Goodnight, See You Tomorrow: Chapter 8

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"Excuse me, are you Tsugumi Itou?"

A woman’s voice called from behind. Tsugumi turned around, soy sauce still in hand, to find a woman standing there.

“Yes, I am,” Tsugumi replied hesitantly, studying her face. There was no recognition. The only women Tsugumi typically knew were those connected to work—editors, designers, stylists. But this woman didn’t fit any of those categories, and her name didn’t come to mind. Anxiety began to bubble up.

“I’m a fan of yours,” she said, her words catching Tsugumi off guard.

“A fan?” Tsugumi tilted his head, trying to make sense of the situation.

“No Bara was incredible! I was so moved. Could I shake your hand? If I’d known I’d meet you, I would have brought my copy for a signature—why didn’t I think of it?”

Still dazed, Tsugumi felt Sakutaro, who was standing beside him, gently take the soy sauce and shopping basket from his hands. He stepped forward, closing the gap with the woman and offering his hand. The woman’s face flushed with delight as she shook it, bowing repeatedly.

“The scene where Konji lectures his runaway dog was my favorite. The tension up to that point was so gripping, and then it was like you could finally breathe. Plus, it felt so nostalgic for my generation.”

“‘The Fifteenth Night’?” Sakutaro asked with a knowing smile.

“Yes, exactly!” The woman nodded enthusiastically, her energy contagious. “Please keep writing. I’ll be cheering for you!” She bowed several more times before leaving.

The supermarket was crowded with evening shoppers, and several passersby turned to see what was going on. Embarrassed, Tsugumi hurried away, eager to escape the attention.

“Wow, Tsugumi-san, you were so the author just now,” Sakutaro teased, grinning.

“Enough already,” Tsugumi muttered, unable to meet his gaze. He was overwhelmed. It was the first time a reader had recognized him, let alone asked for a handshake. The woman’s excitement had been palpable, her hands trembling slightly.

“Tsugumi-san, that’s way too much meat.”

Startled, Tsugumi looked down to find himself holding an oversized pack of chicken. He chuckled nervously, returning it to the shelf and opting for a smaller one.

“That was my first time, and I got carried away,” Tsugumi confessed. “But it made me so happy. I was worried that part would feel out of place since the story is pretty dark, but she said she loved the scene with the dog.”

“Yeah, I loved that scene too. It’s funny how perspectives change. When I was younger, I could relate, but now I think about things differently. Expressing that with the stolen bike was clever.”

“Wait, what?” Tsugumi blinked.

“Oh, I mean, I wasn’t the right age for it, but I know ‘The Fifteenth Night.’ Back when I was in sales, I memorized it for client entertainment.”

“…Oh, I see.” Tsugumi tried to sound nonchalant, but his heart was racing. He had heard that story before—recently. Had Sakutaro forgotten they’d already talked about this?

“What’s wrong?” Sakutaro asked, sensing his unease.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Tsugumi replied hastily. But Sakutaro’s smile faded. He stepped away, pulling a notebook from his bag. Flipping through the pages, he stopped and began to read softly.

“‘October 16th. Read Tsugumi-san’s new book. Even though I had work the next morning, I stayed up all night to finish it. The scene where Konji lectures the dog uses something I once said to Tsugumi-san in the park…’”

Sakutaro’s voice trailed off. For a moment, he stared at the notebook in silence before closing it with a soft snap.

“Sorry,” he murmured, tucking the notebook back into his bag.

Tsugumi shook his head and gave Sakutaro’s back a gentle push. “Let’s grab some milk and head home.”

Tsugumi kept his hand steady against Sakutaro's back, silently repeating calm down to himself. It had only been about a month since they discussed the new book in the apartment hallway. In that short span of time, Sakutaro’s memory had slipped away. No, it was more than that—he might not even remember the original experience that inspired that part of the story.

Memories are connected, flowing into one another. If one disappears, what happens to the ones tethered to it? The more Tsugumi thought about it, the more confused he became. Just one memory gone caused this much chaos in his mind. How much more tangled was Sakutaro’s mind after countless such incidents? The image of a hopelessly knotted ball of yarn came to him, leaving Tsugumi at a loss for words. Witnessing Sakutaro’s memory loss firsthand left him more shaken than he expected, even though he thought he’d prepared himself.

“Which milk should we get? We usually go for the calcium-fortified one, but since we’re making stew tonight, the richer one might be better. Creamier is tastier, right?”

As Tsugumi rattled on nervously, Sakutaro reached for the richer milk and placed it in their basket.

“It’s fine, Tsugumi-san,” Sakutaro said with a smile. “Whatever you cook is always delicious. The milk doesn’t matter.”

