Expired First Love: Section 2 - chapter 8

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

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One of the part-time jobs with good pay that didn’t require experience was working for a moving company. I talked to a guy who had done it before, and he said, "The pay’s good, but they work you hard, and you have to be careful not to hurt your back," as he rubbed his lower back with a frown.

I was pretty fit, so I was almost decided on the moving job. But then, I noticed a listing in the same section of the job magazine under the moving category: a job for "disposal of unwanted items." The pay was the same as the moving job. Clearing out unwanted items might be easier on the back than moving. The only concern I had was that, unlike the nationwide chains I had heard of for moving companies, I had never heard of the company name "BC Corporation," which was hiring for the unwanted items job.

Handling the cleanup of unwanted items was unusual, and I figured it might be a new company, so I decided to call them right away.

After the fifth ring, a woman who seemed to work in the office answered. She spoke extremely fast and loudly. I worried that I might have called at a bad time and hesitated, but I asked about the details of the job I’d seen advertised in the magazine. She asked for my name and then abruptly told me to bring my resume and come to the office at 1:00 p.m. the next day before hanging up with a loud clatter.

Holding the receiver of the public phone, I was left dumbfounded. I had just wanted to get more information, but instead of asking about my availability, I was suddenly scheduled for an interview. ...Is this company okay?

Despite my concerns, I figured that if I didn’t like it, I could always walk away. So, the next day, I headed to BC Corporation’s office with my resume in hand.

The office was about a ten-minute walk from Yotsuya Station. I easily spotted the building thanks to a sign that read "BC Corporation." It was a three-story building, with a parking lot on the ground floor where two large covered trucks and a small truck were parked. Glancing at the trucks, I thought, "I guess this job needs big vehicles," and then I climbed the external stairs to the second floor.

I knocked on the office door. A woman’s voice from inside said, "Come in." I nervously opened the door and stepped in. The office was medium in size, with a seating area on the right and three desks on the left. A woman in her mid-forties with glasses sat at one of the desks. She tilted her head when she saw me.

"Are you here to deliver the cleaning supplies?" she murmured, holding a stamp in her hand as she approached me. I instinctively stepped back.

"I’m here about the part-time job. I called yesterday and was told to come at this time with my resume..."

The woman exclaimed, "What?" and hurried back to her desk, rummaging through papers in a flurry.

"This is a problem. I haven’t heard anything about this..." she muttered to herself, loud enough for me to hear from the entrance, which only fueled my anxiety. She might even tell me to come back another day, and while it might sound petty, wasting a few hundred yen on train fare to get here would sting.

"You’re blocking the door, so come on in," she said, prompting me to step into the office. Just then, a man in his fifties with a shaved head and a stocky build appeared, dressed in a tank top and shorts, like he was relaxing in the evening breeze.

"President, you came at just the right time. There’s someone here for a part-time job interview," the woman called out.

The bald man, who was addressed as the president, nodded, "Yeah, I know. My wife said she took the call yesterday."

The woman complained, "Then you should have told me," before grumbling about the delivery time for the cleaning supplies as she returned to her desk.

The bald man turned to look at me, the hopeful part-timer. ...I was about a head taller than him.

"Well then, why don’t you head over to the sofa?" he suggested, and I followed him to the seating area, where we sat facing each other.

"My name is Takahito Murakami. Nice to meet you. Here’s my resume," I said, handing over the resume I had hastily prepared the day before. The bald man introduced himself as "Tachibana, president of BC Corporation," and casually bowed before taking my resume and flipping it open. In less than thirty seconds, he placed the resume on the table and said, "Alright, you’re hired."

"Huh? Um..."

"Three of our part-timers quit all at once. I know it’s sudden, but can you start tomorrow?"

It was clear that Tachibana hadn’t really looked at my resume. Tomorrow was Sunday.

"I was hoping to work Monday through Friday..."

"Our schedule isn’t fixed. I can’t guarantee you every weekend off, but we can work something out. But tomorrow... is that a problem? We’re really short on staff. I’ll pay you 10,000 yen for the day."

