Expired First Love: Section 2 - chapter 9

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

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Even after getting off at the nearest station, I couldn’t bring myself to go straight back to the apartment. Instead, I wandered to a familiar park near the supermarket and sat on a bench. The tears kept coming, as if they had just remembered how to flow. When Hinano left, I hadn’t cried. My mind had been too consumed with pachinko, so much so that I had even abandoned the act of mourning.

I let out a bitter laugh. This is what it means to love someone, isn’t it? To want them so much that, no matter how hard you try not to think about them, they linger in the back of your mind. Just a smile from them could brighten your entire day...

Meeting Hinano again made me realize something. No matter how much I cherished Uno, I didn’t love him—not in the passionate way I had loved Hinano. And even though I couldn’t see Uno in the same light as I did Hinano, there was nothing I could do about it.

As the evening grew darker, I finally stood up and began walking slowly, my head hanging low. I could see the lights on in the apartment building from a distance. That sight had always comforted me, but tonight it filled me with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Yet, that apartment was the only place I had to return to.

I unlocked the door and quietly slipped off my shoes. The smell of freshly cooked rice wafted through the air. Uno was in the living room, and when our eyes met, he closed his book and said, "Welcome back. You’re late."

"Did you cook the rice?"

"I wasn’t sure if I should, but I did."

Oh, right. I was supposed to make dinner. It was my responsibility, but I had completely forgotten about it, and I hadn’t even thought about what to cook. What was there in the fridge?

"Are you tired?"

"Just a little," I replied.

"You said today’s part-time job was pretty physical, right?"

Uno stood up from the sofa, holding his wallet.

"Are you going out?"

"I’ll just grab something like a bento box."

As he passed by, I grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"I’ll cook."

Uno turned around and gently patted my hair with his left hand. Startled, I flinched, and Uno quickly withdrew his hand, looking somewhat uncertain.

"You don’t have to push yourself when you’re tired."

Uno, who had been looking at me gently, tilted his head slightly. "Were you with a woman?"

I was startled, wondering if he had seen my reunion with Hinano.

"Wh-why do you ask?"

My voice came out higher than usual, and Uno’s expression tightened.

"...Because you smell nice."

Uno’s voice wavered, as if he was about to cry. I had only chatted with Hinano briefly and hadn’t even touched her. But still... Could it be that?

As soon as I realized the cause, I started laughing, regaining some composure.

"Today’s job was cleaning a filthy apartment. The smell was so bad that I had to take a shower at the office afterward. I even washed my hair twice."

"Filthy apartment?" Uno asked.

"It was something else. The garbage was piled so high that you couldn’t see the floor—it was over 1.5 meters high. The whole place was basically one giant trash can."

Driven by a sense of guilt, I pulled Uno into an embrace. His back was firm, lacking the softness of a woman’s...

"That must have been tough."

He gently rubbed my back. I hugged him tightly, as if to absorb his warmth, and nuzzled my cheek against him. Uno laughed and said, "That tickles," and his laughter put me at ease.

"Just take it easy and rest. I need to buy a magazine, so I’ll pick up some things while I’m out."

As soon as Uno left, a strange heaviness settled on my shoulders, and I collapsed onto the sofa. The way I had embraced him and acted affectionately felt so hollow, it made me sick.

If I had fully come to terms with my past relationship, I could have told Uno that I ran into Hinano on my way back from work. But I kept it a secret because I felt guilty—because I knew my feelings for her were still there...

It wasn’t cheating... but I couldn’t help the honest truth that I thought about Hinano more than I did about Uno. I didn’t know what to do with those feelings.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

BC Corporation, a company specializing in special cleaning services, was a small operation with just seven employees: one president, three full-time employees, and three contract workers. There was one woman at the reception who was becoming a contract worker, so that left only six of us who could work regularly. When we didn’t have enough hands, we would hire part-timers as needed.

I had started working with Komatsu, a full-time employee who was the same age as me and specialized in cleaning filthy apartments and sorting out the belongings of the deceased. Shima, another full-timer, usually handled the special cleanings for lonely deaths, suicides, and accident scenes, so it was unusual for him to join me in cleaning a filthy apartment.

The only requirement for becoming a full-time employee was having a driver’s license, so the company attracted people with various backgrounds. I thought Komatsu looked tough, and that impression was confirmed when I saw the impressive dragon tattoo on his back while we were showering after work. When Komatsu noticed me staring, he grinned and asked, "Wanna touch it?" His tattooed back felt cool to the touch. He later told me that he used to be in the yakuza but left that life behind when his girlfriend got pregnant.

