Goodnight, See You Tomorrow: Chapter 2

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The moving day was heartbreakingly sunny, and the packing was finished in no time.

The new place was an eight-tatami-mat room, so Tsugumi could only bring the bare essentials. Fashion wasn’t a priority, so clothing was easy to sort through. But deciding which books to bring had been painful. This one, I’ll reread. This one, I won’t reread, but I still want to keep it. This one... I have to leave behind.

“Tsugumi, your room is like a library,” Shinjin had teased with a laugh.

The memory took him back to their spacious two-bedroom apartment. The shared living room and bedroom, and one extra room that had been Tsugumi’s study. Shinjin, busy with work, had never felt the need for his own private space and sometimes borrowed books from Tsugumi’s shelves.

The bookshelves that covered an entire wall had been Shinjin’s choice, picked out from a Scandinavian furniture store. Simple, modular, endlessly versatile. Built to last, with an ongoing series for adding new shelves. True to Shinjin’s words, they had continued to expand, filling every available space. When the shelves began to look precariously full, Shinjin had said:

“Well, maybe it’s time for a house of our own.”

That had been about a year ago. Shinjin had argued that paying nearly 200,000 yen a month in rent was a waste. Buying would be better. When he’d asked for Tsugumi’s thoughts, of course, Tsugumi hadn’t disagreed.

“But you said before that you prefer the convenience of apartments.”

“You like quieter places, don’t you? Besides, I want a dog.”

“I’d prefer a cat. Do you think they’d get along?”

“If we got them both as babies at the same time, they’d be fine.”

We were happy then, Tsugumi thought as he sat on the familiar sofa. Even this sofa—he had picked it out with Shinjin just last autumn—Stop it, he scolded himself. If he dug into the past, it would all come flooding back. This, that, and everything else. But the more he unearthed, the more hollow he felt.

Most of the furniture remained, left behind because Shinjin had said he would deal with it. Yet the space still felt eerily barren. Without the presence of people, the apartment seemed to stop breathing. Spring sunlight poured in from the balcony, making the place feel like a bright, foreign graveyard.

I don’t feel anything.

Tsugumi felt like a desert. Since becoming a writer, everything he saw and felt, whether good or bad, had been tied by fine threads to the words he would eventually weave. But now, there were no threads. Neither to the stories within himself nor to the world outside.

There was no connection at all.

His strength drained away, and he sank back into the sofa. No tears came. His relationship with Shinjin had been intertwined with his daily life, and his life was deeply tied to his writing. When one thread broke, the rest unraveled in quick succession. Ten years’ worth of connections, severed. The thought of starting over from scratch made him want to collapse before he could even muster the will to try. Everything began to feel meaningless.

As he stared blankly at the ceiling, the doorbell rang. His shoulders flinched.

Scrambling to his feet, Tsugumi went to the intercom.

“Tsugumi-san, it’s Sakutaro. I’ve arrived.”

The strength in Sakutaro’s voice startled him slightly in the otherwise silent room.

They had exchanged contact information after meeting the other day, and when Tsugumi had finalized his moving date, Sakutaro had offered to help. Though Tsugumi had tried to decline, feeling he had already imposed enough, Sakutaro insisted, saying small moves were part of his work as a handyman.

“Hello! Great weather, isn’t it? Perfect for moving day.”

Today, Sakutaro wore a well-worn shirt and shorts, clearly chosen for the occasion. Somehow, despite the casual outfit, he didn’t look sloppy—perhaps thanks to his elegant navy deck shoes. The effortless combination of casual and refined struck Tsugumi as distinctly Sakutaro.

“Well, let’s get this done in one go!”

Sakutaro was enthusiastic, but Tsugumi’s belongings were sparse: a TV stand, a computer desk, a chair, three bookshelves, a futon, and a few boxes filled with books and daily necessities.

“This is it? Where do you plan to eat?”

“I was thinking of buying a folding table later.”

“Oh, in that case, let’s hit up the home improvement store. It’s far, so I’ll drive.”

Tsugumi decided to take him up on the offer. Beside them, however, stood a sleek, modern dining table. It was designed for four, and Shinjin had occasionally worked on it when he brought tasks home. The room still had its sofa, the large TV, and other signs that someone else had once lived there, but Sakutaro didn’t comment. He chose to leave it unspoken.

