Cold Fever - Chapter 1 - Part 6

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

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It was a Friday night at the end of September. The day before, Tohru had been holed up in his room, working on an assignment due at school. He managed to finish it just in time to submit it that morning, and as he felt a sense of relief after the class, his classmates invited him to a party to celebrate finishing the assignment. Though he initially declined, citing his part-time job, a persistent girl convinced him to drop by the apartment where the first party was being held.

On his way back, he made a detour, leaving him without enough time to return to his apartment before heading to work. After finishing his shift, Toru returned home around 2 AM, as usual. He felt a sense of unease when he noticed that the entrance was dark. It was always lit when he came home. When he turned on the fluorescent light, he saw that Fujishima’s shoes were missing from the entryway.

Entering the living room, Tohru noticed a stale, musty smell and immediately opened the window, letting in the cool night breeze. It was stronger than usual, but it felt refreshing against his cheeks. The night air was cooler than the day, a reminder that summer had ended.

Tohru thought Fujishima might have fallen asleep right after coming home from work, so he checked Fujishima’s room, but he wasn’t there either. Tohru tilted his head, wondering if Fujishima had run into trouble at work and couldn’t return home. The possibility that Fujishima had left crossed his mind, but nothing came to mind to justify such a thought. Tohru hadn’t hit or kicked him recently.

On the contrary, Tohru felt like something was wrong with himself lately. Like a monkey that had just learned to masturbate, he wanted to have sex every day. On top of that, his behavior in bed had become more persistent, and he had started touching Fujishima in ways that elicited reactions. He found that teasing Fujishima until he gasped made the act more intense than just having him ride on top.

Last week, Tohru had pounced on Fujishima as soon as he came home from work. Honestly, he wanted to have sex before even eating dinner. On a whim, he tied a tie around the base of Fujishima’s penis, thinking it might feel better if they climaxed together. It turned out to be a huge success.

Even when Fujishima wanted to climax, he couldn’t, and it made everything tighten incredibly. Fujishima, who usually made little noise, began to whimper like he was sobbing. Tohru slipped his arms under Fujishima’s and toyed with his pale nipples, causing Fujishima to shake his head in a desperate attempt to cope. Finally, just before Tohru climaxed, he untied the tie, and Fujishima squeezed tightly around him before convulsing and passing out, his white thighs quivering. Tohru had heard of people passing out during sex, but this was the first time he had actually seen it happen.

Fujishima’s penis, spent, hung limp between his legs, while the rest of his body lay slack, though his nipples remained strangely firm. As Tohru hungrily sucked on them, Fujishima became aware and looked at him. Embarrassed, Tohru flipped Fujishima onto his stomach so he wouldn’t see his face.

Tohru entered Fujishima again from behind, thrusting at his own pace while biting Fujishima’s pale shoulders and neck to hide his embarrassment. Every wave of pleasure that surged through him made him grit his teeth, not because he wanted to prolong the pleasure but because he was afraid that if he finished, Fujishima would leave the room. He didn’t want that.

Even after climaxing, Tohru didn’t pull out, remaining on top of Fujishima. As he began to drift off to sleep, still holding Fujishima’s warm, small body, they both ended up falling asleep without even eating dinner. When Tohru woke up in the middle of the night, Fujishima was still there, unable to escape from under Tohru’s weight. Tohru had done it on purpose to keep Fujishima close, but once he woke up, he felt awkward and ordered Fujishima out of the bed, angry with himself for wanting him to stay. Even after Fujishima left, the sheets retained his sweet scent.

Tohru figured Fujishima would return eventually, so he turned on the lights in the entryway and living room and lay down on the sofa, pretending he had just fallen asleep after coming home from his part-time job. He ended up actually dozing off while absentmindedly watching late-night TV.

He woke up once at dawn, feeling a chill in the air. Fujishima still hadn’t returned, and the TV, left on, annoyed him. Angrily, he turned off all the lights and retreated to his room. Though he got into bed, he couldn’t fall asleep, and by the time he finally started to drift off, the sky was already brightening.

