got caught up in it and was forced to resign. And then, the next year, both his parents passed away."

"I didn’t hear anything about that..."

Takechi looked around cautiously, then lowered his voice.

"...Just between us, it's said that his parents committed suicide. They had a private funeral, so they probably didn’t notify anyone. Murakami's father was running a business that wasn't going well, and it seems he got overwhelmed by debt. I only heard about it recently—around the time of Hinano's wedding."

"So, Murakami got married?"

Takechi tilted his head, then nodded as if he suddenly understood.

"If you mean Murakami and Hinano, they broke up a long time ago. After his parents passed away, Murakami's life went into a downward spiral, and things just didn’t work out between them. Hinano got married last year to a doctor, five years older than her."

Uno couldn't believe it. He remembered Murakami sitting in the back row of the lecture hall on that rainy day, playing with Hinano's soft, fluffy hair. He couldn’t believe those two had broken up. Takechi seemed to be waiting for Uno to process the shock before continuing.

"The last time I saw him was probably last year. I went to see him, thinking it was finally time to get my money back, but instead, he asked me to lend him more, saying he needed another surgery. But by then, I couldn’t believe anything he said anymore. I’d also heard from someone that Murakami had gotten hooked on pachinko, so I casually asked, 'You’re not using it for gambling, are you?' He got really angry and shouted, 'Are you accusing me?' It was terrifying."

The Murakami Uno knew had never raised his voice like that during their student days.

"Someone who visited him at his apartment in Sugamo said they saw what looked like loan sharks waiting outside his door. Apparently, the debt from his parents' company was supposed to be cleared by life insurance, so people think this new debt might be from gambling. I've heard that pachinko addiction can be really devastating."

Uno had never gambled before, not even pachinko, so he couldn’t really understand that kind of behavior.

"People can really fall that low, huh," Takechi said, almost as if he were tasting the bitterness of the words.

"I never thought I'd have to deal with someone who got addicted to gambling and started racking up debt. I always thought it was something that only happened to people with no self-control. But seeing Murakami like this... it’s just so sad. Maybe it’s because I knew him back then, but it’s even harder to watch. I’ve pretty much given up on getting my 500,000 yen back. As long as he doesn’t cause me any more trouble, I guess I’ll just let it go. I don’t want to push him too hard and end up getting hurt."

The image of the Murakami from their camping days, with his radiant smile, seemed so far removed from the current reality.

"You're lucky Murakami didn’t target you. If he ever contacts you, just make up an excuse about being busy or something and don’t engage with him."

Murakami was bright, cool, always at the center of attention, laughing with everyone...

"Where do you think Murakami is now?"

Takechi sighed and muttered, "I’d like to know, but I also don’t want to know. He’s probably at some pachinko parlor."

"Uno-san, you'd be shocked if you saw him now. He’s changed so much, you wouldn’t recognize him. Back in university, Murakami had an aura like a celebrity. Knowing that, it’s painful to see him now."

Even after the wedding ceremony started, Uno couldn’t stop thinking about Murakami. He tried to imagine what he must look like after all his misfortunes... but it was impossible. He couldn’t picture Murakami as a pitiful, broken man.

The wedding ceremony went smoothly despite Uno’s inner turmoil, and he ended up joining the after-party at Takechi's invitation. There, he ran into Kagami and Miku, now dressed in casual clothes.

Many of their old university circle were present, and naturally, the conversation turned to Murakami's unpaid debts. Everyone who had been affected agreed on one thing: "Murakami has changed."

After the after-party, Uno decided to skip the third gathering and headed to the station. This wasn't how it was supposed to go... Today was supposed to be the day he ended his unrequited love. He hadn’t expected not to see Murakami and to learn about his current tragic situation instead.

On the train, Uno stood, gazing out of the window absentmindedly. To truly end this ghost-like love, did he need to meet the present-day Murakami?