"There was this part-timer who used to follow me around like a puppy, calling me 'Komatsu-san, Komatsu-san,' but the moment he saw my back, he stopped coming to work. It was hilarious."

Komatsu slapped his back with a resounding smack. Despite his intimidating appearance, Komatsu was polite and well-spoken. At BC Corporation, payments were typically made upfront or in cash before the work began. Some clients tried to intimidate us into giving discounts, but Komatsu never lost his cool. He always responded firmly, "That’s not possible." Whenever a female client tried to haggle, I was often pushed to the forefront. "Women don’t dislike a handsome man," Komatsu would say.

"Our company pays well, so we get all kinds of people," Komatsu said as he tied up a bundle of magazines.

"People like me, who used to be yakuza. But the job is tough, it stinks, and the boss doesn’t tolerate any slacking, so most people either quit or get fired pretty quickly."

I nodded, saying "I see," while I shoved a used sanitary pad I found in the mountain of trash in the living room into a bag for organic waste. The client was a beautiful woman in her thirties who had claimed, "I lent my room to a relative’s child," or something like that. It was a common story, and sure enough, I found several pieces of direct mail addressed to her. You really couldn’t judge people by appearances.

"Didn’t you have any better job prospects? If I had your looks, I’d definitely be working as a host and raking in the cash."

"I’m not cut out for that. Besides, I’m too old to be a host now."

"Really? I think you could still pull it off."

Even as Murakami chatted away, his hands kept moving. Initially, this one-room apartment had been filled with trash up to Murakami's waist, but after about four hours of work, they had finished clearing out the unnecessary items and completed a basic cleaning. Murakami contacted the client, who told him they'd arrive in about fifteen minutes. So, he and Komatsu decided to wait in the room.

The walls on all sides still bore the telltale red-black stains, remnants of the filth that had once covered the room. Although they had wiped them down, the stains couldn’t be removed with the cleaning products they had on hand. Since the request was only for "trash removal," a more thorough cleaning would require an additional fee.

Komatsu stepped out onto the balcony to smoke a cigarette, using a portable ashtray, of course. Tachibana and Shima also smoked, making the company’s smoking rate quite high.

“By the way, what’s your girlfriend like?” Komatsu asked, exhaling a puff of smoke. He had asked before if Murakami had a girlfriend, and after a moment's hesitation, Murakami had answered yes.

“Why are you asking all of a sudden?”

“Well, you talk a lot, but I realized I’ve never heard you mention anything about your girlfriend.”

For the first time, Murakami realized that he had never actively talked about Uno—regardless of gender—to anyone.

“...She’s a quiet person.”

“Hmm.” Komatsu snorted and then asked, “Is she pretty?” That kind of question was difficult to answer.

“She’s... average, I guess.”

“That’s where you’re supposed to lie and say she’s a beauty, you know. Want to see my wife? She’s really beautiful.”

Komatsu pulled out his smartphone and thrust it toward Murakami. On the screen was a woman with dyed brown hair, holding a child and flashing a peace sign. Her makeup was heavy, and she wasn’t really Murakami’s type, but she had a small face, big eyes, and a well-defined nose. She was pretty.

“Show me a picture of your girlfriend, too.”

“I don’t have any,” Murakami replied.

“What? No way! That’s hard to believe.”

“I don’t have a cellphone. I borrowed one from the company for communication, but I can’t use it for personal matters.”

“What are you, a caveman?”

That comparison was a bit too harsh.

“I used to have one. But I canceled the contract because I didn’t have the money.”

Komatsu stared intently at Murakami’s face. His eyes were asking for the reason. If Murakami told him, it would eventually get around to everyone in the company. But he didn’t feel the need to hide it.

“I got addicted to pachinko. Borrowed money from loan sharks and friends, until I was finally kicked out of my apartment. I was even homeless for a while.”

Komatsu casually dismissed Murakami’s foolish past, saying, “That’s the typical worst-case scenario for a gambling addict.”

“You might have hit rock bottom, but you managed to pull yourself out. That’s what matters. I can’t handle the smell, so I don’t do the special cleanings, but I do help out with moving stuff sometimes.”

In the company, “special” was a code word for cleaning up after lonely deaths, suicides, and accidents.

“The reasons for suicide are usually illness or financial difficulties. And financial difficulties are often tied to gambling, especially pachinko.”