When Tohru woke up around noon, Fujishima still wasn’t back. No matter how busy Fujishima was at work, it wasn’t like him to be gone for this long. The possibility that Fujishima had left began to grow stronger in Tohru’s mind. If there had been an accident, the authorities would have contacted the apartment based on Fujishima’s belongings unless he was stark naked. But there were no messages on the answering machine. If he had been seriously injured in a robbery and unable to contact Tohru, the incident would have likely been reported in the news.

Tohru grabbed his camera case and wallet and headed outside. He thought to himself that staying inside was making him overthink things. After all, Fujishima wasn't a child; there was no need to worry if he was away for a day or two. Convincing himself of this, Tohru rode his mountain bike aimlessly through the streets.

Despite carrying his camera, he didn’t feel like taking any pictures. He just kept riding along the roadside until he stopped on a bridge over a large river. The wind was so strong it felt like it might blow him away. The sky was gray, and though it wasn’t raining, the air was thick with moisture. There was an ominous smell in the air, as if a storm were approaching.

After about three hours outside, Tohru stopped by a pastry shop near the station on his way home. Holding a box of cakes in his right hand, he pushed his mountain bike along, convincing himself that he didn’t buy the cakes to appease Fujishima, but because they looked delicious. Even he knew it was a weak excuse.

The front hallway at dusk was as quiet as ever. The silence in the hallway echoed with nothing but his own presence. From the entrance, the view looked like someone else’s home. The moment he thought, "Maybe Fujishima has really run away," Tohru’s body began to shake uncontrollably. Left all alone, abandoned... With trembling hands, he threw the cake box against the wall.

Even though he was angry, he also felt like crying. Back when he used to come home every day even though they fought, why did he leave now? Tohru couldn’t understand.

Suddenly, the chime of the doorbell echoed through the quiet room. He lunged for the door and opened it. Standing there wasn’t the skinny man he expected, but a woman he had never seen before. She seemed to be in her thirties, with well-drawn eyebrows and slightly upturned eyes. Her short hair added to the impression of a beautiful yet strong-willed woman.

"Hello. It's been a while," she said. She wore a white shirt and black pants and carried a large duffel bag and a document case, giving off the impression of a working woman. Tohru thought she might be an acquaintance from Fujishima’s company, but she was speaking directly to him.

"It’s been six years, hasn’t it? Looks like you’ve been doing well."

Six years... That was around the time he lost his memory. He searched his memories to see if they had met before he lost his memory. He had often gotten drunk and ended up with women he met at bars, but those were always one-night stands. Would a one-night stand bother to find his address and visit him years later? Probably not. It seemed more likely that they had met during the time he had no memory.

Noticing Tohru’s suspicious expression, the woman gave a wry smile.

"Have you forgotten my face already? I’m Satoko Kinoshita. Thank you for the flowers every year on my brother’s anniversary."

Hearing her name, Tohru remembered. This was the woman he had been transferring nearly a hundred thousand yen to every month from his salary while he had amnesia: Satoko Kinoshita.

"I was in the area for work, so I thought I’d drop by. Standing around talking isn’t great, so could I come in?"

Following her lead, he let her into the living room. Thinking, "She’s a guest," he quickly made some coffee. She thanked him and took a sip. Tohru glanced at her. She had mentioned sending flowers on her brother’s anniversary. Was he really so close to her that he would send flowers for a family member’s death anniversary? Or was he closer to her deceased brother?

Either way, he was curious about the nearly hundred thousand yen he had been paying monthly. Did he owe this woman money? That seemed like the most reasonable explanation. Perhaps, while he had amnesia, he had borrowed a large sum from her, or she had covered a debt for him. And now that he had regained his memory, the payments had stopped, prompting her to come and collect.

Despite the windows being closed, the sound of the wind roaring outside was audible inside the room. The woman furrowed her well-shaped brows.

"This wind is awful. They say a typhoon is approaching."

"Uh... yeah," Tohru responded vaguely. The woman looked around the room.

"Is he not here today?"

She must have meant Fujishima. Tohru muttered, "No, not today."

