Cold Fever - Chapter 1 - Part 3

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The Tohru Takahisa of ‘six years’—the one who was sociable, beloved by the shopkeepers, skilled at making sweets, and loved traveling. Tohru found himself wanting to know a bit more about that self. Although he disliked asking Fujishima for favors, he couldn’t think of another way, so he reluctantly said, "I want to meet someone I knew during my memory loss." Fujishima was more than happy to make the arrangements.

The day after he broached the subject, Tohru found himself standing at the west exit of a station, three stops from his apartment, near a busy downtown area. All he knew was the name "Kusuda." The fact that he wouldn’t recognize the person even if they showed up made him anxious. The man arrived a little after 7 PM, about ten minutes late. As he approached, staring directly at Tohru, Tohru quickly realized this was someone who had been close to him during those six years of memory loss. He had imagined someone aloof and cool, given that he had been friendly with him, so he was taken aback when a cheerful man in a gray suit and a black duffle coat approached him with a bright smile.

"So, your memory came back, huh? I heard you had amnesia, but it’s surprising how it just comes back like that. Amazing," Kusuda said with a hearty laugh, slapping Tohru’s shoulder firmly. He had slightly long hair and narrow eyes. He was probably about the same age as Tohru and just a bit shorter.

"You haven’t eaten yet, right? Let’s grab something to eat. 'Ginnan' is fine, right?" Without waiting for a response, he started walking. Overwhelmed by Kusuda's energy, Tohru followed him. Kusuda led him to an old izakaya about a three-minute walk from the station.

"Hey, it’s been a while, Kusuda-chan and Tohru-kun!" the elderly owner greeted them warmly as they entered the place.

"Boss, we’ll have the usual for me and Tohru, and some yakitori and onigiri."

When he said "the usual," a glass of oolong tea was placed in front of Tohru.

"A toast to getting your memory back."

It was the first time anyone had said "it’s good" that his memory had returned. Maybe he was just hungry, but Kusuda immediately reached for the yakitori that had been brought over, and as he munched, he asked, "So, I heard from Fujishima-san that you don’t remember anything from the time you had amnesia. Is that really true?"

"Well, yes…"

Tohru took a sip of the oolong tea, but it was bland. He found himself swallowing as he stared at the bubbles bursting in Kusuda's beer across from him.

"Do you mind if I have a beer too?"

Kusuda widened his eyes in surprise.

"You can drink?"

Not only could he drink, but in the past, he hadn’t been able to sleep without alcohol. The beer that was promptly brought to him felt soothing as it flowed down his throat. Kusuda, who had been watching him closely, looked curious.

"Do I seem different?"

Kusuda tilted his head. "Huh?"

"Is there any difference between me now and the me during those six years?"

Kusuda crossed his arms and hummed, "Well, even though you had amnesia, you were still fundamentally the same person. It’s not like you completely changed. But if I had to point out a difference, I’d say you seem a bit shyer today."

Tohru pulled out a cigarette from his chest pocket and lit it. Kusuda watched him closely again.

"What?" Tohru asked.

"It’s just… You didn’t smoke before. I thought it was interesting."

"Huh…" Tohru muttered, exhaling smoke. He had started smoking out of curiosity when he was fifteen and had become a heavy smoker ever since. Without a cigarette in hand, he would get irritated and crave one. So the fact that he hadn’t smoked in six years was more surprising to him.

"You used to say you didn’t like cigarettes. You said the smell interfered with your cake-making. And Fujishima-san didn’t smoke either."

"...I see."

The first beer was gone in no time, and Tohru ordered another.

"I heard you quit your job at the hotel restaurant. What are you doing now?"

Tohru exhaled a puff of smoke. "Just taking it easy, you know…"

"Are you still into photography?"

Tohru was surprised. How did this man know about his hobby? Kusuda smiled broadly, pleased with his guess.

"I knew it! You really did like photography. But during the six years you had amnesia, you didn’t show any interest in it at all. I remember Fujishima-san trying to get you to go to photography school. He even bought a camera for you, but you got really angry about it."

