Cold Fever - Chapter 1 - Part 4

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

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In April, Tohru enrolled in the photography school. Even with a couple of months of part-time work and his savings, he didn’t have enough to cover the enrollment fee and ended up borrowing money from Fujishima. Tohru had never mentioned that he was short on money, but Fujishima had asked him if he was doing okay financially. Initially, Tohru had strongly resisted the idea of borrowing money from him. He absolutely didn’t want to take money from that man.

However, once he started attending school, Tohru realized that pride alone wasn’t enough to get by. The tuition payments, both the enrollment fee that he had to pay in installments and the monthly tuition, along with the cost of film and development—photography was an expensive pursuit. He knew that, but no matter how he calculated it, his expenses far exceeded his income. Even with part-time jobs, his earnings couldn’t keep up with the money he had to spend. In the end, what made Tohru rely on Fujishima was his age—twenty-eight years old. If he had been younger, he could have simply delayed enrolling for another year and worked to save up more money. But he didn’t want to do that because the "six years" he had lost had already put him behind others. He didn’t want to fall further behind his peers or younger people any more than he already had.

Tohru borrowed only the minimum amount of money he needed from Fujishima. He attended photography school from Monday to Friday and worked at an izakaya from 7 PM to 1 AM after school. On weekends, he took on additional part-time jobs, making his days hectic. But he enjoyed learning about something he was passionate about.

Due to his packed schedule, Tohru no longer had meals with Fujishima or saw him often. However, he always felt the presence of someone else in the apartment. Tohru usually returned home around 1:30 AM after his shift at the izakaya, and no matter how late it was, the lights in the entrance and living room were always on. By the time he finished his shower, only the hallway light remained on, with all other lights turned off. Knowing that the lights were on when he returned home, whether or not someone was waiting for him, brought him a sense of relief.

When Tohru decided to work at the izakaya, he was worried about his quick temper and whether he might get into a fight with customers or coworkers and lose his job. Although he did get angry at drunken, obnoxious customers, he managed to hold back before things escalated. The thought that if he got into trouble, he might delay paying his tuition or repaying Fujishima helped him stay calm. He also learned to accept that dealing with unreasonable drunk people was just part of the job.

Tohru felt he had become more composed. He was calmer than when his memory first returned and even before that. He began to think that, despite losing six years, his current situation wasn’t so bad. He felt that having someone nearby, even without exchanging words, and knowing that he could rely on someone in times of need, had a significant positive impact on him.

On the first Sunday in June, the construction job he had lined up was unexpectedly canceled due to an accident, giving Tohru a rare day off. He put his camera in his bag and set out on his bicycle for a leisurely ride. Although the sky was cloudy, which could affect the lighting, cloudy days often had more even light distribution, resulting in well-lit photos without harsh shadows. Close-up shots would likely turn out well, despite the lack of direct sunlight.

Tohru rode his bicycle into a children's park, secured it to a post with a chain, and began to walk around the park. He spotted some beautiful hydrangeas blooming by the pond—an ideal subject for photography. As he set up his tripod and camera at the edge of the path, he noticed a few people curiously watching him. He was used to such attention by now. He chose a telephoto lens, set his camera to aperture priority mode with multi-segment metering, and let the camera handle the exposure. He carefully measured the distance to the hydrangeas.

Tohru knew that he wouldn’t be able to capture bright photos without sunlight, but since it was the rainy season in June, he thought a slightly somber atmosphere might suit the hydrangeas. He repeatedly adjusted the distance and angle, taking many shots of the flowers through the viewfinder. Before he knew it, he had used up an entire roll of film.

As he rewound the film and loaded a new one, he sensed someone nearby and looked up to see a small girl standing in front of him, staring at him with wide eyes. She looked to be about three or four years old, with a cute, well-formed face. Almost instinctively, Tohru aimed his newly loaded camera at her. Through the viewfinder, he saw her startled expression before she dashed away like a cat. He sighed, disappointed that he had lost such an adorable subject.