"Is that so? But I’m glad you’re here. I was worried what I’d do if no one was home, since I didn’t call ahead."

She took another sip of coffee.

"The reason I came today isn’t a big deal. I just wanted to return this to you."

She pulled a small paper bag, about the size of a box of sweets, out of her duffel bag and placed it on the table.

"What’s this?" Tohru asked.

"It’s the money you were transferring to my account every month. It should be close to six million yen."

Hearing "six million," Tohru’s fingers trembled over his lap.

"We decided this after discussing it with my parents. The transfers stopped this January, and we were worried that you might be struggling financially. Since we can’t use this money, we thought it best to return it to you."

It didn’t make sense to him. Money he had been sending monthly, now being returned. Six million yen—a huge amount of money. It felt unsettling. Even if she suddenly said she was returning it, Tohru didn’t feel like it was actually his money. If Fujishima were here, he might have been able to explain the situation, but of course, he wasn’t around when needed.

"Um... I lost my memory in an accident..." Tohru began.

"I know," she replied.

Tohru was surprised she knew. As far as he knew, the only person who knew about his amnesia was Kusuda.

"So, I don’t remember you."

"Have you lost your memory again?"

Her voice rose in surprise.

"No, no. I regained my old memories. But in doing so, I lost all memories from the six years I was amnesiac... So, I don’t remember you or what this money is about."

She looked directly at Tohru.

"If your memories have returned, do you remember the accident?"

"The accident?" he asked.

"The accident that caused your amnesia," she clarified.

Not understanding why she was asking, Tohru answered honestly.

"To be honest, I don’t really feel like I caused an accident. I was really drunk. It seems like I was badly injured, but I’m fine now..."

"You don’t remember anything?"

Her expression and voice grew stern.

"Well, no..."

"Did you hear anything from him?"

She leaned forward, raising her voice. Even though he had said he didn’t remember, she kept asking similar questions. He thought she was an irritating woman.

"I mean, Fujishima told me I was in a serious accident..."

The woman murmured, "Unbelievable," pressing her hand to her forehead.

"To be able to forget anything inconvenient as many times as you want, that’s quite a convenient head you’ve got there."

Unlike her tone before, she was clearly mocking him now.

"Well, it's not like I wanted to forget!" he snapped back, raising his voice. The woman scowled openly at him.

"Anyway, I'm returning this money to you. We never needed it in the first place. Maybe you were just trying to free yourself from guilt by sending it."

"Guilt? What do you mean by guilt?"

She stared at him, but didn’t say anything more. The windows rattled in the strong wind.

"I don’t remember anything! If you’re going to say something, say it clearly!" Tohru shouted, slamming the table with his hand. The loud noise startled the woman, making her flinch, but the fear on her face disappeared after a few seconds.

"Six years ago, you fell asleep at the wheel and veered into oncoming traffic. You hit the car my brother was driving. He was almost killed instantly," she said.

"What?" Tohru replied in shock. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm just telling you the facts," she said coldly. Tohru put his hand to his forehead. He remembered going out drinking in the company car, but couldn’t recall what happened at the bar or afterward.

"Is it my fault?" he asked.

"What do you think?" she responded, sounding smug. Her attitude annoyed him.

"I knew there was an accident, but Fujishima never told me there was someone else involved."

Besides, Tohru remembered something Kusuda had mentioned. Kusuda had said they worked together at a convenience store for six months during the winter six years ago. If, as the woman claimed, Tohru had caused an accident resulting in injury or death, he would have had to serve time in prison. He recalled hearing about a guy from another branch who went to jail after causing an accident while on duty. There’s no way he could’ve been doing part-time work so leisurely if he was guilty.

"And if I was at fault, I’d normally be in jail, wouldn’t I?"

"That's right," she replied.

"'That's right'? Don't just say whatever you want," Tohru snarled, but the woman didn’t back down or look the slightest bit guilty.

"You weren’t prosecuted because the police never disclosed your negligence."

Tohru snorted and shrugged his shoulders. "You must be mistaken. I'm not powerful enough to cover things up with the police."