This was the first time Tohru had heard that Fujishima had encouraged him to pursue photography, and he was also shocked to learn that he had lost all interest in it during those six years. He had loved photography so much and had dreamed of becoming a professional, yet he had forgotten all of those feelings.

Kusuda gave Tohru a light pat on the shoulder as he fell silent. “Don’t get down just because you can’t remember what happened during your memory loss. What’s done is done, and it’s okay to just live in the now. If I can say one thing, even though you probably had your share of worries during that time, you seemed like you were having fun. Isn’t that enough?”

Being told that he seemed like he was having fun felt strange. Had there ever been a time in his life that could be described as "fun"? Even when he lived with his mother, he was always alone, and in the end, she abandoned him. The son of the family that took him in was a pervert, and his stepmother abused him. He was bullied in middle school, and although the bullying stopped when he entered high school, he was still always alone.

“Just because you forgot, don’t think that those six years were a waste. If it weren’t for that time, you and I wouldn’t have become friends.”

Kusuda’s tone was light, but that made it easier for Tohru to take than if he had spoken more seriously. Tohru found himself thinking that Kusuda was a good guy. He was a different kind of person than anyone Tohru had encountered before. He didn’t try to dominate with strength, nor did he wallow in the darkness of his past. He seemed to be facing Tohru as an equal, just as one person to another. Tohru had always wanted a friend like that. He had wanted it, but he didn’t know how to make it happen.

Suddenly, this ideal friend had appeared. But when Tohru thought about the fact that it was his amnesiac self who had been close to this man, he felt conflicted. How had the version of him with memory loss become friends with this man? What kind of conversations had they had?

A chill ran down his spine. The shadow of a person he didn’t remember began to grow larger within him. He started to feel as if his body had been taken over by someone else without his knowledge. At first, he simply wanted to learn more about the "six years" version of himself. He was so different from his current self that Tohru was curious. Meeting Kusuda was just a small part of that curiosity. He hadn’t thought much more deeply about it.

“Is there anything you want to ask me? I’ll tell you even the embarrassing stuff,” Kusuda said with a chuckle. For a moment, Tohru found himself wondering, "Who is he smiling at so familiarly?" He thought, "You’re smiling at the me who lost his memory, not at the me I am now…"

He decided to stop thinking about it. There was no point. Besides, Kusuda had said that the essence of who he was hadn’t changed. That was probably true. The fact that he had become friends with this man was undeniable.

Silence followed, and Tohru began to feel anxious. Although Kusuda was his friend, Tohru didn’t really know him, which made it hard to keep the conversation going. He tried to mask his discomfort by smoking. To be honest, he wanted to go home. Kusuda seemed like a good guy and had offered to tell him anything, but…

Tohru avoided making eye contact and looked around the shop. He noticed a beer advertisement on the wall, featuring a woman drinking beer against the backdrop of a blue ocean. This reminded him of the theme park and hot spring ticket stubs he had found in the drawer, as well as the remnants in the trash on the morning his memory returned.

"Did I have a girlfriend?" he asked suddenly.

Kusuda, who had been chatting cheerfully until then, changed his expression. His mouth tightened, and his eyes became serious. “Are you talking about a girlfriend or just someone you were seeing?”

“Either one, it doesn’t matter.”

Despite his earlier promise to tell him anything, Kusuda was slow to respond.

“You haven’t asked Fujishima-san about this?”

Tohru tilted his head, wondering why Kusuda had brought up Fujishima’s name.

“No, not really. We don’t talk.”

“Why not?”

Kusuda asked, puzzled.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Besides, I don’t like the guy. I’ve always found him annoying. When I got my memory back, I had no idea why I was living with him. I don’t have the money to move, so I’m just putting up with it for now.”

Kusuda rubbed his hands together nervously and muttered in a low voice, “I see…”

“To cut to the chase, you did have a girlfriend during the time you lost your memory.”

Tohru responded with a noncommittal grunt. It wasn’t like he’d never had a girlfriend before. But the relationships never lasted long. To be honest, the main reason he got into relationships was for sex. Any woman who was willing to sleep with him would do. He only wanted a woman who would satisfy him when he felt like it. When one of them wanted to meet up when he wasn’t in the mood, it annoyed him. If he ignored them, they would start asking, “Don’t you love me?” He would sneer internally every time. They didn’t know anything about him, yet they somehow convinced themselves that they were in love.