The pay was higher than day labor.

"What time should I start?"

"Work starts at 9:00 a.m. and should finish around 3:00 p.m."

The hours were short, and the pay was good. If I finished by 3:00, I’d have plenty of time to make dinner.

"I’ll do it," I agreed.

Tachibana smiled broadly and extended his right hand, "Contract established. Nice to meet you." His hand was large and warm. He seemed like a good person, despite his rough manner. ...But I couldn’t let my guard down yet. My former boss, Mizoguchi, who had tricked me, was also friendly at first.

Tachibana lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, exhaling with satisfaction.

"Murakami-kun, your hair’s pretty long. Are you in a band or something?"

I touched my hair without thinking. I hadn’t had money for a haircut, so I always tied my long hair back.

"No, I’m not."

"If you’re going to work with us, shorter hair would be better. It’s not mandatory, but your hair will pick up odors. Some of the places we clean have pretty strong smells."

When he mentioned "messy rooms," I understood. I had wondered why the pay was so high for clearing out unwanted items, but if it involved cleaning filthy rooms, it made sense.

"You’re a good-looking guy," Tachibana said suddenly, catching me off guard.

"With that face, you could make money as a host. And you’re well-educated, right? The company you worked for before was impressive too. So why are you looking for a part-time job here? It seems like you could find something better."

I couldn’t find the words to respond, and he quickly apologized, "Sorry for prying."

"You see, our line of work is a bit unusual, so I was curious."

"I thought it was more of a general handyman job."

Tachibana stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Well, we also do specialized cleaning. Once you get used to the work, I’d like you to try that too. But it’s not for everyone—some people just can’t handle it, and we have a hard time keeping part-timers."

"By specialized cleaning, do you mean things like cleaning windows from the outside using a gondola?"

That was the first thing that came to mind. If you had a fear of heights, that kind of job would be impossible. For some reason, Tachibana chuckled and muttered, "Oops."

"Murakami-kun, do you really not know what our company does?"

"The job listing in the magazine said it was for clearing out unwanted items."

"Yeah, that’s right. But didn’t you look us up online?"

"I don’t have a computer... or a cellphone, actually. Is that a problem?"

Tachibana was clearly surprised, his voice rising.

"You don’t have a cellphone?!"

"I canceled my plan because I couldn’t afford it. I’d like to have one, but I can’t afford it right now... I live with a friend, so in an emergency, you can call them, and I’ll get the message."

"You look like a modern guy, but you’re not at all," Tachibana muttered something confusing and then folded his arms.

"Specialized cleaning involves cleaning up places where people have died, like from accidents, solitary deaths, or suicides. Regular cleaners can’t handle those jobs because it requires special skills. There’s a high demand for this work."

The word "suicide" made my cheek twitch involuntarily.

"When we go in to clean, the body’s already been removed, but if too much time passes before the person is found, the corpse decomposes, and the room becomes a mess of dirt and a terrible odor."

Suddenly, vivid memories of my parents, which hadn’t appeared in my dreams for a long time, resurfaced. The sight of them hanging by a vinyl rope from the stair railing, their bulging eyes, and the tongue lolling from their mouth...

"Looks like you’re having second thoughts," Tachibana sighed after seemingly reading my expression.

"If you didn’t know about it, it’s understandable that you’d be reluctant. But tomorrow’s job is just a messy room cleanup—nothing to do with bodies or anything like that. Also, if you’re uncomfortable with it, I can make sure you don’t have to deal with those kinds of scenes."

I can’t count how many times I considered saying no. The words "I quit" were on the tip of my tongue, but when I thought about the train fare I’d spent getting here and back, I decided I might as well do the job tomorrow to at least make up for that small loss. I promised to come in at 8:30 a.m. the next day and left the office.

On the train ride home, I regretted going to the interview for a company that did specialized cleaning. But then again... Tachibana had said I didn’t have to clean rooms where someone had died if I didn’t want to. If that was true, cleaning a messy room wasn’t so bad. I even made a self-deprecating joke to myself, thinking that I had been like garbage at one point.