"You don’t need to be powerful if you have money."

"I don't have the kind of money that can hush up the police."

"You may not, but someone else could," she suggested.

The image of Fujishima flashed in his mind.

"Someone who could...?" he began.

"He admitted it. He used money to cover up the truth of the incident."

Slowly, Tohru lowered his head, clasping his hands together so tightly it hurt.

"That’s impossible. He’d never do something like that."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"He used a large sum of money to cover up the incident and took you away with him. Maybe he did it because he cared about you... I still don’t think what he did was right, though."

Tohru’s clasped hands trembled. A flood of emotions rushed through him, and he shouted back, trying to fend them off, "Shut up! I don’t remember any of this! You show up here out of nowhere, rambling on about all this stuff—I don’t know what to do!"

As he shouted, his throat felt raw. The woman looked at him with a mix of disbelief and exasperation, then silently stood up. She grabbed her things and walked out of the room. Noticing the money left on the table, Tohru hurried after her.

"Hey, take this back! It’s disgusting," he said, trying to shove the paper bag back at her. She refused to take it. As they struggled, the bag fell upside down, and ten-thousand-yen bills scattered all over the hallway. While Tohru was distracted by the scattered money, the woman opened the front door. A strong gust of wind blew in, sending the bills flying down the hallway like scraps of paper.

"Who knew that memory loss could change someone’s personality? I had no idea," she muttered.

"The last time I told you this, you knelt in front of me and apologized. You were crying, saying you’d do anything for forgiveness. How could the same person turn out so differently?"

Tohru gritted his teeth, a wave of inexpressible frustration rushing through him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to apologize; it was just that he didn’t feel like he had done any of it. So, therefore...

"If you don’t believe me, ask Fujishima. He’ll tell you what you did," she said. She brushed her messy bangs back with her hand, blown out of place by the strong wind.

"Must be nice for you, being able to forget what you did over and over. I can never forget about my brother. Even so, I came here today to forgive you and Fujishima. Just like you wanted to escape from your guilt by sending money, I wanted to be free from my hatred for you two."

The woman gave a bitter smile.

"You look like you have no idea what I’m talking about. Do you really not remember?"

Tohru didn’t reply.

"If you absolutely can’t believe it, take a look at his stomach. He should have a scar."

"A... scar?" Tohru asked.

"I couldn’t forgive you for killing my brother. I searched for you, and when I finally found you, I was going to kill you. But he got in the way. So I stabbed him by mistake."

The impact of her words hit Tohru like a physical blow, his mind going blank. Before he realized it, the woman had disappeared, and only the howling wind echoed loudly around him.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

He didn’t know how long he stood there in the entryway. The phone started ringing, jolting him out of his stupor. Driven by a vague sense that he had to answer it, he began to move. But just as he reached for the receiver, the line went dead. Moving slowly, he walked over to the sofa and collapsed onto it, burying his face in his hands.

I killed someone. It seems I killed someone. But I don’t remember anything. I don’t know who they were or what they looked like. It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t seem real.

It was a car accident. I was drunk. It wasn’t on purpose. If it wasn’t on purpose... Is it okay to kill someone? Of course not. Even if I don’t remember, even if it wasn’t on purpose, killing someone is a crime. Even a child knows that.

Is it right for me to be here? Shouldn’t I be in prison? Why did Fujishima take me away? If he had left me, I would’ve gone to jail. Even if I didn’t remember, I could’ve paid for my crime.

He stared intently at his hands. These were the hands of a man who had killed someone. They weren’t normal hands. They were hands that had taken someone’s life.

“Ah…”

A meaningless sound escaped his lips, and he quickly clenched his teeth. His tear ducts began to feel hot, and he felt tears coming. He blinked rapidly, and a tear fell onto his lap.

He didn’t know the face of the person who died. Could he cry for someone whose face he didn’t even know? Or was he crying for himself, for his own bad “luck”? It felt like his chest was being squeezed tight. It was hard to breathe. If this was how things were going to be, he should have died. He should have died in the accident. His life was worthless anyway; even if he died, no one would have mourned him. If it would have been better for him to die, then why was he even born? If he was just going to be thrown away, why did his mother give birth to him?