Tomorrow would mark three weeks since his memory returned. During that time, he had stayed at the apartment, but no woman who claimed to be his girlfriend had contacted him. If they had been in a relationship, whether she knew his memory had returned or not, wouldn’t she have at least called him once? Or perhaps that’s not the kind of relationship they had…

“Maybe it was more like a casual fling than a girlfriend?” Tohru suggested.

Kusuda’s expression darkened instantly. Tohru immediately regretted his words.

“Don’t joke about stuff like that. You were serious about the person you were with.”

Without thinking, Tohru apologized. “Sorry…”

Kusuda wasn’t like the people Tohru had dated before. He wasn’t the type to laugh off a remark about two-timing. Seeing such genuine decency made Tohru feel like he was the one who was out of line, and he started to feel depressed.

“You were together for years, and you were really close. You two were always going out and having fun together.”

Kusuda’s words lingered in Tohru’s ears. He found himself scraping the heel of his shoe against the floor. What was it like to be in a relationship with the same woman for years? Did they connect emotionally as well as physically? What kind of conversations did they have? What kind of time did they spend together?

“Does she know that I had amnesia, and that now I’ve remembered everything except those six years?”

“She knows.”

“Do you think she wants to see me?”

“Do you want to see her?”

Faced with Kusuda’s direct question, Tohru couldn’t bring himself to say yes.

“I mean… I’m curious.”

“If it’s just out of curiosity, I don’t think you should see her,” Kusuda said firmly. Being told he shouldn’t only made Tohru more eager to see her.

“Then how about I just see her from a distance? Just a quick look at her face, that’s all,” Tohru said lightly, trying to brush off Kusuda’s seriousness. He hoped that by taking a casual tone, Kusuda might relent and say, “If it’s just that much…”

But the man across from him didn’t waver. He looked at Tohru with the same serious eyes and said, “Think about it from the other side. Would you want to be secretly watched by a lover who had forgotten all about you, just because you used to date? You wouldn’t, would you?”

Tohru swallowed hard, unable to respond.

"You don't even remember if you had a girlfriend. If you meet someone you used to care about, she'll just seem like a stranger to you now. There’s no point in that," Kusuda said.

"But aren’t the amnesiac me and the current me pretty much the same? If I see her, and we get along, maybe we could start dating again," Tohru argued.

Kusuda looked troubled. "You’re the same, but also different. The you right now isn’t the you from six years ago when you lost your memory. So, you should move forward and fall in love again as the person you are now."

Tohru understood what Kusuda was saying, but he couldn’t accept it. "Fine, I get it, I forgot, so it’s all a clean slate for me. But what about her? If we were that close, maybe she still has feelings for me?"

Kusuda averted his gaze. "She knew from the start that you might regain your memory someday or that you might never remember anything again. She was calm about it when we talked."

The fact that he was the one in the relationship, yet now he felt like he was being left out of it, made Tohru angry. Just because he lost his memory, does that mean it’s all over? If she could walk away so easily after years together, then she was cold and heartless.

"The person you cared about was kind," Kusuda said.

Tohru downed his beer in one gulp. Losing something he couldn’t remember didn’t hurt, but it did make him a bit curious. What kind of woman had he slept with during his amnesia?

As the empty plates were cleared from the table, Kusuda ordered some fried fish. "Here, eat this," he said, urging Tohru to take a bite. Resigned, Tohru bit into it. The fish was crispy and tasty, bones and all. He wondered if the fish he had received from the shopping district could have been cooked like this instead of being left to spoil.

He clicked his tongue, thinking that if it had been his amnesiac self, he probably would have cooked it well. He began to consider what would happen if he met the girlfriend from his amnesiac days. He didn’t know her, but she knew him. If she knew him, what would she expect from him? The thought suddenly scared him. He decided he didn’t need to meet her. He didn’t want to be compared to a ghostlike version of himself who could bake cakes and cook well.