If he could see Murakami now and feel the same disillusionment as everyone else... if he could replace the overly idealized memories with a worst-case scenario, maybe then he could move on without any lingering attachment.

"You’re the worst," Uno muttered to his reflection in the window. He didn’t care that the man he had been pining for was now destitute and suffering. All he cared about was whether he could finally forget Murakami. It was selfish, and there wasn’t an ounce of kindness in it. Did he ever really love that man?

He tried to reconsider the feelings that had gripped him for so long, but without the experience, he had no words to clearly express such a complex, bewildering emotion.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

In the third week of April, the department had a hanami party. Suma and Irokawa, a first-year employee, had reserved a spot under a large cherry tree by the river early in the morning. It was a great spot.

They had bought a lot of food, drinks, and snacks, and at 6 PM, about 25 company employees began their hanami. Other than being outdoors, it wasn’t much different from their usual drinking parties. The only real difference was that when something ran out, the juniors had to run to the convenience store to get more.

The timing was perfect, with the cherry blossoms in full bloom. Every time the wind blew, petals danced through the air. One petal landed on the thick sushi roll in Uno's hand. He ate it with the petal still on, and when someone remarked, "How elegant," he turned around to see Kawasaki laughing.

"I was just too lazy to brush it off."

Kawasaki snorted, amused, and sidled up closer to Uno.

"So, is it true you got yourself a girlfriend?"

"No, I didn’t."

"But you’ve been leaving right after work instead of staying late recently. Suma said she was sure something was going on."

Uno couldn’t help but laugh.

"No, I’m just planning to move, so I’ve been looking at properties after work."

Kawasaki picked up one of the now-cold fries in front of her.

"That’s a pretty dull explanation... Well, where are you thinking of moving?"

"I'm considering Sugamo."

It had been about two weeks since Takechi told him about Murakami. Since then, Uno had been going straight to Sugamo after work, checking out pachinko parlors one by one, hoping to run into Murakami. So far, he hadn't encountered such a convenient coincidence. Sugamo was only where Murakami had previously lived, and there was no guarantee he was still in the area.

As Uno's visits to Sugamo in search of Murakami became more tiresome, he started seriously considering moving there, partly because his lease was up for renewal. It wasn’t that he particularly liked Sugamo, nor was it especially close to his workplace, but...

He knew it was a waste of time, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Murakami, who had fallen so low, just based on imagination alone.

"I don’t wanna~" a sultry, flirtatious voice came from his right. The people gathered under the cherry blossoms were a diverse bunch. Some, like their group in suits, clearly looked like they were at a company gathering, while others were university students or groups of middle-aged women.

The group next to theirs consisted of men of varying ages, some in suits, some in casual clothes, and women with heavy makeup and elaborate hairstyles that drew attention. They gave off the vibe of a club or bar, with patrons and employees mingling. The women wore extremely short skirts, and some of Uno's male colleagues kept sneaking glances at them, earning glares from the female employees.

Their hanami ended a little after 11 PM, and they began packing up to catch the last train. The groups around them were still lively, with no signs of leaving. Many people likely intended to stay out all night. With the current temperature, spending a night outside wouldn’t be fatal.

The group to their right also started packing up around the same time. A young woman with bleached, curled hair was diligently collecting trash into a plastic bag.

"This guy’s passed out~ what should we do with him?"

The girl lightly kicked the back of a man who was crouched on the ground. A woman in her forties clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Oh, it’s Murakami-chan. What a pain."

Hearing the familiar name, Uno stared at the man curled up on the ground. Murakami wasn’t exactly an uncommon name. There were plenty of people with that surname.

"He hasn’t even paid his tab, yet he always wants to join these gatherings. Kaori, did you get the fee from Murakami-chan?"

The girl with the curled hair responded in a slow, drawn-out tone, "Not yet~."

"I knew it! We can’t keep looking after someone who doesn’t pay up."