“All right, here we go!”

Sakutaro expertly secured the loaded items in the back of the light truck with ropes before hopping into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. Tsugumi settled into the passenger seat and nodded.

“You might be surprised—it’s a pretty old building.”

“I’m used to old buildings. When I lived with my dad, we always—ah, sorry.”

His attempt at an explanation fell flat, and Sakutaro let out a soft chuckle.

“Tsugumi-san, you’re great.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, from your delicate writing, I imagined you’d be more uptight. But you’re kind of, I don’t know, relaxed? Like a gentle character mascot or something. It’s nice.”

“I’ve been told I’m slow before.”

“Well, you could put it that way too.”

They laughed at the same time, and the conversation flowed easily from there.

Although compliments made Tsugumi uncomfortable, Sakutaro always found a way to balance them with humor, making him easy to talk to. For someone like Tsugumi, who struggled with social skills, Sakutaro’s sociability was impressive. He couldn’t help but think of Shinjin. As a partner, Shinjin could be stubborn and selfish, but as a salesman, he was adept at navigating social situations.

Is Sakutaro like Shinjin in some ways?

Before his thoughts could pull him further into sentimentality, Tsugumi shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. That was when he noticed the notebook tucked into Sakutaro’s driver-side pocket. It looked similar to the one Sakutaro had been using to jot notes in the park when they first met—but it wasn’t the same.

The notebook from before had been labeled 2014.May.12, but this one read 2014.May.13. How could someone fill an entire notebook in just a week? Tsugumi wondered if Sakutaro was much busier than he had assumed. The thought that he had imposed on someone so occupied made him feel a bit guilty.

Maybe I come across as unreliable.

Straightening his back consciously, he reminded himself that from today onward, he was truly on his own. I need to get it together. Be strong. Be strong...

As he repeated the words in his mind, the truck came to a stop.

“We’re here. This is the apartment.”

The building Sakutaro’s grandfather owned was just as old as described, but it had a unique charm. Thanks to his grandfather’s flair for all things stylish outside of food, the apartment had a modern European mansion vibe.

The reinforced concrete constructed walls were covered with green ivy, giving the building a distinct, almost otherworldly presence. As Tsugumi took it all in, he noticed a small plaque near the wrought-iron gate that read Maison Kouya ("Maison Wilderness"). It was the landlord's name, so it wasn’t strange, but surely there could’ve been a better choice.

Standing at the gate, he felt as if he were stepping into a wilderness—a foreboding symbol of the harsh life ahead. Just as he was steeling himself, the patterned glass door opened, and someone emerged from inside.

“Ah, Kudou-san, hello. This is Tsugumi Endou-san, who’s moving in today.”

The man, Kudou, who appeared to be a resident, gave Tsugumi a quick glance. His sharp eyes, open shirt collar, and loosely tied necktie exuded an intimidating aura that seemed to suggest he might be a bit not entirely law-abiding. Could he be... a yakuza?

“Nice to meet you. I’m Endou. I look forward to living here.”

Tsugumi’s naturally deferential demeanor became even more so, bowing low as he introduced himself.

“Yeah, same here. My work doesn’t stick to morning or night, so sorry if I get noisy.”

Kudou’s unexpectedly normal response surprised Tsugumi, and the man hurried off.

“By the way, he’s not a yakuza,” Sakutaro said.

“What?”

When Tsugumi turned to him, Sakutaro’s face was alight with amusement.

“He looks scary, but he’s an editor.”

“An editor?” Tsugumi’s heart skipped a beat before Sakutaro added, “For manga,” and he let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness it’s not novels. Sharing a building with a novel editor would have been nerve-wracking.

“Kudou-san works on shoujo manga, believe it or not. Like Paradise Doll.”

“Wait, that Paradise Doll? That’s amazing!”

Even someone as clueless about shoujo manga as Tsugumi had heard of it. The series was explosively popular among high school girls. The thought that the editor behind such a phenomenon was the yakuza-like Kudou left Tsugumi feeling both awed and slightly intimidated.

As he mulled over it, another resident emerged. Tsumugi thought at first it was an unusually pure-looking girl, but as the person approached, he realized it was a fashionable otoko no ko—males who adopt a traditionally feminine appearance or behavior, often through clothing, makeup, or mannerisms. They may crossdress, but they do not necessarily identify as female.