The conversation about the girlfriend didn’t come up again, and Tohru didn’t bring it up either. Kusuda entertained him with a funny story about how they first met at a convenience store. Laughing helped Tohru forget about it for a while, but deep down, he couldn’t stop thinking about that cold-hearted girlfriend. So, to test the waters, he asked, "Do you know someone named Satoko Kinoshita?" He thought that might be the name of the woman he had been transferring large sums of money to every month.

Kusuda didn’t seem shaken at all and simply asked, "Who’s that?" Satoko Kinoshita wasn’t his girlfriend, so then who was she?

By the time Tohru ordered his third beer, Kusuda had switched to sake and was starting to slur his words. He patted Tohru on the shoulder and started complaining about his boss at work. After about thirty minutes, he was on his third round of complaints. His speech became more drawn out, his words began to trail off, and finally, he fell silent, typical signs of someone who had drunk too much.

"You know, are you getting along with Fujishima-san?" Kusuda suddenly asked, lifting his head, which had been drooping, as if he had been asleep. His words were slurred.

"He’s a good person, so be nice to him. Really, get along well with him."

It wasn’t wise to argue with a drunk, so Tohru gave a half-hearted "Yeah."

"He’s kind, really kind. Yeah… a good person," Kusuda muttered as he nodded off again. Left alone with his thoughts, Tohru started thinking about Fujishima. Why had he taken care of him during those years when he had lost his memory?

When Tohru found out he wasn’t his father’s biological child, he left home, vowing never to get involved with those people again. He wanted to cut ties, yet that man had chased him down, offering help whenever he could. Before leaving, Tohru had asserted his right to the inheritance, but once he knew there was no blood relation, he lost interest. The truth was, he never really cared about the inheritance. Money was useful, but that’s not what he wanted. The man who was his fake father had never given him anything resembling affection, so Tohru wanted to strip away everything that was left. Even if it was just money, it was still something of his father’s. The man who had given him nothing in life had taken even the last bit of connection in death. That man didn’t understand what had driven Tohru to despair—not in the slightest.

It was suffocating, and just seeing his face made Tohru angry. He never listened to anything the man said and hit him whenever he got close. Even so, that man took him in and cared for him for six years. It cost money and brought no benefits, yet he did it anyway.

Tohru hung his head, resting his hand on his forehead. He knew the man was kind and that he was being treated with kindness, but it made him uncomfortable—it felt wrong. How could someone be kind to a person who had hit them every time they met?

Tohru didn’t want to believe in the kindness shown to him. Trusting it only to be betrayed would be too painful. He didn’t want to be hurt again. That’s why he avoided talking to Fujishima, avoided getting involved, avoided hearing kind words, and avoided seeing any signs of care.

Around 10 PM, they left the bar. Kusuda, drunk, staggered down the sidewalk like a snake, and Tohru had no choice but to lend him his shoulder. As Kusuda weaved down the street, he suddenly exclaimed, "Oh!" and made his way to a brightly lit shop window, drawn to it like a magnet. Behind the glass, a display of colorful cakes caught his eye.

“Hey, buy some cake, come on, cake, cake,” Kusuda urged, pushing Tohru toward the shop.

"I don’t eat sweets," Tohru grumbled.

“I know that,” Kusuda replied, yet still dragged Tohru into the shop. While Tohru hesitated in the cutesy store, Kusuda ordered two items: a strawberry shortcake and a crème brûlée. When it came time to pay, Kusuda slapped Tohru on the back and said, “You’re paying.”

Feeling it was absurd to be forced to buy something he didn’t want, Tohru reluctantly paid for the cakes and took the box.

"Who’s going to eat this?" he muttered under his breath, but Kusuda heard him and turned around.

“That’s for Fujishima-san. You always bought cake here as a treat after eating at ‘Ginnan,’ remember?”

“Even if it’s a treat, bringing sweet stuff back for a guy…”

“It’s fine, just bring him the cake.”

Kusuda gave Tohru a couple of pats on the shoulder before they parted ways near the station. Tohru took the train home, sitting shallowly in his seat and hunching his shoulders. He felt a bit tired. By the time he got home, it was past 11 PM. When he unlocked the front door, he found the hallway light on. Peeking into the living room, he made eye contact with a man. Fujishima was sitting on the sofa, wearing navy blue pajamas. A hardcover book rested on his lap, as if he had been reading.