With the picnic blanket beneath him removed, the man lay on the grass like a corpse. No one seemed to care about him, so Uno quietly approached and looked down. His hair was disheveled, and he had an unkempt beard, looking almost homeless. But his eye shape and mouth were familiar. Yes, it was definitely him. The moment Uno realized this, his heart began to pound heavily in his chest.

"Do you need something from him?" The girl with the curled hair clasped her fingers in front of her chest, looking at Uno.

"Uh, no... um... Is this Takahito Murakami?"

His voice wavered oddly. The girl tilted her head and twirled her long, impractical nails through her hair. "I don’t know Murakami-san’s first name~."

"I'm a friend from his university days..."

The girl suddenly raised her right hand and called out, "Mom!"

The woman in her forties, who had been complaining earlier, hurried over and looked Uno up and down, sizing him up. She let out a little chuckle.

"As you can see, Murakami-san is completely wasted, and we're at a loss. We only know him as a regular customer; we don’t even know where he lives."

The woman put on an exaggerated expression of helplessness, sighing theatrically. Uno gulped.

"...In that case, I could take him home."

"Oh, we couldn’t possibly impose on you."

Despite her words, the woman’s smile was ingratiating as she said, "But honestly, we don’t know what to do with him, so if you wouldn’t mind..."

Uno explained to the hanami organizer that he had found an old friend who was causing trouble and needed to take him home, then parted ways with the group.

Murakami had always been the type to fall asleep quickly when drunk, and it seemed that hadn’t changed. His sleeping face, however, was now much more worn and greasy compared to the old days.

"Do you recognize me, Murakami? It’s Uno from the same club in college."

There was no response except for an annoyed groan.

"Let’s get you home. Which way do you live?"

"Uno-saaaan."

Uno turned to see Suma standing behind him, carrying a large bag.

"He’s really drunk, isn’t he~? Can he walk? It looks tough to bring him along. Well, see you!"

Without any offer of help, Suma waved her hand like a child and left. Uno hadn’t expected her to help, but he still felt a strange sense of deflation.

Murakami wouldn’t respond coherently, so without knowing where he lived, Uno had no choice but to take him back to his own place.

He reached out to touch Murakami, his fingers trembling. Although Murakami had often patted him on the shoulder or head in the past, Uno had never initiated contact before.

Gripping Murakami’s firm arm, Uno hoisted him up, feeling his weight against his own body. Immediately, a strong, foul smell assaulted his nose, and he almost let go instinctively. It smelled like rotting rice. Realizing that the stench was coming from Murakami’s hair, Uno knew he couldn’t just abandon him. Without his support, Murakami wouldn’t be able to walk.

Could a person really smell this awful? Any sentimental feelings vanished, replaced by an overwhelming urge to vomit. Tears welled up in Uno's eyes as he struggled to suppress the nausea.

Leaving the hanami site, they headed to the main road to wait for a taxi. The line at the taxi stand was long, likely because people wanted to avoid the hassle of the last train. As they waited, the people in line gradually distanced themselves from Uno and Murakami. The foul odor emanating from Murakami had caused them to step back, leaving a gap. Feeling embarrassed, as if it were his own fault, Uno hung his head low.

Finally, Uno managed to get Murakami into a taxi. Before the driver started driving, he rolled down the back windows completely.

"Sorry about this. The smell... I also have to think about the next passenger," the driver apologized. But Uno was grateful for the fresh air coming in. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Uno’s apartment. Supporting the foul-smelling, unsteady Murakami, Uno guided him to the elevator. The enclosed space trapped the stench, making Uno feel nauseous. It was unbearable being so close, but there was no escape in the confined space.

Finally reaching his apartment, Uno sat Murakami down in the entryway. As he was taking off Murakami’s shoes, Murakami’s body suddenly swayed, causing Uno to lose his balance and fall along with him. In the confusion, Uno didn’t manage to catch himself, and his head hit the hallway’s wooden floor with a dull thud.