When I returned to the apartment, Uno wasn’t home. He might have gone to the bookstore. I immediately took out the hair-cutting scissors I’d bought at the 100-yen shop. I wondered where I should cut my hair. The bathroom seemed like the best place since I’d need a mirror. It would be a good idea to lay something down to catch the hair, but Uno didn’t get the newspaper. I figured I’d just have to vacuum up the scattered hair afterward.

I removed the hair tie and grabbed a handful of hair. I had no idea how to cut it, but as long as it was shorter, that would be fine. Just as I was about to start cutting, I heard the door open with a loud clatter. Uno had returned. I put down the scissors and stepped into the hallway. Uno smiled and said, "You’re back early," then asked, "Want some ice cream?"

I walked over to where Uno was gesturing, and he handed me a cup of vanilla ice cream, the kind I used to eat a lot in my student days.

We sat on the sofa and ate our ice cream. Uno had matcha-flavored ice cream. A warm breeze blew in through the open window, and I could hear the distant sound of cicadas.

I’d only ever eaten vanilla ice cream. I disliked even a hint of other flavors mixed in, and Hinano knew that, so she only bought vanilla.

Uno handed me the vanilla ice cream as if it were the most natural thing. I wondered if I had ever told him about my preference.

"It’s so hot, it’s melting fast," Uno said, scooping up the now runny ice cream with his spoon. I had told him I was going to a job interview this morning, but he didn’t ask how it went. Uno didn’t say anything, didn’t ask anything—he left everything up to me. It was... comforting not to have him intrude.

"Let me have a bite," I said, scooping some of Uno’s melting matcha ice cream from the side and tasting it. The bitter matcha flavor spread through my mouth.

"Still tastes bad," I commented.

"It’s delicious," Uno defended the matcha.

"I can’t stand it when flavors are mixed."

"Then why did you taste it in the first place?"

Uno laughed and took another bite of the matcha. His relaxed expression when enjoying something tasty struck me as oddly sensual. Usually, I didn’t find Uno attractive outside of the bedroom, but sometimes an overwhelming urge would rise within me. I had the sudden desire to have him use that cool, ice cream-chilled tongue to lick me. The explicit, dirty thought caught even me by surprise.

Pretending to throw away the empty ice cream cup, I escaped to the kitchen, putting some distance between us. It felt strange that my body was becoming more attuned to Uno before my emotions were. I drank some water and splashed my face in the bathroom sink. I felt a bit calmer. Seeing my wet face in the mirror made me smile bitterly. We had already slept together so many times—was it okay for my body to be ahead of my emotions? Would the feelings of love come later?

I noticed the hair-cutting scissors sitting next to the sink. Picking them up, I returned to the living room where Uno was leaning on the armrest, watching me.

"Could you cut my hair?"

Uno blinked several times, clearly puzzled.

"I’m starting the job tomorrow, and it’ll be inconvenient if it’s too long. I bought scissors."

"No way, I can’t," Uno shook his head and scooted back on the sofa.

"I’ve never cut anyone’s hair before."

"As long as it’s shorter, that’s fine. It’s hard to cut the back myself."

After some convincing, Uno reluctantly agreed. I brought a folding chair into the bathroom and sat down. My plan was to get my hair cut naked so that I could go straight into the bath afterward, but Uno insisted that I wear a makeshift cape made from a trash bag to avoid itching from the hair.

"This looks like I’m human garbage," I joked.

Uno didn’t respond, but I noticed his back was shaking slightly with laughter. The last time I had my hair cut was about eight months ago. A guy I met on the street who used to be a hairstylist had cut it for free. I didn’t get to choose the style—he just trimmed it evenly.

At first, Uno hesitantly cut small sections of hair, only about five millimeters (0.2 in) at a time, but he gradually gained confidence and began cutting more boldly and briskly.

"I’ve always thought you had fine hair," Uno said as he gently ran his fingers through my hair. His touch felt good, and I closed my eyes.

