Cold Fever - Chapter 2 - Part 1

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Last Fever: Four Seasons

Winter

As soon as he got off the train and exited the station, a cold wind slapped Keishi Fujishima’s cheeks. An elderly businessman walking beside him hunched his back, muttering, “Wow, it’s freezing,” as he hurriedly turned up his coat collar. Squinting against the strong, gusty wind, Fujishima quickly walked down the familiar path.

It was past 7:30 p.m., and about half of the shops in the mall near the station had already closed. Stopping in front of one of the few remaining open stores, a patisserie, Fujishima paused. It was a recently opened shop in the shopping district, small but with an antique-style interior that felt calm and had a nice atmosphere. When he peeked inside, perhaps due to the late hour, only a few cakes remained on display.

Making eye contact with a woman in a white apron who seemed to be a pastry chef, Fujishima quickly left the spot as if escaping. He hadn’t eaten a cake from the shop in nearly a year. It felt like ages ago when he used to eat them almost every day.

He wondered if he would have ended up owning a shop like that if Tohru hadn’t regained his memory and he had kept making cakes. But he immediately stopped himself from imagining that. A year ago, when Tohru’s memories came back, he had decided not to think “What if...”.

Burying his face in his black scarf, he left the mall and entered a park that served as a shortcut. In summer, couples could often be seen chatting on the benches, but since December began, he hadn’t seen any.

About ten minutes from the station, he arrived at his apartment. When he opened the door, the hallway was bright, and Tohru’s sneakers were at the entrance. The apartment was warm all the way to the hallway, thanks to the heating. Still wearing his coat, Fujishima peeked into the living room, but Tohru was not there.

After changing in his room into a light black sweater, Fujishima returned to the kitchen. Tohru was still nowhere to be found. A quick peek into the fridge revealed no signs of any food preparations. The shoes at the entrance confirmed Tohru had returned, so if he wasn’t here, he was probably in his room. Fujishima rubbed his chin thoughtfully, amused at himself for not bringing dinner home out of habit.

For about three weeks, Tohru had been making breakfast and dinner without fail. One morning, Fujishima woke up to find Tohru, who should have been sleeping beside him, gone. At first, he thought he was just in the bathroom, but even after five, ten minutes, Tohru hadn’t returned. Sensing something was off, Fujishima stepped out into the hallway and caught a faint smell of something burning.

Following the smell to the living room, he saw Tohru standing in the connected kitchen. To Fujishima, it seemed like Tohru was desperately swinging a frying pan in front of the gas stove.

That morning’s breakfast consisted of toast that had been overcooked to the point of being hard, a sunny-side-up egg with a squished yolk, and a salad made by roughly chopping tomatoes. When Tohru said, “Eat up,” and sat across from him, Fujishima found the whole situation oddly fascinating as they ate the breakfast Tohru had prepared.

Before he lost his memory, Tohru had been good at cooking and had often made both breakfast and dinner. But since regaining his memories, Tohru hadn’t cooked. The most Fujishima had seen him do was boil water; he had never seen Tohru with a knife in his hand.

Fujishima wanted to ask about the sudden change in behavior, but Tohru seemed sullen and avoided eye contact throughout breakfast, making it hard to ask anything. Before heading to work, Fujishima thanked Tohru for making breakfast, but there was no reply.

Even after going to work, Fujishima kept wondering why Tohru suddenly decided to cook. Nothing unusual had happened the night before... Come to think of it, Tohru had asked him, “What do you like?” With no context, Fujishima hadn’t understood the question and tilted his head. “Food,” Tohru clarified curtly.

Without hesitation, Fujishima’s favorite food was cake, but since the memory-restored Tohru didn’t know his favorite things, Fujishima hesitated to answer, embarrassed at the thought of being scorned for saying “cake” like a child. He wasn’t particularly interested in food to begin with, but he had to say something. Caught off guard, he blurted out, “Convenience store bento or something...”

Tohru frowned and said, “What the hell is that?” with a puzzled expression.

That evening, just as his work was about to end, Fujishima's cell phone rang. It was Tohru, saying, “You don’t need to buy a bento today.” After delivering this short message, the call was abruptly cut off. Fujishima thought that perhaps Tohru was going out to eat with his friend Kusuda, but he was surprised when he returned to the apartment. Tohru had made dinner and was waiting for him.

Dinner was curry, accompanied by a large salad. The curry had large chunks of carrots and potatoes, and it was quite spicy, forcing Fujishima to drink water several times. Still, knowing that Tohru had made it made it taste delicious, and he was happy. Even later, when they were having sex, the thought of those fingers that were stroking his cheeks having chopped carrots and potatoes made him laugh unexpectedly. Tohru pressed him, asking, “Why are you laughing?”

The next morning, and the day after that, Tohru continued to cook meals. At first, this was surprising, but over time, it became a part of daily life. That’s why... when there was no dinner one evening, Fujishima was puzzled.