"...That hurts..."

Murakami's shoulders began to heave with retching sounds, a bad omen. Uno tried to push him away to escape, but Murakami's heavy body pinned him down. Just as he struggled to free himself, Murakami vomited, warm puke splattering all over Uno’s upper body. The sour stench filled Uno’s nostrils. Summoning all his strength, Uno shoved the filthy man off and ran to the bathroom, where he immediately vomited. Even after emptying his stomach, the smell of acid and alcohol lingered on his chest, causing him to vomit again. Once his stomach was completely empty, he ripped off his shirt, stuffed it into a plastic bag, and threw it into the trash—he couldn’t bear the thought of washing it.

After a thorough shower, Uno changed into a T-shirt and shorts and returned to the hallway. The sour, sickly smell still lingered. Murakami was lying face down, asleep. Trying to suppress his rising nausea, Uno cleaned up the mess. Most of the vomit had landed on him, so Murakami's face was a mess of puke and drool, though his filthy clothes were mostly clean.

With Murakami limp and unresponsive like a corpse, Uno dragged him into the living room. In the dim light of the hanami site, Uno hadn’t noticed, but under the bright fluorescent lights, Murakami looked utterly filthy. His socks were black with grime, and when Uno took them off, the skin beneath was just as dirty. His hands and cheeks were ruddy, and his nose shone with oil as if he hadn’t bathed in a long time.

The sofa would serve as a bed, but Uno knew it would get dirty if Murakami slept there as he was. On the other hand, leaving him on the bare floor didn’t seem right either. After some hesitation, Uno laid a sheet on the sofa and hoisted Murakami onto it. It looked like he’d be cold, so Uno covered him with a blanket and tucked the blanket around him to trap in the smell. Out of sight, and with the smell contained, it was just about bearable.

Feeling somewhat settled, Uno sighed. The man slept with a blank, dazed expression. If the present-day Murakami had sat next to him on the train, Uno might not have recognized him. This was the harsh reality of the man he had once loved in university. Who was this dirty, unkempt man? This was what remained of Murakami, who had once been so beautiful and captivating.

Uno stared down at the man. Six years had passed, erasing every trace of the person he once knew. Even though he was now filthy beyond redemption, this man was still Murakami.

Six years ago, having Murakami sleep over at his place would have been a huge event. Now, Uno accepted it calmly. The assault of foul odors and vomit had blown away any sentimental feelings.

Uno brushed his teeth and dimmed the living room light to its lowest setting. By then, the white bundle on the sofa was emitting a loud, ungentlemanly snore that rumbled like an earthquake.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The next morning, Uno woke up as usual to the alarm on his smartphone. His whole body felt heavy. As he walked into the living room, an indescribable foul smell hit him, and he instinctively covered his nose and mouth. The first thing he did was open a window, letting the fresh morning air dilute the stench that had filled the room.

The man who reeked like rotting garbage left out on a summer day was fast asleep, his dirty, red-black face peeking out from between the sheets.

"Murakami," Uno called out, but the only response was the loud, vacuum-like sound of snoring. He took out his smartphone and snapped a picture of Murakami's face. He wondered how he would explain it if Murakami woke up from the sound of the shutter, but there was no need to worry.

Even by the time Uno had to leave for work, Murakami was still sleeping soundly.

He left a note on the table:

"It's been a while. I saw you passed out drunk at the hanami. The people with you didn’t know where you lived, so I brought you to my place. —Uno"

Then he left for work. At the office, as Uno was checking his emails as usual, Suma approached him.

"Uno-saaan, is your friend from last night okay?"

Her thick, caterpillar-like lashes fluttered as she looked up at him.

"Yeah, he just drank a little too much."

Suma nodded, saying "I see," while rubbing her overly sparkly nails together.

"Is he married?"

"I think he's single."

"Oh, I see. Does he have a girlfriend?"