"My hair is really wavy. When it’s short, it tends to stick up."

"You kept it short all through college, though. I think it looked good on you."

Focusing mainly on the back, Uno trimmed the thick hair on the sides as well. The sound of the scissors cutting near my ears was soothing.

"I think it’s pretty short now. How does it look?" he asked nervously.

I slowly opened my eyes and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was neatly trimmed, giving me a look similar to when I was in college.

"It looks good. Thanks."

Uno let out a relieved sigh and placed a hand on his chest. I ran my fingers through my lighter hair.

"You did a good job. You could be a barber," I teased.

"That’s an exaggeration," Uno replied modestly but seemed pleased as he removed the makeshift cape. My neck felt itchy, so I went straight to the bath. Through the frosted glass, I could hear the loud hum of the vacuum cleaner and see a shadow moving. When the vacuum stopped, I called out.

"Uno-kun, want to join me in the bath?"

There was a brief silence, followed by the sound of someone hurrying away. I chuckled to myself. Even though I knew it was mean, I couldn’t help but tease him, knowing he wouldn’t understand the joke.

Uno was sincere, but he wasn't the type of person you could enjoy quick, witty conversations with. Back in my student days, I often found that lacking, so I usually hung out with guys like Kagami and Takechi, who were quick-witted and talkative, always making things interesting.

A lot has happened since then, and now I find that I prefer slower, more relaxed conversations over those fast-paced, lively exchanges. It could be because I spend so much time with Uno now.

After getting out of the bath, I walked into the living room, where the late afternoon sun was streaming in. Uno wasn’t there. I slid open the door to the bedroom and saw him lying face down on the bed in the dark room. He must have sensed my presence because he looked up at me with an angry expression.

“Please, don’t tease me too much,” he pleaded.

“My heart can’t take it,” he added, burying his face in the pillow again. I couldn’t help but find his reaction endearing, and the fact that I found him cute made me strangely happy.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Although I’d been advised about my hair, there were no instructions on what kind of clothes to wear. Since I’d be cleaning a messy room, I didn’t need nice clothes, so I picked out the worst of the old clothes I had. As soon as I arrived at the office, Tachibana said, "Your haircut looks good. It makes you look thirty percent more handsome. Thanks for today. There’s a changing room over there, so put this on," and handed me a light blue work uniform, identical to the one he was wearing.

When I entered the changing room, someone was already there—a tall, slender man in his late thirties. He wore glasses, which gave him a slightly nervous appearance. I figured he must be one of the employees.

“Hello,” I greeted him first.

He mumbled a “Hey,” and slipped on the light blue jacket over his tank top.

“Are you the new part-timer?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes, I am. My name’s Murakami. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Shima. Nice to meet you too,” he replied, giving a small nod.

After changing, I went to the office, where Shima, who had left the changing room earlier, was talking with Tachibana by the sofa.

"Alright, Murakami-kun, looks like you’re ready. Today, it’ll be the three of us—me, you, and Shima, our company’s ace. I’ll explain the job as we go since the site is a bit far," Tachibana said, and we quickly got into the truck and set off. Shima was driving, with Tachibana in the passenger seat and me next to him.

"Today's site is a 2-bedroom apartment where the trash is piled about 1.5 meters (5 ft) high throughout the place, starting from the entrance. You’ll probably be shocked when you first see it, but don’t say anything like ‘Wow’ or ‘This is awful’ in front of the client, okay? Your job is to sort the trash and put it into garbage bags. You don’t need to clean, but we’ll do a quick sweep at the end,” Tachibana explained, gesturing as he spoke.

During my time as a homeless person, I had seen fellow homeless people carrying what seemed like trash as if it were precious. I had heard commentators on TV say that people who hoard garbage have some kind of illness, so I figured there must be something to it. But I still couldn’t understand why they couldn’t just put the trash in a bag and take it out on the designated day.

"If you’re unsure about how to sort something, ask me or Shima. Also, if you’re not sure if something should be thrown away, ask us. Today’s client is a man in his forties, so it should be easier compared to working with a woman."