Murakami had tried to end his life many times. Again and again. While he was obsessed with pachinko, he could forget about the bad things, but when he sobered up, the regret would make him feel nauseous. He had hesitated on the side of the road, wondering if he should jump in front of a car, and had gone up to the rooftops of tall buildings, staring down below. If he hadn’t managed to turn his life around, he might have ended it at some point.

“If it weren’t for my current partner, I wouldn’t have been able to climb out of that lowest point. I still think of them as a godsend and am deeply grateful.”

“She must be an amazing woman,” Komatsu said.

Murakami nodded and then lowered his head.

“Why the long face? That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Murakami hesitated, wondering if he should say anything. It might make him seem like a terrible person, but he wanted someone to listen... he wanted an objective opinion.

“I want to treasure my current partner, but…”

Murakami ruffled his hair in frustration.

“The other day, I ran into an old girlfriend by chance. She was the one who dumped me... but I still think about her. I really loved her. I don’t have the same burning passion for my current partner as I did for her. It’s not that I dislike them, but... I just can’t bring myself to care as much as I did for my ex.”

A silence hung in the air. Murakami hadn’t expected a response, so it didn’t really bother him. Komatsu pulled out a second cigarette, lit it, and muttered, “I get it.”

Murakami was surprised to find someone agreeing with him.

“I’ve been there too—feeling more for an ex than for the current partner. That’s actually how it was with my wife. We broke up once, dated other people, and then got back together.”

Komatsu pointed his cigarette at Murakami.

“You’re not just with your current partner out of a sense of obligation because they supported you during a tough time, are you?”

Murakami swallowed hard.

“Men are honest creatures. If you can’t stop thinking about your ex, you should break up with your current partner and try to get back with the ex. It’ll be tough on your current partner, but it’s not fair to continue if you don’t really love them.”

Komatsu made it sound so simple.

“But getting back with my ex isn’t an option. She’s married now and has a kid.”

Komatsu shrugged, spreading his hands wide.

“Even though she’s married with a kid, you still can’t let go? You must have really loved her.”

“...I’m not thinking about taking her away or anything like that,” Murakami said. He didn’t have the right or the financial stability to do something like that.

“Regardless of your feelings for your ex, don’t stay with your current partner out of obligation. It’s not fair to them.”

...Even on the way home in the truck after work, when he was handed a thick envelope because it was payday, and later when he was cooking dinner after getting back to the apartment, Komatsu’s words—“It’s not fair to them”—kept echoing in his mind.

“What’s wrong?” Uno asked from across the table.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You’re just sitting there holding your chopsticks, staring off into space.”

I had been so lost in thought that I forgot to eat. Embarrassed, I quickly took three big bites. Uno watched me and chuckled a little.

A cool breeze blew in through the open window, making the curtains sway gently. It had been three months since I started working at BC Corporation. Summer was long over, and in the end, the two of us never went to see the fireworks. Uno hadn’t said anything about it, and as for me, I only realized the event had passed when I overheard Komatsu talking about how spectacular the fireworks had been the day before.

As Uno nibbled on a piece of fried chicken, he asked, “Were you busy today?”

“Hmm, sort of. But it was hot.”

“The temperature was pretty high today. Our office has been cutting costs, so they’ve banned air conditioning since mid-September. Mizuki was grumbling about it all day.”

Uno mentioned Mizuki’s name several times during the conversation, but I couldn’t recall whether Mizuki was a guy or a younger female colleague. It seemed like the workplace relationships were good, as I’d never heard Uno speak ill of his coworkers. Maybe there were things he kept to himself, but that just made him seem like the serious, model employee.

“Today, I saw a picture of Komatsu’s wife—well, more like he showed it to me. She’s beautiful.”

“Is Komatsu the guy whose tattoo scared off one of the part-timers?”

“That’s the one.”

I didn’t have a clear grasp of the relationships in Uno’s office, but Uno seemed to know all the employees at BC Corporation.

Komatsu had told me not to stay in a relationship out of obligation. But I was loved. Through the choice of words, the gaze, the way he acted—everything said he loved me. Just because I couldn’t see him the same way I saw Hinano didn’t mean I wasn’t capable of having a relationship with Uno.

But how long would my relationship with Uno last? Would I ever come to truly love this man? Then again... maybe there was someone out there who loved Uno more than I did. Maybe someone would come along in the future. If my presence was preventing Uno from finding the person he was truly meant to be with...