Uno was startled, realizing she was probing for information.

"Is that the type of guy you like?"

Suma giggled.

"I only got a quick glance, but he seemed tall and kind of cool."

"Uno-saaan?" she called his name when he didn’t respond.

"He's going through a rough time right now, and he has some financial issues. I can't introduce him to anyone since I can’t vouch for him," Uno replied, surprised by the coldness in his own voice. Suma wrinkled her brow in response.

"Oh, is he trouble? I really can’t stand guys who are bad with money."

She seemed to lose interest immediately and returned to her desk.

"Hey, by 'financial issues,' do you mean debt?" Kawasaki, who was sitting nearby, asked, twirling a pen between her fingers. It seemed she had overheard their conversation.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Borrowing money from friends?"

"You figured that out quickly."

Kawasaki shrugged.

"That’s pretty typical. You really shouldn’t get too involved with that friend."

It was the same advice Takechi had given him.

"He used to be a really good guy."

There was a slight tone of superiority in his voice, and Uno felt disgusted with himself for it.

"That’s in the past. People change. At my high school reunion last year, I was shocked to see that this guy who used to be incredibly handsome had turned into a bald, overweight guy. It took me a while to get over it."

When Uno laughed, Kawasaki reiterated her warning, "You really shouldn't get involved."

"I just feel like you're the type who could be taken advantage of," she added.

"I’ll be fine," Uno replied, though he didn’t really have any basis for that assurance. After all, he hadn’t lent Murakami any money. And since he wasn’t asking for it back, he probably wouldn’t provoke Murakami into lashing out.

When Uno got home, would Murakami still be there? He might be, or he might not.

"Excuse me for a moment," Uno said to Kawasaki before leaving the office floor. He walked to the end of the hallway, took out his smartphone, and pulled up the photo he had taken earlier that day. He stared blankly at Murakami’s sleeping face.

Photos were nice. No matter how long you looked at them, they didn’t carry any smell. After a while, Uno quickly returned to his workspace.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

He had dinner at a gyūdon (beef bowl) restaurant near the station. As he left the convenience store with a magazine and a juice, his phone buzzed. It was a call from a real estate agency in Sugamo, asking what he wanted to do about the apartment they had shown him.

He had been 90% sure he would move, had already withdrawn the 150,000 yen needed to reserve the place, but now that he had found Murakami, he no longer had a reason to move to Sugamo. When he hesitantly canceled, the agent was silent for a moment but then accepted the cancellation without complaint.

Uno thought it was strange that he had searched Sugamo for half a month without success, only to run into Murakami by chance at a hanami. Was it some kind of fate that had drawn them together because he had wanted to see Murakami so badly?

As he approached his apartment, he noticed that the light in his room was on. His heart raced. Murakami was still in his apartment.

He started running but quickly reminded himself to calm down. There was a chance Murakami had left and simply forgotten to turn off the lights. It was better not to get his hopes up.

When Uno opened the front door, he saw a pair of worn-out sneakers. He hadn’t noticed them the day before, but they looked familiar. He remembered them when they were new.

He could hear some lively noise from the hallway—it sounded like the TV. Peeking into the living room, Uno saw Murakami sitting on the rumpled sheets covering the sofa, with one knee up, staring back at him. The moment their eyes met, Uno froze like a frog under a snake’s gaze.

Murakami hadn’t opened his eyes once when he was drunk the day before. He hadn’t said anything or done anything—just a bothersome, unconscious presence. Now it was different. The face that used to smile brightly was now devoid of any friendliness, expressionless like a noh mask, but with piercingly sharp eyes. A chill ran down Uno’s spine as he recalled Takechi and Kawasaki's warnings not to get involved with him.

It wasn’t until after a few moments of silence that Uno realized how unnatural their silence had become.

"It’s... been a while," he finally said, and Murakami’s sharp gaze flickered away, "We were sitting next to each other at the hanami. I realized it was you when we were leaving."