"Is it easier with men?"

"Yeah, men don’t have as many types of trash as women do."

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I assumed it was like he said.

"Cleaning these messy rooms is actually pretty interesting to me. It feels like you’re seeing a snapshot of someone’s life."

I couldn’t understand the appeal of cleaning a room so filthy that someone needed help. Tachibana kept talking, partly for my sake, while Shima drove silently, never joining the conversation. Tachibana didn’t try to engage him either. Shima seemed like a quiet type, though different from Uno’s quietness.

After about a twenty-minute drive, we arrived at the site just before 9:00 a.m. I had pictured a rundown apartment building, but it turned out to be a high-end complex with tight security—so much so that we needed an access code just to enter the building.

A man in his early forties, wearing a clean cream-colored polo shirt and cotton pants, came out of unit 405, the one we were assigned to. His appearance was neat and tidy.

"My name is Yumoto. I’m the one who requested the service. Thank you for your help today," he said, bowing slightly, though his expression was sour. Behind him, in the hallway, was a towering pile of trash. Even from outside, I could smell the stench seeping through.

“I’m really troubled by my brother. He made a mess of this apartment, which is in my name, and then moved overseas for work,” Yumoto sighed heavily. The contrast between his neat appearance and the state of the apartment made sense once I heard it was his brother’s doing.

"Please contact me on my cell phone once you’re finished. Thank you," Yumoto said before leaving. Once he was out of sight, Tachibana clapped his hands and said, "Alright, let’s get to work."

I put on the mask I’d been given and started bagging the trash piled up in the entrance. I was prepared, but the smell was overwhelming, like having rotten garbage constantly under my nose. The hallway was full of moldy bento boxes and crumpled boxer shorts. I wondered if the person had changed clothes in the hallway, but then I found a woman’s bra mixed in with the trash. I didn’t even want to imagine what had been going on in this filthy place.

The trash was mostly magazines, clothes, and bento boxes, but there were also many half-empty plastic bottles. Since they still had liquid in them, I couldn’t just throw them into the garbage bags. Once I’d gathered about twenty of them, I pushed through the trash to get to the kitchen, intending to pour out the contents.

“Don’t pour that down the sink,” Shima, who was gathering trash in the corner of the living room, warned me. The area around him was noticeably cleaner. Compared to me, he was incredibly fast. A real pro.

"But I need to empty them first..."

"Pour it all into the toilet. It might not just be leftover drinks."

I didn’t understand. Was it because the liquid was spoiled that it couldn’t go down the sink? I tilted my head in confusion, and Shima said with a straight face, "It could be urine," causing me to instinctively drop the bottles I was holding. Shima gave a small, sympathetic smile.

"People who live in these kinds of messy rooms—especially men—often do that. The place is so full of trash that they can’t be bothered to walk to the toilet."

Even though I had dropped the bottles, I couldn’t leave them there. I picked them up and carried them to the toilet. The bathroom was in such a state that it made the worst public toilets I’d ever seen look pristine by comparison. The stench was so strong it made my eyes water, and there were feces smeared all over the toilet. I avoided looking around and silently poured the contents of the bottles into the toilet. As I unscrewed the caps, each bottle released a strange odor, but I couldn’t tell if it was urine or just tea that had gone bad.

The three of us silently continued stuffing garbage bags and loading them into the truck, over and over. Since we couldn’t run the air conditioner, sweat poured down our faces. After about three hours of work, half of the floor was finally visible.

“Let’s take a fifteen-minute break,” Tachibana suggested, and the three of us stepped out of the apartment together. As soon as we exited the building, Shima wandered off somewhere, while Tachibana and I found some shade beside the truck. Tachibana handed me a bottle of water, saying, “This one’s on the house.” I drank it down in one go, feeling the hydration seep through my entire body.

I never imagined a day would come when I would find simply breathing fresh air to be so pleasant.

“It’s your first time cleaning a messy room, right? What did you think?” Tachibana asked as he crouched down in the shade, lighting a cigarette.

