Goodnight, See You Tomorrow: Chapter 2
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.
Comments
Post a Comment