There had been chances to die. When Fujishima’s mother punished him when he was a child, when he got into the car accident… but still, he didn’t die. He survived. He was alive, so he had to live. He was alive, and that’s why it was so painful.

“Fu… Fujishima…”

The name slipped out of his trembling lips. But there was no response. That man had left. He had left him behind. He was gone when Tohru needed him most, just like that time before. After Fujishima’s mother punished him, he was locked up in the storehouse. Fujishima had come at night and apologized, saying, “I’m sorry about earlier. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

He was angry at the man who didn’t help him. But at the same time, he was glad. He yelled at him and got mad, but he was glad. Even though Fujishima kept apologizing, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” at some point, he was gone. The longer he was alone, the harder it got to breathe, and when Tohru needed help the most, Fujishima wasn’t there.

“Big brother, big brother.”

Even when he called his name, there was no answer anymore. He kept calling out while crying loudly. It hurt, and sometimes his consciousness faded in and out. He didn’t remember when morning came. When he realized it, he was on a hospital bed.

No matter how many years passed, he kept repeating the same thing. Whenever things got tough, whenever he felt pain, he would call out Fujishima’s name.

The windows rattled loudly. The intense sound and the wind made Tohru feel like he was being called, so he moved closer to the window leading to the balcony. When he opened the door, a strong wind mixed with rain blew in.

Stepping out onto the balcony, he let his body be exposed to the battering wind. It felt like his body was being shredded. Even in the darkness, he could see the plants below swaying violently. The sideways rain made it hard to keep his eyes open. He grabbed onto the railing and leaned forward. The ground below was barely visible. If he jumped now, it might feel like falling into the darkness.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was becoming one with the darkness. Maybe what was inside him was the same as this darkness. He reached his hand into the darkness. He couldn’t see anything, but he stretched his hand out stubbornly, as if trying to grasp something. As he leaned forward more and more, his right foot slipped. He pitched forward, but he quickly grabbed onto the railing with both hands.

His body swayed violently, bending over the railing. But like laundry caught on the balcony, he didn’t fall. Slowly, he pulled himself back up and let go of the railing. Crouching down on the balcony, Tohru laughed. He had almost died—he had really almost died. He laughed at the momentary terror that made his legs feel weak. And when the laughter stopped, he cried. His cries, like screams, were drowned out by the louder sounds of the wind and rain, eventually becoming inaudible.

Soaking wet, Tohru returned to the pitch-dark living room. He was cold, unbearably cold, so he stripped off his clothes right there. Once he was naked, he felt incredibly vulnerable. As a child, he thought things would change when he grew up. But even though his body had grown, nothing about him had changed.

Like a lost child, Tohru wandered around the living room, naked. It was so dark he couldn’t see anything, so he kept bumping into corners and the TV stand. Eventually, he stepped out into the hallway. He felt something under his bare feet. There was a rustling sound. Looking down, he saw scattered pieces of paper. It took him a moment to realize it was the money the woman had left behind.

Stepping over the paper, he entered Fujishima’s room. He turned on the light. The room was tidy, like a hotel room, with nothing out of place. When he collapsed onto the bed, he caught a whiff of Fujishima’s scent. Just the smell of him caused the tension in his chest to release, and tears welled up in his eyes.

“Help me…”

The familiar scent made Tohru moan. Help me, help me… stay with me. And then, he wanted to hear him say, “You didn’t cause the accident; you didn’t do anything wrong.”

But of course, that would never happen. He had surely killed someone. The fact that he had killed would never disappear. It could never disappear…

The sheets grew wet with his tears. He had committed a crime. But the woman said that Fujishima had taken him away. Why would he do that? Why did he stay with him when he could have left him alone?

After high school, he had done nothing but hit that man. Even when Fujishima came to talk, Tohru would hit him, kick him, and chase him away. He thought he was annoying. Fujishima must have hated it, too. So why did he try to help him?