“...It was pretty intense,” I replied.

Tachibana chuckled, shaking his shoulders. “This one’s not too bad. Sometimes the trash piles up all the way to the ceiling. Every time, I can’t help but marvel at how much garbage people can accumulate.”

The image of Yumoto’s clean-cut appearance flashed through my mind.

“It's surprising how different siblings can be,” I commented.

“What’s that?” Tachibana asked, tilting his head.

“The client, the one who lent the room to his brother, seemed like a neat and orderly person,” I explained.

Tachibana exhaled a cloud of smoke. “If I had to guess, I’d say the client is the one actually living in that mess.”

I was so taken aback that I couldn’t help but gasp. “Really?”

“Yeah, you see it a lot,” Tachibana said, tapping the ashes from his cigarette into a portable ashtray. “People often claim it’s a distant relative, a sibling, or a friend who made the mess. But I found an old driver’s license with the client’s photo on it among the trash, and all the junk mail was addressed to him too. I think he’s lying because he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s the one who lives there.”

I couldn’t reconcile the clean, respectable client with the garbage-filled room and the bottles of urine.

“It’s usually pretty obvious from the trash, but we respect the client’s feelings and pretend it was ‘someone else’ who messed up the room,” Tachibana said.

Listening to this made me think that it might change how I see people.

“Today’s place had bottles of urine, but at least there wasn’t any poop in the room, so I’d say it was a win,” Tachibana added.

I swallowed nervously. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, it’s true. We’ve had clients who tried to pass it off as their dog’s mess, but there’s no way a dog could produce something that big. So it was definitely the client’s. And worse than poop are the dead animals. Birds and hamsters aren’t so bad, but dogs and cats smell awful. You can tell as soon as you walk into the room,” Tachibana said, patting my knee to reassure me. “But today’s place is fine.”

After a brief rest, we resumed cleaning. By a little after 3:00 p.m., we had cleared all the trash from the room. While the client, Yumoto, checked through the items we couldn’t identify, Tachibana and I did a light final sweep, and Shima hauled the trash to the designated collection point.

Once the client confirmed what could be thrown away, we loaded up the remaining trash, which took two trips even with the truck, and our work was done. Yumoto, now looking relieved, said, “I was overwhelmed, but now I feel at ease. Thank you so much,” with a bright smile.

We finished an hour later than scheduled and returned to the office after dropping off the last load of trash at the disposal site. Tachibana handed me 11,500 yen, just as if he were giving pocket money to a child.

“Um, this seems like too much…” I said.

“We went an hour over, so I added extra for that,” Tachibana replied.

At the company where I first worked, overtime pay was rarely given beyond a certain amount, probably because the base salary was already good. Even at the convenience store, when I had to stay twenty or thirty minutes longer because the register was backed up, the overtime was just expected, with no extra pay.

Getting paid for every hour I worked—it seemed like such a basic principle, but because I hadn’t been used to it being honored, I felt a subtle sense of gratitude for having even that one extra hour recognized.

“Do you live alone?” Shima, who had barely spoken during the workday or during our breaks, suddenly asked.

Uno’s face came to mind. I didn’t have the courage to tell someone I’d just met that day that I was living with another man.

“I live with a friend,” I replied.

“A friend? Like one of those communal living arrangements that are popular now?” Tachibana chimed in.

“It’s called a share house,” Shima corrected him calmly.

“If you’ve got a roommate, you should shower here before you head back. Today’s place wasn’t too bad, but your hair probably picked up the smell. You might not notice it yourself, though,” Shima advised.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. You should do that,” Tachibana urged.

The first half of today’s job had been tough because of the smell, but it seemed to get better later on. I had thought it was just because we had cleared away the trash and the smell had dissipated, but maybe it was just that my sense of smell had become desensitized.

Taking their advice, I headed to the shower room located at the back of the locker room next to the office. I washed every part of my body thoroughly, including washing my hair twice as Shima had suggested.