Tohru was skilled at photographing inanimate objects like flowers, buildings, and other non-living things, but he wasn’t confident with people. One of his instructors at photography school had told him, "Your portraits seem flat." Tohru had no interest in taking pictures of people, so he hadn’t tried it until it was assigned as a school project.

As he walked around looking for other subjects, it suddenly began to rain. He quickly stowed his camera in his bag and rushed to a gazebo near the pond for shelter. The rain intensified, pouring down as if someone had tipped over a bucket. A few other people who were caught in the downpour joined him in the gazebo.

The little girl who had run away earlier also entered the gazebo, holding her father's hand. When she made eye contact with Tohru, she shyly hid behind her father. Tohru sat on the edge of the bench in the gazebo, staring absentmindedly at the rain falling into the pond.

“Takahisa-kun…” a voice called his name. He turned around to see the man who had been holding the girl’s hand standing behind him. The man muttered, "I thought it was you," and smiled warmly. He wasn’t a classmate from the photography school, nor a regular customer from his part-time job. His face wasn’t familiar to Tohru. It had to be someone from the "six years" period, a person he no longer remembered.

“Hello…” Tohru replied, nodding slightly. The man looked to be in his forties, with a solid build and an air of authority, but his eyes were gentle and kind.

“You seem to be doing well,” the man said.

Tohru gave a noncommittal reply, “Yes, I suppose…”

“When I received your resignation letter from an acquaintance six months ago, I was really surprised.”

Resignation… The mention of that word made Tohru think that this man might be someone he had known from the hotel restaurant he used to work at.

“The general manager was angry, saying you were being selfish, but I didn’t see it that way. I figured you must have had your reasons. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have left without saying a word to me.”

The man didn’t seem to know about Tohru’s amnesia. As he watched the rain pouring down so hard that it blurred the scenery, Tohru cursed inwardly. If it weren’t raining, he could have made an excuse and left. But as awkward as the conversation was, he didn’t want to go out into the rain and risk getting his camera wet.

“Were you being harassed by someone in the kitchen? This was right after you were selected for the training in France, wasn’t it?” the man asked.

Tohru recalled the words of the woman from the cake shop. The overseas training selection—apparently, he had been chosen. So, he must have been somewhat talented. He thought, Huh, so that’s how it was, feeling detached from it all.

“I quit for personal reasons…” Tohru answered vaguely, hoping that would end the conversation, but the man pressed on.

“If it wasn’t a problem with the restaurant, was there another offer from somewhere else?”

“It really was personal. Besides, I’m not making cakes anymore,” Tohru said.

The man’s mouth fell open in surprise.

“Why did you stop? It’s such a waste. With your talent, you could have reached even greater heights. It’s not too late, you know. If you want to come back, I can talk to the higher-ups for you. If returning to the same place feels awkward, I can introduce you to another restaurant.”

The more passionately the man spoke, the more bewildered Tohru became. No matter how fervently the man talked, it didn’t change the fact that Tohru had forgotten everything about making cakes. He now understood that the "six years" version of himself had been talented at cake-making. But knowing that didn’t help him. He just wanted the man to stop. Hearing the word "waste" emphasized over and over made Tohru feel unbearably overlooked, as if the man was dismissing his current self. Even though he knew the man didn’t mean it that way, Tohru couldn’t shake the feeling of being insignificant.

"I told you, I don’t make cakes anymore!" Tohru shouted, his anger causing the other man to blink in surprise as if he’d just been snapped out of a trance. The man muttered an apology and lowered his head in a dejected manner. Tohru instinctively grabbed his bag, but the rain outside had intensified. He thought about running out but hesitated, his knee jerking awkwardly as he reconsidered.

"How is your cake-loving girlfriend doing?" the man asked quietly, his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of the heavy rain.

"She must be looking forward to your cakes. You used to talk so proudly about how she was your number one customer," he added.

The "six years" version of Tohru had a girlfriend. But she belonged to those "six years," and he had been advised not to see her. So, he didn’t know her. He didn’t know what she looked like, what her style was—he knew nothing about her.