The woman used the word "protect." He spent money, ran away, got stabbed instead… he went that far to protect him. What exactly was Fujishima trying to protect him from? From the crime? From the guilt? He couldn’t understand.

Tohru wanted to ask Fujishima. Why did he try to help someone who had committed a crime? Why didn’t he mention the accident after Tohru regained his memory? His life was a mess, and he didn’t care anymore, but he wanted to know why Fujishima tried to protect him.

He wanted to see him; there was no reason for it. Tohru sat up abruptly and opened the desk drawer. He rummaged through it roughly, looking for any clues about where Fujishima might have gone or if he had left anything behind. He looked through the bookshelf and under the bed, but there were no letters or postcards that might indicate his relationships. Occasionally, there were postcards, but they were just formal ones from business partners, nothing that seemed useful.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where to look. Frustration building, Tohru grabbed books from the shelf and threw them to the floor. He scattered them around, ripping up photo albums one by one and throwing them against the wall.

The sound of tearing paper echoed through the room. Brightly colored scraps of paper were scattered everywhere, covering the floor completely. No matter how many books he tore up or how much he destroyed Fujishima's belongings, his anxiety didn't subside. Instead, it accumulated silently, like snow falling endlessly.

Tohru rushed to the desk. He smashed the computer onto the floor and ripped the bed sheets and curtains to shreds with his bare hands. He destroyed everything visible in Fujishima's room. As he wandered around the room, he tripped over a piece of the torn-up photo album he'd thrown away earlier. As he fell, he felt something snap in his head.

"Ahhhhhh!"

He screamed at the top of his lungs, thrashing his arms and legs like a child throwing a tantrum. It was a terrifying sensation. The feeling of being “alone.” The realization that he had no one. Even though he was no longer a helpless child, he was still "alone." He had been abandoned by his mother, the man he thought was his father turned out to be a stranger, his only emotional anchor, his older stepbrother, had betrayed him, and now he was abandoned once more.

He never imagined Fujishima would leave—he thought it was only natural for him to be there. No matter how awful things got, he would come home at the end of the day and be in this room. What had gone wrong? Once he started thinking about it, the list was endless. He had hit, punched, and kicked him countless times. Even though he knew Fujishima hated it, he forced him into sex. It was no wonder Fujishima had left in disgust. He had every reason to leave.

His throat, hoarse from shouting, let out ragged gasps. Amid his confusion, he heard a faint sound. Mixed with the noise of the wind and his own cries was a rhythmic sound—the phone ringing.

Tohru rushed out of the room. In the hallway, he tripped over the scattered paper scraps. He banged his knees and arms, but he didn’t feel any pain. Hunched over, he ran into the living room, yanking the receiver off the hook and shouting, "Fujishima!"

"My ears! What’s with the yelling?" The voice on the other end was Kusuda’s. Tohru couldn’t respond. It wasn’t Fujishima. After a brief silence, Kusuda asked, "Did something happen?"

"Fujishima hasn't come back," Tohru said.

“Huh?” Kusuda replied, his voice sounding puzzled.

“I’m telling you, he hasn’t come back! Since yesterday, he hasn’t been home…”

“Maybe he’s on a business trip or something. Have you tried calling his cell phone?”

“His… cell phone…?”

“Fujishima has a cell phone, right?”

Kusuda continued after Tohru’s silence, “Wait… don’t tell me…”

“You don’t know Fujishima’s cell number?”

Tohru couldn’t admit that was true. Tohru himself had a cell phone, but it had belonged to the “himself” from the last six years, filled with contacts he didn’t recognize. He had canceled it the day after receiving the bill because he hated getting calls from people he didn’t know. Before his amnesia, he hadn’t owned a cell phone, so he didn’t feel it was inconvenient, and the only person he regularly communicated with was Kusuda, which he could do via the home phone. Because he didn’t use a cell phone, he didn’t think about others using theirs.

“You said before you canceled your cell phone, right? Just call Fujishima’s number. I’ll give it to you now, so write it down,” Kusuda said.