“I’m Ellie. Nice to meet you,” the newcomer said, handing Tsumugi a business card for a bar where he worked.

“We’re planning a welcome party for Sunday,” Sakutaro chimed in. “How’s your schedule looking?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m free,” Tsumugi replied.

“Great! We’ll figure out the time and let you know.”

Ellie’s long hair swayed as he disappeared back inside.

“Well, let’s get to it,” Sakutaro said, hands on his hips.

“Oh, I can handle the unpacking myself,” Tsumugi protested, a fleeting memory of Sakutaro’s meticulously filled notebook crossing his mind.

“Don’t worry about it. I can explain the apartment while we unload.”

As he spoke, Sakutaro untied the ropes on the truck bed and, with a casual “Here we go,” hoisted one of the bookshelves onto his shoulders. His movements were efficient and purposeful, leaving Tsugumi to pick up a box and follow him.

“Here’s the rundown of our residents: there’s Kudou-san and Ellie, who you just met. Then there’s Kanami-san, a single father, and his son Ichirou-kun. They’re at the zoo today since it’s Sunday. Next, we’ve got Seto-san, who works as a temp and is out on a job today. Finally, there’s Nira-kun, a student who’s a bit of a recluse. He’s probably in his room but doesn’t come out much. Though he’ll likely show up for the welcome party. Oh, and they’re all men.”

“Is this a no-women-allowed place?”

“Not officially, but it’s kind of turned out that way.”

Tsugumi wondered why that was but didn’t mind—he actually found it more comfortable this way. Knowing there were residents with such varied jobs also reassured him. A mix of people felt better than living among strictly white-collar types, especially in a semi-communal setup like this.

I’ll make sure to properly introduce myself at the welcome party.

Though Tsugumi wasn’t great in one-on-many situations, he knew first impressions were important.

“All the rooms have their own kitchenette and toilet, but there’s a shared bath on each floor. Use whichever one’s available. They were renovated last year with unit baths, so they’re pretty new.”

As Sakutaro opened the front door, a wide hallway stretched straight ahead. On the right, two doors led to the landlord’s quarters, which Sakutaro was currently using. Next to that was Kudou’s room. On the left were two more rooms and a washroom with three brass faucets arranged in a row, their design complemented by Islamic-style blue tiles.

At the end of the hallway was the bath, with stairs just before it leading to the second floor. Upstairs, the layout mirrored the first floor, with three rooms, another bath, and a large balcony with laundry facilities. While the building was undeniably old, sunlight streaming through glass-paned folding doors gave the corridor a graceful warmth.

What refined taste Sakutaro’s grandfather has.

“This place has a retro Showa vibe. Seems like it’d be popular with women.”

“They probably don’t like the shared baths. Plus, the rooms are all tatami.”

That makes sense. Tsugumi finally understood why all the tenants were men.

With so few belongings, the move-in was over quickly, and Tsugumi decided to handle the unpacking himself. He had his own preferences, especially when it came to arranging books.

“Got it. Here’s this, then. You can leave the guarantor section blank for now.”

Sakutaro handed over the rental agreement after Tsugumi had already moved in, and Tsugumi couldn’t help but smile at the odd sequence of events.

“Thank you. I’ll be in your care from today.”

“Same here. Let me know if anything comes up.”

Sakutaro left, and Tsugumi bowed his head as he closed the door.

The round brass doorknob felt unfamiliar in his hand. Do I lock this? After a moment’s thought, he did, the small click of the lock breaking the silence. The quiet pressed against his eardrums, and he turned to look at the room.

Immediately to the right of the entrance was a tiny kitchen, its floorboards contrasting with the tatami that covered the rest of the eight-tatami room. A single mid-height window, fitted with a black iron safety rail, let in light. Maybe I should put a potted plant there. White flowers, perhaps. Something that wouldn’t clash with the building’s vintage atmosphere.

In one corner were his desk, an empty bookshelf, and a pile of unopened cardboard boxes stacked on the tatami.

This is where I’ll live. Alone.

Tsugumi sat down in the middle of the room. The space had a nostalgic charm absent in modern apartments. The sunlight was plentiful, and the high ceiling added a sense of openness. It’s nice. Not bad at all. He wasn’t forcing himself to think this way—it was genuinely true. And yet, a wave of loneliness washed over him.