"Are you still living together? …Are you going to marry her?" the man continued.

Tohru didn’t respond. The man didn’t press further. The "six years" version of himself had lived with a woman. He hadn’t been living with Fujishima all that time. Despite being so close that they lived together, the moment his memory returned, she had discarded him. She hadn’t even tried to get to know who he really was.

That girlfriend must have loved the version of him that everyone else adored during those six years. She probably didn’t care about the real Tohru Takahisa from before.

Before he knew it, the rain had stopped. The man and the child had disappeared at some point, and Tohru sat on the bench in the gazebo, staring blankly at the murky pond.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

For six years, while he had amnesia, Tohru had a girlfriend, and they lived together. If he hadn’t been living in the apartment during that period, Fujishima must have known about the woman.

When Tohru returned home from the park, it was past 5 PM. The apartment was dim and quiet, and at first, he thought Fujishima was out, but he found him in the living room. Fujishima was lying on the sofa, napping in comfortable clothes—a T-shirt and jeans. A faded photo book was precariously perched on his chest.

A warm breeze blew in through the wide-open window. As Fujishima stirred slightly, the photo book slipped off his chest and fell to the floor with a thud.

His closed eyelids fluttered, and he slowly opened his eyes. Noticing Tohru, he smiled and said, "Welcome back."

"I need to ask you something," Tohru said.

Fujishima yawned softly, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and sat up on the sofa.

"You know about the woman I was dating while I had amnesia, don’t you?"

Fujishima’s previously relaxed expression visibly tightened.

"I want to know what kind of woman she was."

Fujishima looked down, avoiding Tohru’s gaze, and asked quietly, "Why do you want to know?"

Tohru wasn’t sure what he would do after learning about the woman. Did he want to meet her? Would he want to confront her, demand answers for why she discarded him as soon as his memory returned?

"I just want to know. I lived with her, didn’t I?"

"Who told you about that?" Fujishima’s voice was unusually panicked, and his face had gone pale.

"It doesn’t matter who. I’m not trying to get back with her. I just want to know what kind of woman she was."

Fujishima clasped his hands on his knees, his fingers trembling.

"I… I don’t know. I really don’t…" he replied, his voice muffled, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Even if you never met her, you must have heard me talk about her," Tohru insisted.

Muttering a barely audible apology, Fujishima stood up, clutching the photo book. He quickly left the living room, almost as if he was fleeing. Tohru felt a strong sense that Fujishima was hiding something.

"Come on, it’s just talking," Tohru said as he grabbed Fujishima’s arm just before he could retreat to his room. Fujishima stared at the hand on his arm as if it were something terrifying.

"I really think it’s better if you don’t know," Fujishima insisted, refusing to share anything.

"It’s not up to you to decide what’s better for me," Tohru retorted.

But Fujishima stubbornly shook his head, and Tohru felt his anger rising.

"I’m telling you, it won’t hurt me to know."

Tohru couldn’t understand why Fujishima wouldn’t talk. Was the woman so terrible that even mentioning her was off-limits? She had discarded her boyfriend without a second thought. Maybe she really was that awful. A sense of resignation, akin to disappointment, started to settle in Tohru’s chest.

"Just tell me, please…" Tohru tugged on Fujishima’s arm like a child throwing a tantrum.

"There’s no need to!" Fujishima’s firm rejection made something snap in Tohru’s mind. Ever since his memory returned, Tohru felt like he had been rejected by everything. The acquaintances in the shopping district, the elderly couple from the shop where he had worked, and even the people from his old job—all of them directed their conversations at the "six years" version of himself. They were all looking for the person he had been during those six years. It hurt to be expected to be someone he no longer was, especially when he couldn’t live up to those expectations. The more exceptional his former self had been, the more miserable his current self felt.

But Fujishima had never spoken nostalgically about the "old you." Maybe they hadn’t been that close before, but Tohru preferred it that way. Fujishima seemed to accept him as he was now, without clinging to the past.