Tohru wrote down the number on the memo pad next to the phone, ignoring Kusuda, who was about to say something else, and hung up. He immediately dialed the number. But Fujishima didn’t answer; it went to voicemail. He cut the call during the automated message and redialed. He repeated this process over and over, until suddenly, he heard a voice say, “Hello?”

“Wh-where are you?” Tohru stammered, practically biting out the words.

“Is that you, Tohru?”

“I asked where you are!”

Just speaking made his head feel hot. Fujishima said he was in "Izu," but there was so much noise in the background that it was hard to hear him.

“Why the hell are you in Izu?”

“It’s a company retreat. Ah, hold on a second…”

It sounded like he was moving to a quieter place; the background noise gradually faded.

“Sorry about the noise, we were in the middle of a party. Everyone’s drunk, and I had a bit to drink myself… There’s a typhoon coming your way, isn’t there? Are you alright?”

The contrast between his own desperate state and Fujishima's calmness at a party made Tohru angry.

“You never mentioned you were going to Izu!” Tohru shouted.

There was a pause before Fujishima replied, “I didn’t get a chance to tell you… I wanted to say something the day before I left, but you seemed busy, so I couldn’t. We had to leave early in the morning, and I didn’t want to wake you, so I left a note on the table in the living room…”

“I didn’t see any note!”

“That’s strange… Maybe in the rush to leave, I put it somewhere else by mistake. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll be back tomorrow…”

Before he could finish, Tohru hung up the phone. He turned on the light in the living room and searched around the table. Underneath the sofa, he saw a white corner peeking out. He picked it up and found it was a piece of paper about the size of a notebook, with the words “Company trip for three days, two nights in Izu” written on it.

He hadn’t been abandoned. Fujishima had just gone on a retreat, and he had even left a note. He hadn’t lied to him. Tohru felt both relieved and chilled. He was terrified by how panicked he had become at the mere thought of Fujishima being gone. He felt like he was unknowingly becoming dependent on him. No, it was clear—he was already dependent on him.

He shouldn’t expect anything from that man. Just because he’s there, just because he’s kind, doesn’t mean he can be trusted. That had happened before. A deep trust had been betrayed in the worst possible way. That’s the kind of man Fujishima was. Even when Tohru had lost his memory, he had taken advantage of him. If he had truly cared about Tohru, he never would have done anything like that.

Tohru crumpled up the note and threw it in the trash. He wanted to see him, but he didn’t want to see him. He wanted him nearby, but he didn’t want him nearby. He wanted to trust him, but he didn’t want to trust him. He was dependent on him, but he didn’t want to be dependent on him. Everything conflicted, and he didn’t know what he really wanted from Fujishima.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The next morning, Tohru gathered up the bills scattered in the hallway and stored them in his closet. Then, he spent the day going back and forth between the hallway and the living room every few minutes, like a dumb dog repeating the same actions over and over. He knew Fujishima would come back. Even so, he couldn’t hide his anxiety. He barely slept that night. His nerves were on edge, and the sound of the wind was loud. When dawn broke, the storm had miraculously passed. The news said it had become a tropical depression and moved out to sea.

Fujishima finally returned in the evening. Tohru, exhausted from his own turmoil, was sitting on the sofa with his knees drawn up when he sensed the front door opening. He rushed out into the hallway. Fujishima was placing a small black duffel bag on the floor and taking off his shoes.

"I'm back," Fujishima said.

When their eyes met, Fujishima gave a small smile. "Sorry if I worried you. I noticed the missed calls on my phone later..."

Tohru grabbed Fujishima’s arm and dragged him down the hallway. He pulled him into his room and shoved him onto the bed. He pushed Fujishima down, flipping him over, and yanked down his beige cotton pants along with his underwear.

Fujishima’s pale, soft abdomen was exposed, and next to his navel, his skin was unnaturally raised, with a taut, pale pink scar. Maybe he had seen it before, but he had never paid attention to it. Whether or not Fujishima had an old scar on his stomach didn’t matter back then.