Murakami scratched his head with such force that it almost seemed to make a grating sound. The tension in the air clashed with the cheerful laughter coming from the TV, creating a surreal atmosphere.

There was an empty cup noodle container on the table in front of the sofa. Uno noticed it and thought it might be one he had stored away for emergencies. Noticing Uno’s gaze, Murakami muttered, "I was hungry."

"Oh, it’s fine. It’s just cup noodles."

Murakami stood up from the sofa, approaching Uno slowly, with a lumbering pace that almost seemed to make a sound. There was a strange intensity about him, along with a nauseating stench.

"...I don’t have a place to live."

His raspy voice slipped out from between his unshaven lips.

"Let me stay here for a while."

Fear gripped Uno. He couldn’t tell what this man was thinking, and that terrified him.

"Su... sure."

With a sharp turn, Murakami walked back to the sofa and lay down. Uno retreated to the bedroom at the back of the living room, closing the door behind him. As his tension finally released, he realized just how nervous he had been in front of Murakami. He couldn’t understand what Murakami was thinking. His face was frightening. This was no longer the Takahito Murakami he once knew.

Murakami had said "for a while." But how long was that supposed to be? A week, maybe two?

It was impossible to predict. Still, when Murakami had asked to stay "for a while," the idea of refusing had never even crossed Uno’s mind.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Uno bought an air freshener and two bento meals at a convenience store. As he looked up at his apartment from the street, he noticed the lights were off. Strange.

When he entered, the worn-out sneakers were gone. In the living room, all that was left was the rumpled sheet on the sofa and the lingering stench of decay. Murakami was nowhere to be seen.

He had left. The realization left Uno in a daze. Like the night before, an empty cup noodle container with chopsticks stuck in it was left on the table. Uno had no problem with Murakami eating a few cheap instant noodles, but he had bought the bento to give him a more balanced meal. Now, it was no longer needed, and Uno dropped it onto the table.

The sheet on the sofa was already stained a reddish-brown after just two days. It, along with the empty noodle container, was all that remained of Murakami.

Where had he gone? From the way he had eaten Uno’s cup noodles without permission, Uno assumed Murakami didn’t have any money. His clothes were in terrible condition, and at the hanami, he hadn’t paid the membership fee and was said to have outstanding debts.

Uno felt like he had made a mistake. Yesterday... if only he had told Murakami, "I used to like you," yesterday. If only he hadn’t hesitated, afraid that Murakami might laugh at him.

Would he be able to find Murakami again? Could there be another chance encounter like at the hanami? Had he just thrown away the only chance fate had given him, not realizing it?

He crouched down and covered his face with his hands. This was the worst. The worst... What was the point of bringing Murakami back to his apartment? Wasn’t it supposed to be to end everything?

The doorbell rang, echoing through the apartment. At first, Uno ignored it. Who would be visiting at this hour, except maybe a delivery? He didn’t want to see anyone’s face right now.

The bell rang again. Persistent. Slowly, Uno stood up and walked to the front door. "What is it?" he asked, his irritation clear in his voice.

"Let me in."

A low, muffled voice nearly stopped Uno’s heart. He hastily peered through the door scope and saw Murakami standing with his head tilted slightly to the side.

When Uno unlocked the door, it swung open from the other side. Murakami entered, looking down, and slipped off his worn-out sneakers before walking into the room as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Without hesitation, he made his way to the sofa and sat down heavily, scratching at his greasy, sweat-matted hair. White flakes scattered everywhere.

"I didn’t expect you to be out," Uno said as Murakami fiddled with the remote and turned on the TV. He pulled a can of beer out of his pocket and began drinking. Beer dribbled from the corner of his mouth, ran down his chin, and dripped onto the sheet. Despite having assumed he had no money, Murakami apparently had enough to buy a can of beer.