The memory of being betrayed as a child was still fresh in Tohru’s mind. He hadn’t forgiven it, nor did he fully trust Fujishima. But he had become dependent on him. Tohru had never suggested splitting living expenses, and he had borrowed money from Fujishima for school. He relied on him, expecting help when needed. So being told "there’s no need" infuriated him even more.

"I said, tell me!" Tohru snapped, grabbing Fujishima by the collar and lifting him. A pained groan escaped Fujishima’s throat, and his face twisted in distress. Realizing he had gone too far, Tohru let go, and Fujishima quickly slipped away and locked himself in his room. Tohru rushed to the door, but it wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard he pushed.

"Don’t run away, damn it!" Tohru yelled, banging on the door. He could easily kick it down, but he held back.

Tohru retreated to his room and sat on the bed. He couldn’t understand why Fujishima wouldn’t tell him. If the woman was awful, then so be it. He just wanted to know. If she had already abandoned him, he could accept that.

Sitting there alone wouldn’t provide any answers, especially since Fujishima refused to tell him anything. With his head bowed, Tohru suddenly remembered that there was someone else who knew about his past relationship. Unable to sit still any longer, Tohru grabbed his wallet and keys and dashed out of the apartment.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Tohru still met up with Kusuda occasionally. Kusuda would call him and suggest they grab a meal together. Since Kusuda had him to visit the apartment a few times, Tohru remembered where he lived.

When he arrived, Kusuda was in the middle of dinner. Without giving him a chance to say anything after opening the door, Tohru immediately confronted him, "Tell me about the woman I was seeing." Kusuda looked startled.

"I'll tell you, so don't rush it," Kusuda said, trying to calm him down and ushering him into the room. As Tohru sat on the sofa, Kusuda offered him a beer, saying, "Here, have a drink." Tohru took a sip and realized how parched he was, quickly finishing the first beer. Kusuda handed him another one almost immediately, and a plate of dried squid appeared in front of him.

"You just show up unannounced and demand I tell you about the woman you were seeing. Did something happen between you and Fujishima-san?" Kusuda asked, slurping the last of his cup noodles. Tohru was halfway through his second beer.

"He knows about the woman I was seeing, doesn't he? But he won't tell me anything. When I try to make him talk, he just hides in his room," Tohru said, scratching the back of his head.

"I'm the one who wants to know. Why is he keeping it a secret from me, when it's about me?" Tohru said, locking eyes with Kusuda.

"You know what she was like, don't you?" Tohru asked.

"...Yeah, I do," Kusuda replied, after a pause. He then said, "Hang on a second," as he got up to throw away the empty cup and grabbed a few more beers.

"Before, you said you wouldn't meet your ex. What changed?" Kusuda asked, returning with the beers. Tohru finished his second beer and started bouncing his right leg, as if he had restless leg syndrome.

"Nothing in particular..."

"There must be a reason, right?" Kusuda pressed. Tohru looked down, staring intently at the carpet's pattern. Why did he want to know? It was something he had already forgotten, so what was he regretting?

"...Earlier today, I ran into someone I knew from the restaurant I used to work at. He mentioned that the woman I was seeing loved cake."

After a brief pause, Kusuda replied, "Ah, I see."

"He asked if I married her, and he told me we lived together. We were really close, huh?" Kusuda placed a third beer in front of him. "Here, drink up," Kusuda said, and Tohru gripped the can with both hands.

"Was she kind?" Tohru asked.

"Yeah," Kusuda responded.

"Was she beautiful?"

After some serious thought, Kusuda muttered, "I don't know."

"How old was she?" Tohru asked.

Kusuda tilted his head, "I'm not sure, but she was older than you. Four or five years older, maybe."

An older, kind lover. Tohru closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself being held by her soft chest, but the overall image was hazy.

"But she ran away when I got my memory back, didn't she? She didn't even come to see me. She must've decided that the me with my memory restored was no good," Tohru said.

"It's not like she abandoned you or anything... It just couldn't be helped. In the end, neither you nor she was at fault. But it just wasn't meant to be," Kusuda explained.