As he sat there, lost in thought, a burst of colorful light appeared. It came from the high half-moon window near the ceiling, its stained glass casting soft hues across the room. The light reminded him of a church, bringing an unexpected sense of peace. Beautiful. Beautiful things had the power to soothe, even in solitude. Tsugumi lay back on the tatami, gazing up at the stained glass.

Please, let me break out of this slump soon. I’m alone now, but at least let me stay healthy.

Though the room offered no divine presence, Tsugumi found himself praying. His phone, placed beside him, began to vibrate. He picked it up and saw Shinjin’s name on the screen. Since the night Shinjin had ended things, they hadn’t spoken on the phone—only exchanged brief emails. Despite longing to hear his voice, the call now filled him with fear.

“...Hello?”

He answered tentatively.

“Tsugumi.”

The familiarity of Shinjin’s voice struck him like a wave, leaving his chest tight with emotion.

“Today was moving day, wasn’t it? Did everything go okay?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

Somehow, he managed to keep his voice steady.

“I see. I was worried since you’re not great with stuff like this.”

“Worried, huh…”

“Even though we’ve broken up, I still think of you as family. Like I said before.”

Tsugumi pressed his free hand to his chest, holding back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Shinjin’s words soaked into him entirely. At the same time, a conflicting unease rose within him—he’s the one who made this situation happen, after all. Shinjin’s kindness felt impossible to process, leaving Tsugumi unsure where to place it inside himself.

Their conversation lapsed into silence. Tsugumi’s gaze wandered, landing on the rental agreement sitting on the tatami.

“The landlord’s grandson is such a great guy. He helped me move,” Tsugumi said, seizing the chance to keep the conversation going. Shinjin responded with a neutral Hmm, signaling he was listening.

“I met him by chance, but thanks to him, I was able to rent the place. It’s hard to get a place without a guarantor, and I was really struggling. He helped me a lot.”

“A guarantor?”

“Yeah, for renting a place.”

There was a brief pause before Shinjin spoke again. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shinjin’s tone was firm.

“Because…”

“I’m not so irresponsible that I’d refuse. If you’d told me, I would’ve done it anytime. So, did you rent the place without a guarantor?”

“Well, no, the grandson spoke to his grandfather for me and got it sorted.”

“I’ll be your guarantor. Are you free this evening?”

“It’s fine, really.”

“You’re not free?”

“I am, but—”

“Then meet me at HARUCO at five.”

HARUCO, the café where they had often met in the past.

After the abrupt arrangement, Tsugumi stared at the phone in his hand, the call already disconnected. Over the past two months, he had called countless times, but Shinjin had never answered. He had wanted, just once, to speak with him directly, but it had never happened.

And now, two things that had felt impossible had been resolved so easily.

Why am I not happy at all?

:-::-:

It had been a long time since Tsugumi last saw Shinjin, and he hadn’t changed at all. His shirt was crisp, and the creases in his suit pants were sharp. The first thing Shinjin did was stamp the rental agreement.

“Thanks. Sorry for the trouble,” Tsugumi said, bowing his head across the table.

“I’m the one who should apologize for not noticing. Now that you mention it, I remember I had to ask my parents to be guarantors when we rented that apartment. I’d been living at home until then, so it slipped my mind.”

It was understandable. Shinjin worked as a full-time employee at a major company, and his father was a corporate executive. His rental process had likely gone smoothly, so he hadn’t had much reason to recall it.

“But you’re right. You don’t have any family to rely on, so I should’ve been more mindful of that.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like this is anything new, and from now on, I’ll have to handle everything on my own. I mean, it’s only natural to take care of these things myself.”

Shinjin’s expression turned complicated at Tsugumi’s words.

“You’ve changed, Tsugumi.”

“Have I?”

“I was worried about you, but you seem to be doing well. That’s a relief.”

I’m just pretending to be fine, Tsugumi thought with an inward sigh.

Shinjin sipped his coffee at a leisurely pace. His tendency not to read too deeply into others’ emotions hadn’t changed. He’d once explained that it wasn’t that he couldn’t read people—he just found it easier not to.

Back when they were lovers, though, Shinjin had read between the lines. He’d interpreted Tsugumi’s words and expressions, offered care, and sometimes let his own ego get the better of him, leading to fights. Their relationship had been messy, full of compromises, but it had been love.