With his coat and wallet in hand, Fujishima went out again to buy dinner. He bought two bentos at the nearby convenience store. On his way back, he thought Tohru might be busy with schoolwork. He didn’t know much about the curriculum at Tohru’s vocational school, but there were probably regular tests and assignments.

When he returned to the apartment with the bentos, Tohru still hadn’t come out into the living room. Recently, Tohru hadn’t been staying in his room much, so the empty space seemed even larger and more desolate than usual.

Until recently, Tohru had been highly dependent on him. He seemed uneasy if they weren’t constantly having sex or touching each other, to the point where they sometimes did it in the hallway as soon as they got home. Whether on the living room sofa, in the kitchen, or anywhere else in the house, there wasn’t a place they hadn’t done it.

A few weeks ago, Fujishima caught a cold from their indiscriminate sex locations. It was a chilly night, not quite cold enough for the heater, but still cool, and after taking a shower, they had sex in the changing room. Maybe it was the wet body and hair, but the next morning, Fujishima came down with a fever and was bedridden for two whole days. During that time, Tohru stayed by his side, never leaving him. After Fujishima recovered from the cold, the spontaneous sex sessions stopped abruptly.

Fujishima waited for about thirty minutes after placing the bentos in the living room. When Tohru still didn’t come out, he got up from the sofa and went to Tohru’s room. He knocked gently on the door.

“Tohru…”

Even after calling twice, there was no answer. He thought perhaps Tohru had come back from school and fallen asleep, so he turned the doorknob with a click, only to be startled by Tohru’s shout, “Don’t come in!”

“S-sorry,” Fujishima stammered.

He hadn’t been shouted at loudly like this recently. It had been a while, and it was a bit frightening.

“I bought some bentos. I thought you might not want to eat...”

There was no response.

“Did you already eat something?”

He pressed his ear against the door.

“Just go away!” came a hoarse shout, followed by the sound of coughing. Earlier that morning, Tohru had also been coughing in a strange, phlegm-filled way.

Realizing what might be happening, Fujishima opened the door to the room without hesitation.

“I told you not to come in!” Tohru shouted hoarsely. When Fujishima turned on the light in the dark room, Tohru was curled up on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, shivering violently. His face, eyes glaring at Fujishima, and even his fingertips were red.

As Fujishima approached, Tohru covered his head with the blanket to hide.

“How long have you been feeling unwell?”

There was no response. On the bedside table, cold medicine and a thermometer had been carelessly tossed aside.

“If there’s something you think you can eat, I can go buy it.”

“Just leave me alone and get out!” Tohru’s muffled voice came from under the blanket.

“If I sleep, I’ll get better. Just leave me alone and go away… go away!”

He coughed again as he spoke. Feeling sorry for Tohru’s trembling body under the blanket, Fujishima gently stroked the rounded shape through the fabric.

“...Get out of here,” Tohru’s shouting gradually weakened.

“I don’t want you to catch this,” he muttered.

“I’ll be fine,” Fujishima reassured him.

“No, you won’t!” Tohru pulled off the blanket and revealed his face. “You’re thin, weak, and you catch colds easily!”

The memory of being bedridden with a cold flashed through Fujishima's mind.

“But I got better quickly...”

“It took you two days to recover!” Tohru retorted fiercely.

“Why do you think I’ve been making you eat vegetables every day? They say vegetables help prevent illness, so…”

As he said this, Tohru’s face took on the expression of a child about to cry, and he hastily covered his head with the blanket again. Seeing the outline of the blanket, Fujishima felt a pang in his chest.

He no longer felt like leaving the room. He wanted to stay by Tohru’s side until morning. If possible, he wanted to lie down next to him, hold him tight, and keep him warm. But he didn’t know how to make that happen. Even if he asked to sleep together, Tohru probably wouldn’t agree.

Fujishima stood up, took off his sweater and pants, and then his underwear, standing completely naked by the bedside. Tohru, peeking out from under the blanket, jumped up in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“I won’t put my clothes on until you let me into the bed.”

“If you do that, you’ll catch another cold!” Tohru draped his blanket over Fujishima’s back.

“Put your clothes back on. Don’t do something so stupid.”

Fujishima pulled the approaching man into a tight hug. As Tohru stepped back, he stumbled, falling onto the bed by his waist.

Fujishima climbed on top of him, pulled the blanket over both of them, and wrapped it around them securely.

At first, Tohru’s body was stiff, like a wary dog, but gradually, he began to reach out, and eventually, he hugged Fujishima tightly, pressing his face against Fujishima’s chest.

In the cold, wordless night, Fujishima thought about how strange it was to fall in love with the same man over and over again. The Tohru from six years ago and the Tohru now were different. They were different, but still, there was something in his heart that cared for him. There was a part of him that found this unspoken awkwardness endearing.

“...You’re warm,” Tohru murmured quietly. The thought that he was the one warming Tohru’s cold body made Fujishima incredibly happy. Overjoyed, he gently stroked the head resting against his chest.

He wished Tohru could understand the joy Fujishima felt in being able to do something for him.

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