Tohru wanted to believe that if she truly loved him, she would have stayed by his side, even if he had lost his memory. Even if he couldn't bake cakes anymore, even if people didn't admire him as they once did...

"But still, if she hasn't come to see me, doesn't that mean she doesn't care about me anymore?"

"You've met her," Kusuda said quietly, and the words hit Tohru like a blow to the head. Kusuda was looking at him straight in the eye.

"You've met her, but you can't remember it, can you?"

Tohru desperately tried to recall his life since regaining his memory, as if searching for something lost. When and where did they meet? Was it while walking through the shopping district, or near the station, at his part-time job, at school...? How could he not have noticed the eyes that must have been watching him?

"I told you before, didn't I? If it's fate, you'll fall in love with her again. That's enough, don't push yourself," Kusuda said.

Tohru was speechless. He couldn't say anything. From her perspective, not remembering her face might make him the more heartless one.

Seeing Tohru fall silent, Kusuda offered him another beer. Tohru felt pathetic and drank the offered alcohol like water. But the more he drank, the more the sadness welled up inside him, making him want to cry. He bit down hard on his molars.

"By the way, how's school? Still struggling with portraits?" Kusuda asked, trying to change the subject by bringing up photography. But Tohru didn't feel like responding. All his classmates at school were young. Some were ten years younger. It was impossible not to feel a sense of urgency in such a situation.

Suddenly, Tohru remembered something from the past six years.

"Did I really have a talent for making cakes?"

"Why are you bringing that up now?"

"That acquaintance from the restaurant... he praised me. Said I had talent, talked about going to train in France. It sounds like a joke, doesn't it?"

There was a short silence.

"It wasn't a joke. I think you really intended to go to France. With your girlfriend. You even mentioned to me that you needed to apply for a passport," Kusuda said.

The "six years" of his past seemed like a towering wall blocking his way. Back then, he had talent, was recognized by many, and had a girlfriend. Unlike now, where he was struggling in a photography course at a vocational school, unsure if he even had talent. The difference between who he was then and who he was now was staggering. But he never wanted to admit he was jealous, even if it killed him.

"Damn it," Tohru muttered under his breath, burying his head in his hands. He wanted to go somewhere far away. To escape. To a place where no one knew him, where he didn't know anything. He didn't want to stay in a place haunted by ghosts of his past. Tohru drank his beer furiously, ignoring Kusuda's attempts to stop him, "Hey, are you okay?" Soon, he was drunk on beer alone, collapsing onto the sofa.

"It's almost time for the last train. What are you going to do?"

Kusuda shook him awake after 11 PM had already passed.

"You're too drunk to bike home, and it's raining. Why don't you stay over tonight?"

Tohru nodded slightly. His head hurt, his chest hurt, and to top it all off, his stomach felt queasy... It was the worst.

"Did you tell Fujishima-san you were coming over here?"

Tohru didn't respond, just turned over on the sofa.

"You should at least let him know. He must be worried. It was tough for him when you got your memory back. He searched everywhere for you..."

Kusuda sighed. Tohru felt a cellphone, with its ringtone echoing in his ears, being pressed to his ear. When Kusuda let go, the phone slipped from Tohru's ear, and he instinctively grabbed it with his right hand. At that moment, he sensed the person on the other end of the line picking up.

"Hello, Fujishima here."

It was the voice of the man he lived with, but Tohru couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"Is that Kusuda-kun?"

Silence, followed by a questioning voice. Tohru clenched the receiver with both hands, closing his eyes.

"...Tohru?"

His name was called softly, and he slowly opened his eyes.

"...Yeah."

"Are you with Kusuda-kun?"

"Yeah."

After answering, there was a mutual silence. Tohru couldn't bring himself to hang up the phone, and for some reason, he was afraid of Fujishima ending the call.

"Are you drunk?"

"Not really," Tohru replied.

"Should I come pick you up?"