That woman hadn’t lied. Just as she had said, he had killed someone. He had killed someone. Fujishima had hidden that fact from him. Kept it from him. Tohru clung to Fujishima’s body. The facts swelled up in his head like a bubble, filling his mind until it felt like it might burst, and he felt like he was about to cry out in fear. Help me, help me… he screamed in his heart over and over, but no words came out.

He felt something touch his head. Gently, as if to comfort him, Fujishima was stroking his hair. They had had sex many times before, but this was the first time Fujishima had touched him like this. Tohru propped himself up on his elbows and raised his body. They stared at each other from a close distance. Fujishima looked at him with compassionate eyes. When Tohru brought his face closer, Fujishima’s eyelashes trembled as he lowered them.

Just before their lips touched, Tohru suddenly realized—what was he doing? Clinging to a man, seeking comfort... He had killed someone. He had killed someone, and yet here he was, doing something like this. He sat up and held his forehead.

“Tohru,” Fujishima called his name, the sound gently echoing in his eardrums. Tohru stared down at Fujishima for a moment, then unzipped his jeans and took them off.

“Suck it,” he demanded.

Fujishima looked hesitant but slowly moved closer and took Tohru into his mouth. Recently, just being close was enough to get hard, but even with Fujishima's tongue on him, he remained soft and unaroused.

"Do it seriously. Stop half-assing it!" Tohru yelled.

He smacked Fujishima hard on the back, leaving a faint pink mark on his pale skin. No matter how hard Fujishima sucked, Tohru still wasn’t even half-hard. As punishment for not getting him erect, Tohru scratched and slapped Fujishima’s white back. Red welts from the scratches slowly bled. Tohru told himself that Fujishima was a terrible man. That was why he was getting back at him this way. He wanted to make him understand that he was a pervert who could easily take another man into his mouth.

When Tohru pulled his still-soft member from Fujishima's mouth, it was sticky with saliva. As he stood up, the saliva dripped from the tip like semen.

Tohru kicked Fujishima in the stomach as he was on all fours. Fujishima tumbled off the bed with a small groan. Tohru kicked him in the rear, grabbed his hair to lift him up, and punched him in the face. He didn’t like this man; that’s why he could kick and hit him. He didn’t love anyone, and he wasn’t happy. So he didn’t need to feel guilty about a nameless “someone” he didn’t even know.

With a powerful kick, Fujishima slammed back-first into the bookshelf and stopped moving. Seeing his fingers lie still, Tohru shivered, thinking he might have kicked him to death. He rushed over, but Fujishima was still breathing. Tohru let out a sigh of relief. He shook Fujishima’s shoulders, and Fujishima groaned softly, grimacing in pain as he slowly opened his eyes.

He looked up with the frightened eyes of a small animal. His lower body, still exposed, was trembling. Suddenly, Tohru felt afraid. If he kept doing this—kicking and hitting—Fujishima might actually die. Would he end up killing him himself?

He jumped away from Fujishima like he was something fragile.

“G-get out,” he shouted, his voice shaking.

“Hurry up and get out!” he yelled again.

Fujishima staggered to his feet, bending over as he picked up the clothes Tohru had ripped off and thrown aside. Even though he had smiled so kindly at Tohru when he returned, he left the room with a gloomy expression.

After Fujishima was gone, Tohru punched the wall repeatedly with his fists. He was so frustrated with himself, he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to chase after the man he had driven away. But he knew that if he saw Fujishima’s face, he would hit him again. Unable to sort out his feelings, he would just hit him. He would probably do something even worse to him.

He wanted to see him so badly it hurt. He was lonely. He had been happy to see him. But he had hit him. He had to hit him. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be an excuse for his guilt. But from Fujishima’s perspective, it must have been a huge annoyance. He had been hurt because of Tohru’s emotions.

Tohru curled up in a corner of the room, holding his head. He didn’t know what to do. What was he supposed to do from now on? How could he escape the intense frustration, anxiety, loneliness, and guilt that were tearing through his head?

…That night, there were noises coming from Fujishima’s room until midnight. He might have been cleaning up the mess Tohru had made in his rage.

Footnotes

0. Content warning: NSFW.

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