The work was grueling, but both Tachibana and Shima had been kind. Maybe they were being especially considerate since it was my first day. Unlike my first company, which was well-known and paid well but treated employees like disposable parts, or the repetitive monotony of the convenience store job, this didn’t seem like it would be the same.

After drying my hair with the provided dryer and freshening up, I returned to the office.

“Over here,” Tachibana called, waving me over from where he sat on the sofa. “Have a coffee before you go.”

He handed me a can of coffee. “Thank you,” I said, accepting it and sitting across from him. Tachibana was still in his work clothes, and the faint smell of the messy room we had cleaned earlier clung to him. Now I understood why they had insisted I take a shower.

“Good job today. You must be tired,” Tachibana said.

“Oh, not really,” I replied.

Shima, who had showered alongside me, had left earlier, but he wasn’t in the office anymore. He might have gone home.

“We hire full-time employees, contract workers, and part-timers here, but Murakami-kun, would you be interested in becoming one of our contract workers?” Tachibana’s question snapped me out of my post-shower relaxation.

“Because of our business situation, I can’t offer you a full-time position. If we expand or if one of the full-timers quits, we could bump you up, but I can’t guarantee when that would be,” he explained.

I hadn’t expected to be offered a contract position on my first day as a part-timer. Sure, it was a smelly job, but the pay was fair, and Tachibana and Shima seemed like good people. The only problem was...

"Today's job was a messy room, but if I become a contract worker, will I have to clean rooms where someone has died?"

"Is that what's bothering you?" Tachibana asked, reading my concern.

There’s probably no one who wouldn’t be bothered by that. The disgust and smell might be something I could handle if I steeled myself, but Tachibana had mentioned suicides as well. If I walked into a scene like that, would I be able to work without being overwhelmed? Could I avoid thinking about my parents?

"I think I can handle messy rooms and sorting through the belongings of the deceased. But cleaning up after someone has died... I don’t think I can do that."

Tachibana crossed his arms and let out a small hum before slapping his knee. "Alright! That’s fine. You can specialize in messy rooms and sorting through belongings. To be honest, I’d like you to help with the other jobs once you get more experience, but I won’t force you."

With that, I had no more reasons to refuse. He had made concessions for me, so I felt it would be too much to ask for anything more. Still, I mentioned that I preferred working Monday through Friday until six, with weekends off, and Tachibana agreed to that as well. The pay was much better than at the convenience store, and if I had to work on weekends in an emergency, I’d earn extra. I decided to start the job next Monday.

By the time I left the office, it was after 5:00 p.m. While the work had been exhausting due to the heat and the smell, it had ended with me being offered a contract position, a step above a part-timer. It felt like a good day.

Feeling optimistic, I headed down the stairs to the subway station. Ahead of me, I saw a short woman struggling to carry a child in one arm and a stroller in the other as she descended the stairs unsteadily. I realized there was no elevator at the entrance. I walked up beside her and offered, "Let me carry the stroller down for you."

"Oh, thank y—" She turned to face me, her eyes widening in surprise. I was taken aback as well—it was Hinano. Her hair was cut into a very short style, so I hadn’t recognized her. We both froze in silence, as if time had stopped, until the sound of the child crying brought us back to reality.

"It’s been a while," I said, breaking the silence. Hinano looked away, avoiding my gaze, and held the child tightly.

"Let me take the stroller. It’s too dangerous to do it alone," I insisted, worried she might refuse, but she quietly let go of the stroller. I carried it down the stairs, taking my time.

That child must be Hinano’s. How many years had it been since we broke up? Three, maybe four? It wouldn’t be surprising if she had gotten married and had a child in that time. Still, the realization unsettled me, and I couldn’t hide my shock.

At the bottom of the stairs, I bought a ticket and passed through the turnstile first. Hinano followed behind me.

"Which platform are you on?" I asked.

"It’s okay. I’m fine now," she replied.

"It’s no trouble," I said, deciding to help her anyway. Even though her train line was different from mine, I carried the stroller to the platform. The train had just left, so the platform was nearly empty, and there was some time before the next one would arrive.