"Welcome back," Fujishima said.

Tohru didn’t respond. Whether it was from the beer or something else, he was incredibly thirsty. He went straight to the kitchen and drank water directly from the faucet.

“Did you talk with Kusuda-kun?” Fujishima asked.

Tohru wiped his mouth with his right hand and gave a small nod.

“He’s a friendly guy, so I’m sure you had a good time.”

Tohru glanced at the cake box he had left on the counter. He felt too awkward to hand it over and wished he had just thrown it away on the way home. Grabbing the box, he placed it on the coffee table in front of the sofa and muttered gruffly, "Here."

Fujishima blinked in surprise, then smiled softly. “Thank you.”

Just seeing that unguarded smile made Tohru feel a burning embarrassment in his chest.

“Thank Kusuda, not me. It’s from him,” Tohru lied instinctively. Feeling too embarrassed to stay in the room, he quickly retreated to his own room. However, he soon had to go to the bathroom, so he quietly crept down the hallway, trying not to make any noise. The light was still on in the living room. When he peeked in, Fujishima was sitting on the sofa, eating the cake. It was an oddly captivating sight: a handsome man in his thirties eating cake with childlike delight.

Tohru couldn’t tear his eyes away and stood there watching for a while.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Starting in April, Tohru decided to enroll in a photography school located two stations away from his apartment, and he submitted his application. He couldn’t afford to delay any longer, not even a year or a few months. As long as he could pay the enrollment fee, he planned to cover the rest of the tuition by working part-time. He didn’t want to fall behind others any further.

At the end of February, Tohru started working a night shift at a construction site that paid well. He would have preferred a daytime job, but the higher-paying jobs in delivery or moving services required a driver’s license, which he didn’t have. The construction site was on the outskirts of town, so he commuted by bicycle. He left for work at 8 PM and returned home around 7 AM. As a result, he rarely saw Fujishima, who worked during the day. Even so, they still had dinner together, eating the bento boxes Fujishima bought at a conversation-less table. Although his legs no longer hurt and he was earning money, Tohru kept quiet and continued relying on Fujishima for meals since Fujishima didn’t say anything.

Tohru cycled through the city at night and early morning. At first, he was exhausted by the unfamiliar night work, and his days consisted only of “work” and “sleep.” But as he got used to the night shift, he began to notice his surroundings more. In the early morning, the light cast shadows at an angle, making the landscape appear more three-dimensional than during the day. Abandoned buildings took on a different significance, and the old storefront windows reflecting the light seemed irresistibly attractive.

Eventually, Tohru started taking his camera with him to work. Whenever he encountered a fresh landscape, he would stop his bike and take out his camera. Despite his limited funds, there were days when he used several rolls of film. Since he didn’t have a darkroom, he developed his photos at a nearby cheap lab, but he was often disappointed by the difference between what he saw and the final prints.

Eager to see more varied landscapes, Tohru frequently changed his route home. On one such route, he discovered a cake shop with a cute sign reading ‘Port’ on the outskirts of a riverside road. Tohru always passed by the shop either at night or early in the morning, so it was never open. But each time he passed by, he wondered if the cakes sold there were any good. He thought that if he bought a cake and brought it home, Fujishima, who seemed to like sweets, might be happy. The shop was close enough by bike, so he considered buying something during the day, but ultimately decided against it, feeling that it would seem too much like he was trying to curry favor.

By mid-March, winter had passed, though the occasional cold wind still blew. One day, after finishing his shift, Tohru grabbed his bag from the warehouse and stepped outside, only to find it raining. The sky had looked like it might rain, but it hadn’t started before he entered the warehouse, so he clicked his tongue in annoyance. He didn’t have any rain gear, and more importantly, he didn’t want his camera to get wet. So Tohru returned to the warehouse, curled up in a corner, and took a nap. When he awoke to the noisy footsteps and voices of the daytime workers, he realized it was past noon—their break time. The sky was still overcast, but the rain had stopped. Tohru got on his bike and started riding, but he kept stopping to photograph the rain-soaked scenery. As he was taking pictures, the rain started again, gradually intensifying until it became a downpour.