But Uno loved me now, so wasn’t that enough?

“Hey, you’re spacing out again,” Uno said with a laugh. “You should rest as soon as you’re done eating.”

“Maybe you’re feeling worn out because of working all summer in an office without air conditioning,” he added.

I couldn’t tell him what was on my mind, so I just kept eating my meal in silence.

After dinner, I placed today’s paycheck and a small envelope of cash on the living room table. Back when I started working part-time at a convenience store, I had written down the names of everyone I could remember borrowing money from and the amounts owed. After deducting rent, food, transportation, and some savings from this paycheck, I had managed to save up 350,000 yen. According to my list, I could finally repay the 270,000 yen I had borrowed from Enomoto, a junior from college.

“That’s a lot of money,” Uno said, coming over after finishing the dishes. I nodded.

“I can finally pay back one person.”

“That’s great news,” he replied, his voice genuinely cheerful. I was so happy that I grabbed his hand and thanked him, which made his face flush a little.

“I didn’t do anything… It’s all because you worked hard and took it seriously.”

Just holding his hand didn’t feel like enough, so I hugged him. The fact that I could work like a normal person and repay my debts was all thanks to Uno. As I embraced him, I felt his groin press against me, and I realized that he was getting a bit hard. Snapping back to reality, I slowly pulled away, pretending not to notice. Uno was still blushing, looking down at the floor.

“It’s great that I can repay the money, but I don’t have Enomoto’s contact information.”

“...Sorry, give me a minute,” Uno said, standing up and heading to the bathroom. Maybe I should have helped him out, but I didn’t like doing that when I wasn’t in the mood—it felt like an obligation. When he came back a few minutes later, Uno apologized for interrupting our conversation.

“Who don’t you have contact information for?”

“Enomoto.”

“Enomoto, huh…” Uno murmured. “I haven’t exchanged New Year’s cards with him either. But Takeda might know. Should I ask him?”

“You’re still in touch with Takeda?”

Back in college, they hadn’t seemed particularly close.

“Takeda’s company contracts with us for their promotional goods.”

It was possible Uno had mentioned me to Takeda. I wasn’t hiding anything, and I owed him a lot, but the idea of being talked about behind my back made me uncomfortable.

“I haven’t told Takeda that you’re living with me,” Uno said, almost as if he could read my mind. “But is it okay if I tell him you want to repay the money you borrowed from Enomoto and ask for his contact information?”

I felt embarrassed for even thinking that Uno would gossip about me behind my back.

“Sure, go ahead,” I said.

Uno went into the bedroom with his phone, and I could hear his muffled voice through the door but couldn’t make out the conversation. After about thirty minutes, he finally came out, looking somber.

“So, how did it go?”

“Well…” Uno hesitated. “I explained everything to Takeda, and he reached out to Enomoto for me. But Enomoto said there’s no need to repay the money.”

“Why not?”

Looking uncomfortable, Uno explained, “He said he doesn’t want to give you his phone number, email address, or even his home address.”

It felt like I had been punched in the gut. I closed my eyes, feeling crushed. I wanted to make amends, to repay everyone and atone for what I had done, but it seemed I wasn’t even being given that chance.

I clenched the front of my T-shirt. I remembered how cool Takeda had been when I’d talked to him about repaying the money. It was my own fault if people didn’t want anything to do with me, but it still stung.

“I talked to Takeda some more, and we thought of another option,” Uno said, his tone tentative. “I could act as a go-between. I’ll take your money and send it to Enomoto by registered mail. That way, he won’t know your address, but the money will still get to him. You could also write a letter to include with the money.”

That way, at least, I could repay the debt. If Enomoto didn’t want to see me, then this was the best solution.

“Takeda said that Enomoto mentioned being afraid of you. But you’re not scary anymore. You’re working hard, getting your life back on track… No, you’ve already gotten your life back on track. Even if he can’t see that now, I’m sure he’ll understand someday.”

When I had borrowed the money, I had sweet-talked him. But when he asked for it back, I had lost my temper and shouted at him. I might have even said something like “I’ll kill you.” If that was the last memory he had of me, then it was understandable that he wouldn’t want to see me again.

“You’re going to be okay,” Uno reassured me, his words like a comforting spell. If Uno said I’d be okay, then I would be. As long as he stayed by my side, I could keep it together.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. And even if it could be called hypocrisy, I had no intention of ending my relationship with the person who loved me.

Footnotes

0. Content warning: su*cide mention.

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