He only said it because it was raining and it was late at night, but those words touched Tohru deeply. Coming to pick him up... that meant he had a place to go back to. It meant there was a place where he belonged. He wanted to go home, but he didn't want to show Fujishima the pathetic sight of him, drunk and collapsed.

"...No, it's fine. I'll stay over tonight."

"I see. Got it."

Tohru didn't want the call to end, but he couldn't bring himself to ask to keep talking.

"Hey..."

"What is it?"

"...I'm sorry about earlier. For yelling at you."

After apologizing, Tohru felt a burning embarrassment in his chest. Without waiting for a response, he hastily ended the call and gripped the phone tightly in his right hand. His fingertips were trembling—perhaps from the alcohol, but the shaking in his right hand didn't stop for a while.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The next morning, Tohru returned to the apartment after waiting for Fujishima to leave for work. He felt awkward about facing him. After taking a quick shower, he headed to school and returned to the apartment just after 5 PM, as usual.

He spent the day wondering what he would say to Fujishima when he returned, what they would talk about. There was nothing in particular he needed to discuss, and Fujishima might not even start a conversation. Sitting on the living room sofa, Tohru found himself reminiscing about his childhood, the time when he was taken in by the Fujishima family and they were always together. He vaguely remembered talking a lot with Fujishima, but couldn't recall what they talked about. However, he felt that Fujishima would always listen with a kind expression, nodding along, "Yeah, yeah."

The doorbell rang. Tohru panicked, thinking Fujishima had returned, but quickly realized it was strange for him to ring the bell at his own home. He rushed to the door and found it was a delivery for Fujishima, sent from a company. It seemed to be work-related. When asked to stamp the package, Tohru went to his room, but then realized he shouldn't stamp a package addressed to Fujishima with his own "Takahisa" stamp.

Tohru entered Fujishima's room. The neatly organized space contained only a desk with a computer, a bookshelf, and a bed. He found the stamp in the top drawer of the desk and successfully received the package. As he returned the stamp, he noticed how sterile and impersonal the room felt, like a hotel. The only lively part of the room was the large bookshelf, which was filled with colorful books, mostly photography collections ranging from old to new. Some books were duplicates. He even found some of the photography books he used to own, which brought back memories.

Tohru was surprised to discover Fujishima's interest in photography. In hindsight, he had seen Fujishima browsing such books in the living room before. Fujishima had also given him an old but almost new camera. Maybe he had intended for Tohru to try photography as well. The realization that they shared a common interest made him happy, and he found himself eagerly waiting for Fujishima to return. He wanted to know what kind of photos Fujishima liked, wanted to ask him about it. Without realizing it, Tohru was gripping the stamp tightly. When he quickly opened his hand, he found red ink smeared on his palm, making him smile wryly.

Tohru reached for the desk drawer again to return the stamp. This time, it didn't open smoothly as before; something seemed to be stuck. Even after shaking or tapping it, it wouldn't budge, and when he forcibly pulled it, there was an unpleasant ripping sound. Panicked, he opened the lower drawer and found that a pocket album had gotten stuck, causing the cover to tear in half.

"...Oh no."

Tohru sighed, pressing his forehead. Maybe he could fix it with tape... He picked up the torn album, and the photos inside caught his eye. He was shocked. The person in the photos was him.

It looked like they were on a camping trip, wearing casual clothes in a beautiful green setting. He was proudly holding a fish, grinning widely. Tohru had been into photography since high school, taking hundreds of photos, but he had never taken a picture of himself or let anyone else take one. He hated seeing his own face in photos.

The photos were dated August four years ago, during the six years he had lost his memory. It was strange to think that the person in the photo was him but also not him. With a sense of fearful curiosity, Tohru slowly flipped through the pages. The photos showed him laughing in various locations, by rivers, tents, and mountains. It seemed he had gone camping with Fujishima, who also appeared in the photos, laughing with a childlike expression Tohru had never seen before.