Tohru quickly stowed his camera in his bag and dashed under the eaves of a nearby cake shop. It was the same shop he always passed by but had never seen open until now. Intrigued, he peered through the shop window at the cakes on display: strawberry and chestnut cakes, chocolate triangles, all emitting a sweet scent that wafted outside. As he gazed absentmindedly at them, the door suddenly jingled open, and an elderly woman, likely in her late fifties, stepped out. Thinking he might have been in the way, Tohru was about to get on his bike when she called out, "Tohru-chan!"

It had been a while since a stranger had approached him like that. Tohru had been careful to avoid places where the "six years" version of himself had been known. Even though people would approach him warmly, it was painful to nod along to conversations he couldn’t understand. More than anything, he felt like he didn’t belong in those interactions.

"Long time no see…"

Most of the people who had been close to the "six years" version of him didn’t know that he had lost his memory. It was too much trouble to explain that he had gone through a period of amnesia, that his memory had returned, but that he remembered nothing of the time he had lost. So, when Tohru encountered "former acquaintances," he would nod along, play nice, and then leave, never to return to that place again.

The woman encouraged Tohru to come inside and offered him a seat in a small café corner of the shop. Since it was raining and he didn’t want his camera to get wet, Tohru reluctantly entered, though he furrowed his brow at the thought of getting caught up in a long conversation.

"It's raining today, so we don't have many customers," she said as she placed a cup of coffee in front of him. She sat across from him, lifting her cup with both hands wrapped around it.

"Yes... that's true," Tohru replied noncommittally. However, there was something different about this woman compared to the others he had encountered since regaining his memory. There was an air of intimacy about her that he couldn't quite put into words.

"How's your job at the hotel restaurant? Last time, you mentioned you were making a cake for a selection event because they offer training abroad," she said, bringing up a topic that Tohru knew nothing about.

"Well, um..." he mumbled, at a loss for words. The woman quickly apologized, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize." She seemed to have misunderstood, assuming that he hadn't been selected. The conversation lapsed into an awkward silence, and Tohru glanced around the room in discomfort. Noticing this, the woman gave a small, wry smile.

"He's been at the hospital since noon because of back pain. They say it's a herniated disc and that standing for long periods is bad for him, but you know how he is—he doesn't know when to take it easy," she explained.

Tohru had no idea who she was referring to—whether it was a man or a woman, young or old.

"Ever since you quit your part-time job and stopped coming to the shop, he's been a bit lonely. We don't have any children, so I think he started seeing you as a sort of son. When you said you wanted to work here after graduating from pastry school, he might have said that 'an amateur would just get in the way,' but in reality, he was overjoyed. But he turned you down because he thought it would be better for you to train at a more prestigious shop while you were young."

It seemed that "he" was the owner of this shop, and that the man had been quite fond of him.

"I know you're probably busy, but please drop by the shop occasionally to say hello. It would mean a lot to him," she added.

Even though Tohru knew he wouldn’t be able to return to the shop again, he replied, "Sure." The coffee in his mouth tasted unusually bitter.

"And... I know it might be a bit much to ask, but if you ever decide you want to open your own shop in the future, you're welcome to use this one," she offered.

Tohru looked up, surprised. The woman's eyes were serious as she spoke.

"It’s a bit out of the way and not a particularly fancy place, but it’s equipped with everything you’d need, so it wouldn’t cost much to start. But don’t feel pressured—it’s just an option if you ever feel like it," she added with a gentle laugh.

"Even with his bad back, he's still working on new cake ideas," she said. "He keeps saying things like, 'I can’t let that kid beat me!' as if it's a habit. It's kind of funny, isn’t it?"

There was a glint of something in her kind eyes that made Tohru feel uncomfortable, so he looked down. These words were meant for the "six years" version of himself that no longer existed. He lacked the courage to confess that he didn’t remember anything, not even how to make cakes anymore.

The rain had stopped at some point. As he was leaving, the woman handed him a box of assorted cakes as a parting gift. When Tohru tried to pay, she firmly refused and smiled, saying, "Please give my regards to Fujishima."