Now, things were different. They weren’t lovers anymore, so Shinjin didn’t bother reading between the lines. Whether Tsugumi was genuinely fine or just putting up a front, Shinjin wouldn’t dig deeper. He stuck to what was visible on the surface, letting their interaction glide smoothly along. Breaking up meant severing those deeper ties. From the outside, it even looked amicable.

So that’s it. He met with me because we’re just strangers now.

“How have you been, Shinjin?” Tsugumi asked, averting his eyes from the loneliness threatening to spill over.

“I’ve been living at home. I rented a weekly apartment at first, but those are more expensive than I expected. Plus, I was still covering your rent, so I ended up moving back to my parents’ place.”

“Sorry for delaying the move.”

“Don’t apologize. It was my decision. But seeing you start fresh has put me at ease. I think I’ll start making my own moves soon.”

“Are you planning to get a new place?”

“No, it’d be a hassle.”

“A hassle?”

“Well... when you think about everything,” Shinjin said, uncharacteristically fumbling for words.

Ah... Tsugumi realized. Shinjin wanted children sooner rather than later. That meant he’d need to get married, which meant a new home. If he arranged a match, he could be married within two or three months. It made sense that he wouldn’t bother living alone in the interim.

“Wow, it’s already this late,” Shinjin said, checking his phone.

Tsugumi instinctively looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Want to grab dinner?” Shinjin asked.

Tsugumi nodded reflexively, then mentally berated himself for being so foolish. This is why he underestimates me. Still, he couldn’t help but want to spend a little more time together. It wasn’t that he still loved Shinjin, not exactly. It was more like a child chewing on a flavorless piece of gum, reluctant to spit it out because there wouldn’t be any more candy afterward.

They left the café and went to a familiar restaurant they’d frequented before. Sitting at the counter, the owner-chef greeted them warmly. They shared dishes like bouillabaisse and acqua pazza and ordered their favorite white wine. The rhythm of their conversation felt the same as it always had. Buoyed by the alcohol, Tsugumi briefly forgot they were no longer together, only to be brought back to reality by the thought, Oh, right. We broke up.

After the meal, Shinjin went to the register to pay. Tsugumi tried to take out his wallet, but Shinjin refused, so he thanked him once they stepped outside. In the past, they would have walked side by side in the same direction. Now, they stood facing each other, ready to part ways.

“Take care.”

“Yeah, you too, Shinjin.”

“If you ever need help with something, call me.”

“Thanks.”

With that brief exchange, they waved to each other and parted ways.

As Tsugumi walked toward the station, he found himself wondering: Why am I walking here all alone?

Shinjin had said, Take care. Tsugumi had replied, Yeah.

But he couldn’t take care of himself. How am I supposed to be okay?

The night scenery reflected in the train window was unfamiliar. This was his first time navigating the route to his new home after moving in that day. There were buildings he didn’t recognize. Signs he’d never seen before. It felt like he was on a train to someone else’s home, not his own.

The sensation was surreal, like a bad dream. But it wasn’t a dream—it was reality.

The truth was, he felt unbearably anxious. I wish we could start over. I still want us to try again.

During dinner, he had fought the urge to say as much, and he was glad he had managed to hold back. Glad they had parted with smiles. But the only one for whom it was truly good was Shinjin. For Tsugumi, there had been no silver lining. Even so, he tried to convince himself it was for the best. Don’t cry. If I cry, I lose.

He feared that if he succumbed to the loneliness, he would never recover. And if he couldn’t recover, no one would come to help him—he was on his own now. Get it together.

But the tears wouldn’t stop. What do I do? Who will Shinjin marry? Is there already someone new?

What’s their name?

“Tsugumi.”

In his memory, Shinjin called his name. That same voice would now call someone else. Those lips would kiss someone else. That embrace would belong to someone who wasn’t him.

The scenery blurred, even though Tsugumi hadn’t blinked. Tears dripped onto his lap.

A college-aged man standing nearby glanced at him briefly, then quickly averted his eyes. Ah, he noticed. But of course, he looked away. Of course, Tsugumi thought bitterly. Everyone’s most concerned with themselves. No one has time to bother with others. And he’s right to feel that way.

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