The drawer contained dozens of similar albums. Tohru, as if possessed, went through them one by one. The backgrounds varied—hot springs, snowy mountains, theme parks—but every album was filled with just the two of them. At first, he thought they must have been close, but that feeling gradually turned into a sense of unease. It was strange that they had gone to so many places alone together and that there were so many photos.

While pulling out albums, Tohru found an envelope shoved into the back of the drawer, as if hidden. The envelope wasn't sealed. Forgetting that this was Fujishima's room and that it was his private property, Tohru peeked inside. It seemed to contain more photos. The moment he pulled one out and looked at it, Tohru's mind went blank.

In the photo, he was naked, embracing Fujishima, and they were kissing. There was no other way to interpret it; the photo left no room for excuses. His fingers trembled, and the envelope fell to the floor. As it hit the ground, countless photos spilled out at his feet.

All the scattered photos were Polaroids, showing him and Fujishima naked and embracing each other. Tohru tried to gather them up, but touching them felt repulsive, and he quickly pulled his hands back.

Who was the man in these photos? The man kissing and embracing Fujishima—who was he? It couldn't be him. There was no way he could do something like that.

Tohru bolted out of Fujishima’s room and returned to his own. He stood frozen in front of the door he had shut behind him. The moment he closed his eyes, the memories came flooding back, whether he wanted them or not. He remembered when he was younger, and Fujishima had tried to sexually assault him. The perverse breathing, the movements of those large hands... just remembering it made Tohru’s back tremble. He had forgotten—no, he had buried those memories deep inside.

What had Fujishima said to approach him when he lost his memory? With a gentle face and a feigned kindness, what lies had he told to deceive the ignorant, amnesiac Tohru? He realized he had been completely manipulated, tricked into being toyed with, and used as Fujishima pleased. Tohru clenched his teeth hard, yet a sob still escaped him as he slumped down against the door.

He remembered Kusuda’s story and the words of his former boss. A lover who supposedly loved cake. A lover who supposedly lived with him. The truth, once so contradictory, suddenly made perfect sense now. Tohru pressed his hand to his forehead and let out a bitter, intermittent laugh. It was no wonder Kusuda couldn’t bring himself to say anything. How could anyone admit that during those six lost years, Tohru had been having sex with a man—and not just any man, but Fujishima? And yet, the version of him from those six years had done so, without any question or hesitation, as if it were a normal part of his life.

Staring at the barren ceiling of his room, Tohru thought back to when he first regained his memory. He had felt so lonely, as if the entire world had abandoned him, and it terrified him. That’s why he had been genuinely happy when Fujishima came to get him. He hadn’t even minded the kindness Fujishima showed him. He thought he could forgive the past. He thought everything would be okay, and that he could trust this man without the fear of being betrayed.

But that man was nothing more than a manipulator, a scum of a human being. He had deceived the Tohru who knew nothing, who remembered nothing, and played him like a fool. And then, when Tohru's memories returned, Fujishima had tried to pretend like nothing had happened. Of course, he did—he knew that if the current Tohru found out, he wouldn’t let it slide.

Tohru clenched his fists tightly. There was no one in the world he could trust. Even if you trusted someone, they would only betray you in the end. Tohru had known that all along, so why had he forgotten it until now?

◇:-:◆:-:◇

A little after 7:30 PM, Tohru heard the front door open. When he stepped into the hallway, he saw Fujishima taking off his shoes. Their eyes met, and Fujishima glanced at his watch before murmuring, "Sorry, I’m late."

"It took longer to finish work than I expected. Anyway, I bought us dinner..."

Before he could finish, Tohru grabbed Fujishima’s arm and dragged him into his room. Ignoring Fujishima's confused "What’s going on?" he swept his leg out and shoved him to the floor. Fujishima fell with a thud, collapsing onto the hardwood floor, sending the plastic bag of what was likely a bento and his work bag flying to the edge of the bed.

"What did you do to me?"

Tohru growled in a low voice.

"...What are you talking about?" Fujishima tilted his head slightly.

"I’m asking you what you did to me when I didn’t have my memories!"