Tohru walked along the wet sidewalk, pushing his bike to avoid jostling the cakes. As he walked, the woman's face kept flashing through his mind. If he had never regained his memory, would he have continued to be cherished like a child by this couple, even though they weren’t related? Would he have stayed at the shop, baking cakes indefinitely?

Kusuda had said, "You seemed happy during the time you lost your memory." Maybe that was true. He had many acquaintances, and people seemed to care about him... a stark contrast to the version of himself who had been abandoned and betrayed repeatedly. The "six years" version of himself had clearly found a place where he belonged. But what about him?

If he were to die tomorrow, no one would mourn him. His mother had been missing for years, and he had no close friends. But if the "six years" version of himself had died, there would be many people who would grieve—like that couple, Kusuda, and the people from the shopping district.

Tohru gripped the handlebars tightly and clenched his teeth. He had never had a place to belong since he was old enough to remember. So how had the "six years" version of himself so easily found one here? They were supposed to be the same person, so what was different? That version of himself, the one who lost his memory, was nothing but a fake. He was the real one, so why did the fake seem happier? Why did he seem so content, so loved by everyone?

The moment Tohru found himself wondering if the "six years" version of himself had more value than the current him, he was shocked. Standing on the bridge, the cold wind blowing over the river chilled him to the bone. He stared at the murky water below, trembling. When he finally started walking again, his legs felt as heavy as lead. Several times along the way, he thought about throwing the cake box away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

It was past 3 PM by the time he got home. After putting the cake box in the refrigerator, Tohru took a shower. He changed into sweatpants he used as pajamas and, instead of going to his room, lay down on the living room sofa, wrapping himself in a blanket. Even though he had no intention of watching, he left the TV on. He needed some kind of noise to keep himself calm.

At 7 PM, Fujishima came home from work as usual. After they ate their bento dinners together, Tohru didn’t retreat to his room immediately as he usually did. Instead, he lay on the sofa. After Fujishima finished cleaning up and left the living room, he came back dressed in casual clothes and hesitantly asked, "Would you like some coffee?"

Tohru wasn’t particularly thirsty, and he would normally have ignored the offer, but for some reason, he nodded. Before long, a cup of coffee with a pleasant aroma was placed on the coffee table in front of him. Tohru slowly sat up and took a sip. When he noticed that the mug he was holding matched Fujishima’s, he suddenly felt like it was something the "six years" version of himself had used. The thought made him lose the desire to drink the coffee, so he set the cup down on the table. The lingering scent of coffee in his mouth brought back memories of the woman from earlier in the day.

“There’s cake in the fridge. You should eat it,” Tohru said. Fujishima, who was sitting across from him, blinked in surprise and then broke into a warm smile, saying, "Thank you."

"I didn’t buy it, though. It was raining on my way back from work, and I happened to take shelter in front of a cake shop. The woman there gave it to me. It seems it was a shop I used to work at part-time..." Tohru explained hurriedly, desperate to make it clear that he hadn’t bought it for Fujishima. As he continued to explain, he started to feel ridiculous and pulled the blanket over his head. He heard Fujishima’s gentle voice murmur, "That must have been the lady from Port." Tohru didn’t respond. After a while, mixed with the noise from the TV, he could hear the rustling of a newspaper being turned. Sensing someone nearby, Tohru drifted into a light sleep, still wrapped in the blanket.

“Tohru,” he thought he heard someone call his name, but it felt distant, like in a dream.

“Tohru,” the voice came again, this time accompanied by a gentle shake on his shoulder, which made him startle awake. Fujishima, who had been leaning over him, jumped back in surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought it was almost time for your part-time job…” Fujishima said apologetically. The clock showed it was fifteen minutes to 8 PM. Tohru sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“…I’m taking the day off,” he mumbled, pulling the blanket back over his head.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Fujishima asked. Tohru couldn’t bring himself to admit he was just skipping work, so he stayed silent. …Maybe if he pretended to have a cold, it would give him a reason to stay home.

“Maybe I’m coming down with something… I feel a bit feverish,” he said, his voice trembling with the small lie.

“Do you want to take some medicine?”

“I don’t like medicine.”

