いとしいこと

Previous   TOC Afterword Hello, this is Nagira Yuu. Thank you very much for picking up my work. This time, from the early stages of the plot, I reassured my editor by saying, "The next one will be a heartwarming love story." However, when I actually submitted the plot, it turned out not to be heartwarming at all—quite the opposite (laughs). For the postscript short story from Sakutaro’s perspective that follows the main story, my editor advised me, “Wouldn’t it be more fitting from a BL standpoint to end with Tsugumi and Sakutaro peeling and eating peaches?” I deliberated on it, but in the end, I stubbornly insisted on my way. I’m sure readers will have differing opinions about this decision. But for me, writing that final short story was the reason I wrote this story in the first place. Including the burdens that Sakutaro carries, I believe it was a fitting and happy conclusion for a tale about two people who spent their entire lives proving their love to one another. Not ju...

Previous   TOC   Next Sweet Little Life After returning home from his morning work, Sakutaro sat down on the veranda and began writing in his large notebook. He recorded the day’s appointments, conversations with clients, and other general details. It was an essential ritual for him, one that grounded his daily life. Once everything was written down, he closed the notebook with a soft thud. “Tsumugi, I’m done. Shall we have lunch now?” he called toward the room. “Okay,” came the cheerful reply. Tsumugi never interrupted Sakutaro when he was writing in his notebook. Whether they had planned a meal or an outing, Tsumugi would quietly occupy himself—reading, tidying up, or working on his own tasks. This unspoken consideration helped Sakutaro stay focused without feeling pressured to hurry. “The weather’s nice. Let’s eat on the veranda today,” Tsumugi suggested from the other room. “Good idea,” Sakutaro said, standing up to help. Lunch was chilled somen noodles, their first of the...

Previous   TOC   Next Snow covered the road on the way back. Thick flakes drifted down from the gray sky, quickly piling on Tsugumi’s black coat. With each step, his feet sank lightly into the snow. Walking toward the station, head bowed, Tsugumi suddenly stopped. He couldn’t understand why he had to keep moving. Walk to the station, get on a train, go home. Such routine actions felt devoid of meaning, and he had the urge to sink to the ground and stay there. The cold was biting, yet the tip of his nose and the corners of his eyes grew warm. The heat turned to tears, sliding down his cheeks before freezing in the frigid air. Standing like a lifeless pole, he couldn’t stop the feelings he had been holding back from spilling over. A small, hiccup-like sob escaped. Counting what has been lost is foolish. And yet, I can’t stop counting. No more emails will come. No more flowing, powerful handwritten letters. No more boxes of seasonal vegetables and simple, thoughtful treats. No on...