Suddenly, Fujishima’s eyes widened. His mouth quivered as if he were trying to say something, but he only managed a small, barely audible, "Did you... remember?"

Tohru let out a snort through his nose. "I saw the photos in your room. The Polaroids..."

He couldn’t finish. He was on the verge of tears, and he bit down hard on his molars to hold them back. Fujishima, with a pale face, covered his mouth with his hand and hung his head.

"Explain to me what those photos are!"

Tohru kicked Fujishima in the thigh. His frail body curled up silently, not even uttering a groan.

"About that..."

The small head beneath Tohru, shaking, finally spoke.

"I won’t make excuses for the photos."

A surge of heat filled Tohru’s mind, and he kicked Fujishima’s head from below with all his might. The man fell backward, and a trickle of blood ran down from his nose. Even as he tried to cover it with his palm, the blood seeped through the gaps between his fingers. Without a word, Tohru repeatedly kicked the man at his feet. The sound of dull thuds echoed in the brightly lit room as he struck his head, legs, stomach, and back. It felt as if he were kicking a stuffed toy. It didn’t even seem like Fujishima was human. Tohru had often hurt people like this in the past, but he had long forgotten about it.

Why wouldn’t this man apologize to him? Why wouldn’t he press his hands to the floor, rub his forehead against it, and say, "I’m sorry"? Even though an apology wouldn’t ease Tohru’s anger, he still might have hoped for it. He might have wanted to see this heartless man cry and beg for forgiveness.

As Tohru continued to kick him, a painful tightness gripped his chest. Before Fujishima betrayed him, things had been so much fun. There was always a sweet smell before despair struck. As if to make the impending misfortune even more pronounced. There was nothing in this world worth believing in. Even the things Tohru had tried to believe in had ultimately ended like this. He roughly wiped away the hot tears streaming down his cheeks. Emptiness, frustration, pain, sadness—everything horrible had always been brought by this man. He should have realized that much sooner.

With one final, powerful kick, the body before him stopped moving entirely. Small, thin, and weak—why had Tohru been tormented so much by such a fragile man? What was the cause? How had it come to this? Memories from his childhood resurfaced, memories of being beaten by Fujishima’s mother. He had thought about it a lot back then too. Why did he have to be beaten to the point of nearly dying? ...Yes, it was because he had rejected Fujishima. He had rejected the man who tried to sexually assault him, and in return, he had received the worst kind of revenge. Even now, it was because this man had sex with him when he had no memories... that’s why...

Everything was this man’s fault. All of it stemmed from his twisted sexual desires... Tohru approached the desk and rummaged through the drawers. The object he was looking for looked obviously cheap, like a toy, and seemed unreliable. But there was nothing else that could replace it. Gripping it tightly in his right hand, he walked back over to the man who lay motionless on his stomach. He unbuckled Fujishima’s belt and yanked down his slacks and underwear. When he kicked Fujishima over onto his back, he saw that repulsive thing between his pale thighs.

Grabbing it tightly, the tip twitched slightly, which startled him. He quickly let go. It tilted at a slight angle, almost as if it were alive, as if it were mocking him, and it made him feel nauseous. He slowly placed the scissors at the base of that living thing. Because of this, because of this thing, I had to go through this... Just as he tried to squeeze the scissors shut with all his might, the slender waist moved slightly.

"AAAAHHHH!"

A piercing scream tore through the air. As Fujishima moved, the scissors slipped, leaving only a shallow cut. Tohru tried to position the scissors again, but Fujishima curled up, clutching his groin with both hands, making it impossible. In a fit of anger, Tohru jabbed the exposed buttocks with the scissors. The cheap scissors left several dull wounds on the pale skin. Fujishima cried, covering his genitals with both hands.

When Tohru grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up, his face was red with nosebleeds. Making a whimpering, flute-like sound from his throat, he sobbed.

... That sound was grating to his ears, so Tohru slapped the man’s red cheeks with his open hand until he quieted down.

Footnotes

0. Content warning: NFSW, violence.

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T.N: This chapter is giving me déjà vu IYKYK 😢