“Then at least check your temperature.”

Tohru knew that if he used the thermometer, it would show he didn’t have a fever, and the lie would be exposed. He sat up abruptly and snapped, “you’re just annoying!” The tense look on Fujishima’s face, combined with the meaningless noise from the TV, echoed in Tohru’s mind, making him feel even more frustrated. He hadn’t meant to shout, hadn’t planned to. He just didn’t know what to do—he felt lost.

“If you’re not feeling well, it might be better to rest in your room,” Fujishima suggested cautiously.

Tohru had stayed in the living room because he didn’t want to be alone, but Fujishima didn’t understand that. How could this man possibly understand what he was thinking? The realization made Tohru feel both sad and irrationally angry. He stood up, threw the blanket at Fujishima, and stormed out of the living room. Once in his room, he dove under the sheets and closed his eyes. He was too angry and restless to sleep. He wished he had just gone to work instead. He still needed money for the school’s enrollment fee, tuition, film, and development costs—he was far from having enough.

About thirty minutes later, Tohru heard a knock on the door. It was so quiet that he almost missed it. He didn’t respond, but then he heard the door creak open. Tohru kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep with his face half-hidden under the sheets. He could hear the floor creaking and someone’s breathing getting closer, but Fujishima didn’t say anything.

Tohru’s heart skipped a beat when he felt cool fingers touch his forehead. After the fingers pulled away, he heard a faint sigh. Even after checking for a fever, Fujishima didn’t leave the room. Tohru could sense his presence nearby, and he felt an unexpected surge of happiness knowing he was there. Though he was content that Fujishima was close, Tohru couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing. What was he looking at? Curiosity got the better of him, and Tohru slowly opened his eyes. The sight of Fujishima’s face so much closer than expected took his breath away, and Fujishima seemed startled too.

“S-sorry for entering your room without permission,” Fujishima stammered as he quickly pulled back. Instead of shouting, Tohru simply closed his eyes again. Silence hung in the air. Perhaps because Tohru didn’t say anything, Fujishima didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving.

“The cake was delicious. Thank you,” Fujishima said suddenly, without any context.

“…I told you it was just something I got,” Tohru replied with his eyes still closed.

“Even so, it must have been difficult to bring it all the way back from there on your bike without crushing it,” Fujishima said, as if he had been watching the whole time.

“Were you watching me?” Tohru asked, surprised, as he opened his eyes.

“No… it’s just that the shop is quite far,” Fujishima replied.

The conversation stalled. Tohru sensed that if the silence continued, Fujishima would leave the room, and he didn’t want that. But he couldn’t bring himself to say he didn’t want him to go, so he asked something trivial instead.

“Was the cake really that good?”

“It was delicious. Especially the strawberry shortcake... Do you want to try some?”

Even though he didn’t feel like eating it, Tohru found himself saying, “Yeah,” before he could stop himself. Fujishima quickly left the room, and before Tohru could fully regret his decision, he returned with a tray holding the cake. Fujishima placed the tray on the floor near the bed, picked up a plate, and cut off a small piece of the strawberry cake with a fork, offering it to Tohru. It seemed like Fujishima wanted to feed him out of concern, but the idea of opening his mouth like a child at the age of twenty-eight felt embarrassing.

“Tohru?” Fujishima prompted gently.

Deciding that it was his own awkwardness making him hesitate, Tohru forced himself to open his mouth. Fujishima brought the cake to his lips with a soft touch. The cream melted on his tongue, tasting overwhelmingly sweet—so sweet it made him feel queasy.

“It’s sweet,” Tohru commented.

“It’s cake,” Fujishima replied matter-of-factly.

Hearing such an obvious response, Tohru felt foolish. Seeing that Fujishima was about to offer him another bite, he quickly covered his mouth with the sheet and said, "That’s enough."

Fujishima stopped moving.

"It’s too sweet, so that’s enough."

Fujishima smiled warmly. It was a kind expression. Tohru pulled the sheet over his head. The lingering sweetness of the cake on his tongue swirled around in his mind, mixing with the embarrassment, making his head spin. He almost felt like the lie about having a fever was starting to manifest itself as a real fever.

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