"Did you have dinner?" Uno asked, Murakami lazily tossed the empty beer can across the room. It landed in the kitchen with a clatter and rolled away.

Uno didn’t want any more regrets. If he could tell Murakami that he liked him, maybe he could move on, just like Misawa did when she confessed at graduation and closed that chapter of her life.

"Um..." Uno's voice trembled. As soon as Murakami's sharp gaze turned on him, his throat seemed to seize up, and the words wouldn’t come out. If he could just say, "I used to like you," he could be free. He wouldn’t have to regret it even if Murakami eventually left for good.

"...What?" Murakami asked, his tone impatient and dismissive. Suddenly, Uno knew it was hopeless. Even if he confessed now, it wouldn’t bring him closure. His feelings might have been validated if he had confessed to the Murakami of the past—the Murakami who always smiled, who was a bit clumsy but kind. If he told the current Murakami, it would probably end with a simple "Oh, I see." There would be no sympathy for the emotions Uno had carried alone all this time.

"Sorry, it’s nothing," Uno said, turning away and heading to his bedroom. Timing is everything, he thought. He should have spoken up at graduation. He shouldn’t have cared that Misawa had just confessed or that it was a same-sex crush. If he had told the Murakami of those days, Murakami would have been kind, though confused, offering some gentle words to a friend from their four years together in the club.

So, what now? Deep down, Uno knew the answer. Even after hearing all those bad rumors about Murakami, why had he kept searching? He wanted to see the current, lowest version of Murakami, to overwrite his cherished memories and feel the disillusionment.

A laugh welled up inside Uno. He was a hopeless fool. Here he was, finding joy in the company of a man who was dirty, smelly, always borrowing money from friends without paying it back, and who hadn’t cracked a smile even once. Even now, Uno was layering his past, idealized memories over the reality of what Murakami had become, and feeling satisfied by it.

He wanted to be disillusioned with Murakami. He wanted to hate him so much that he never wanted to see him again. But how could he make that happen? Even though Murakami was practically homeless, stinking, and had vomited on him, Uno still couldn’t bring himself to hate him.

His head started to ache from overthinking. He changed into his loungewear and went back to the living room, where Murakami lay face down on the sofa, his face turned to the side, eyes closed. The TV was still on, but it didn’t seem like Murakami was watching it.

Even after Uno showered and returned, Murakami hadn’t moved an inch. Uno tried lowering the TV volume slightly, but there was no reaction. Murakami seemed to be asleep, so Uno turned off the TV. He dimmed the lights in the room and retreated to his bedroom. He didn’t want to do anything else, but he had brought some work home that needed to be done, or he’d be in trouble tomorrow.

Sitting at his desk, he opened his laptop. As he lifted his bag, which contained his work materials, his fingers slipped, and the bag tipped over.

His wallet rolled out and stopped by his feet. Picking it up, he remembered that he didn’t have much cash left in it. He had his cards and commuter pass, so he would manage, but it felt unsettling to have less than a thousand yen in cash.

He remembered that he had withdrawn a large sum for a down payment. He opened his desk drawer and took out the bank envelope. He intended to take out just 20,000 yen, but the entire stack of bills fell out, scattering across the floor.

"Oh, great..."

It seemed like he was dropping things all day. He got down from his chair and began picking up the ten-thousand-yen bills, counting as he did. He stopped at fourteen bills.

He counted the bills in his hand again—only fourteen. He checked under the desk and the bed, searching every nook and cranny where a bill might have slipped, but found nothing.

Had he taken out one bill earlier without remembering? No, he had withdrawn the money, stuffed it into the drawer that same day, and hadn’t touched it since.

Slowly, Uno turned around. On the other side of the door was a man who had borrowed money from multiple friends and then disappeared without repaying them.

Clutching the bank envelope, Uno stood there, thinking. He thought long and hard, and in the end, he put the envelope back in the drawer, just as it had been.

Footnotes

0. Content warning: su*cide mention, vomit.

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