"Thank you," Hinano said softly, still looking down. In contrast, the child stared up at me intently, his body slightly arched.

"How old is he now?" I asked.

"Seven months," she replied.

The child looked at me and gave a faint smile. The sweetness of it made my chest ache. When I first started dating Hinano, even though I was just a student, I had already decided that I wanted to marry her someday. I had fallen in love at first sight, found her adorable, and couldn’t bear the thought of losing her to someone else.

I was the one who caused her pain, who pushed her to the point where she had no choice but to break up with me. It was all my fault.

"I’m sorry," I said.

Hinano lifted her head.

"I caused you a lot of trouble," I continued.

For the first time, Hinano looked directly at me, and she shook her head vigorously.

"I was terrible back then. It’s no wonder you gave up on me," I admitted.

Hinano had left me with just a single email. Since we hadn’t talked face-to-face, I never got the chance to apologize.

"I’ve quit pachinko. I’m working now. I don’t make much, but at least I’m not... borrowing from you anymore."

I clenched my fists. I had been using the word "borrowing" as an excuse to take advantage of her. I pulled the 11,000 yen from my pocket and handed it to Hinano.

"This is all I have right now, but I promise I’ll pay back the money I took from you, even if it takes time."

"That’s... okay. You don’t have to," Hinano said, taking a step back.

"No, please let me. I’ve caused so much trouble for so many people, and I want to make things right," I insisted, slipping the money into the pocket of her bag, which she wore cross-body. Hinano watched my every move.

The child started crying, and Hinano gently rocked him to calm him down. Once he quieted, she looked up at me.

"Would you like to hold him?"

"Is that okay?"

"Yes," she nodded firmly.

Cautiously, I reached out and held the small, soft being in my arms. He was warm and had a sweet smell. Despite my fear that he might cry, he remained calm.

"He has bad eczema. We just came from the doctor. It’s far from home, but they’re open on Sundays, and the doctor is very kind," Hinano explained.

The child buried his face in my faded shirt and gripped it tightly with his tiny hand.

"You two look like a real family," Hinano commented.

The words pierced my heart. If I had been stronger, if I had turned my life around sooner, I might not have lost my friends and my lover.

"I really didn’t need the money back. I just wanted you to get better. I’m glad to see you’re doing well," Hinano said with a soft smile, as I handed the child back to her.

"I can’t say much, but your hair is shorter now, like when we were in college. It’s a bit uneven on the sides, but it looks cool," she remarked.

I had been content with the haircut Uno gave me, but now that she pointed out its unevenness, I suddenly felt self-conscious.

"It’s like back in college," she said with a bright expression, but then her face suddenly crumbled like an avalanche. Tears welled up in her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks.

"I’m sorry," Hinano apologized in a trembling voice.

"I’m really, really sorry."

Was she apologizing for leaving me? But no one could blame her for the choice she made back then.

"I loved you so much, Murakami-kun. I really did, but..." She trailed off, and I didn’t want to hear the rest. I didn’t want to hear about her regrets, so I cut her off.

"I’m seeing someone," I said abruptly.

Hinano’s already large eyes widened even more.

"Oh... I see," she said, wiping away her tears with her fingertips. "That person must be very lucky," she murmured.

The train pulled into the platform. Hinano boarded the third car and looked back at me.

"Aren’t you getting on?"

I nodded and raised my hand. "Take care."

Hinano wiped away her lingering tears and gave me a small wave in return. The train slowly started moving and soon disappeared from sight.

In the silence and emptiness of the platform, feelings of loneliness, emptiness, and regret surged over me like a flood. I stood there for a while before slowly climbing the stairs to the opposite platform.

Unable to hold back the surge of emotions, tears began to spill from my eyes. My fingertips tingled, and my heart ached. I had loved Hinano. Truly loved her. I wanted to chase after her, to hold her in my arms. But I couldn’t do that, and I shouldn’t. Absolutely not.

Footnotes

0. Content warning: su*cide mention.

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