Then, without missing a beat, he brightened up and headed to the register.

There wasn’t a hint of anxiety in Sakutaro’s demeanor. He’d seen Tsugumi’s unease and had used the milk as an excuse to offer reassurance. How am I supposed to be protected by the person I want to protect? Tsugumi worked hard to calm the turmoil inside him.

By the time they left the store, night had fallen completely.

“Wow… the sky is stunning tonight,” Tsugumi remarked.

Winter was approaching, and the sun set earlier each day. The dusky air, blending deep pink with soft blue, was a sight Tsugumi loved. He extended the hand not carrying their shopping bag, letting his fingers brush the twilight air.

“What are you doing?” Sakutaro asked, curious.

“Sometimes, if you hold your hand out like this, you can feel your fingertips melt into the air.”

“Melt?”

“When the night gets a bit longer, and the blue darkens, there’s this brief moment where your fingers seem to blend into the air’s color.”

“Really?” Intrigued, Sakutaro extended his own hand.

The two of them walked down the street with their arms stretched out, earning curious looks from passersby. Embarrassed, they laughed together and lowered their hands.

“We should try this at the park sometime,” Sakutaro suggested.

“Yeah. Oh, let’s bring a picnic too.”

“In the evening?”

“I like evening-to-night picnics,” Tsugumi replied.

“Hmm, now that you mention it, it does sound nice.”

As they continued to chat, the faint aroma of miso soup wafted from a nearby house, evoking a gentle warmth. It was a scent full of love and familiarity, but for Tsugumi, such things had often been painful reminders—after losing his father, after parting ways with Shinjin, and even now, as he walked beside Sakutaro.

Time flowed onward, existing only in people’s memories. Would Sakutaro forget this moment too—the two of them reaching out to touch the fading sky? If so, then even now, as they walked side by side, Tsugumi felt as though they were both alone.

To be unable to share memories was to be isolated in an invisible way.

But that didn’t mean their time together was meaningless. Even if Sakutaro forgot, Tsugumi would remember for both of them. As long as he held the memory, this moment wouldn’t be lost. And yet, he couldn’t stop the tide of loneliness rising within him.

If only memories could be like a bar of chocolate, Tsugumi thought. Something you could break off and share, one piece at a time.

He gazed absentmindedly at the darkening sky.

“What are you thinking about?” Sakutaro asked, breaking the silence.

“Hmm… chocolate bars,” Tsugumi replied.

“Chocolate bars?” Sakutaro echoed, confused. Then, after a moment, he laughed softly, a breathy chuckle.

“You’re such a mystery, Tsugumi-san.”

Sakutaro’s laughing profile was so endearing it made Tsugumi’s heart melt like chocolate left in the sun. Is there no way to preserve this smile and this moment somewhere beyond my own memory? he wondered.

That night, Tsugumi wrote a short story. Not for work, but for himself.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

"Kouya-kun?"

The voice came from a woman peeking out from inside the house just as Tsugumi and Sakutaro were at the front door, accepting the payment for helping shampoo three large dogs.

“I knew it. I thought you just looked similar, but I was watching you wash the dogs from the living room window. It’s been ages! What are you doing here?”

“Uh, well, washing the dogs…” Sakutaro replied, visibly flustered.

“This is Yuki-san,” their elderly client explained. “She lives nearby. Kouya-san helps us with odd jobs around here.”

“Odd jobs? But didn’t you join Yashima Construction? I think I heard that years ago. Oh, by the way, this is my husband’s family home. Mother-in-law, I went to high school with Kouya-kun. We were classmates. Kouya-kun, do you still keep in touch with Nakaito-kun or anyone else?”

“Nakaito? Oh, not recently…” Sakutaro answered hesitantly.

“Gosh, it’s been so long. So you started your own business? Leaving a top company like Yashima Construction to go independent—that’s just like you. You were always top of the class and a natural leader. We should catch up sometime! Let’s invite Nakaito-kun and Mami too—”

Sakutaro managed only a vague smile, and the woman abruptly stopped talking.

“Wait… do you not remember me?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

“No, I…”

The hesitation in his response made her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She laughed it off awkwardly.

“Right, of course. It’s been nearly ten years since high school. No way you’d remember.”

“That’s not it—” Sakutaro started, but she was already retreating into the house.

“If there’s ever another class reunion, I’ll see you there,” she added before disappearing.

Sakutaro hurried to leave as well.

In the small truck on the way back, Tsugumi kept the conversation light, determined not to repeat the mistake he’d made at the supermarket. Neither overly cheerful nor overly silent, he struck a balance.

“Sakutaro-san, what should we make for dinner tonight?”

“Anything’s fine,” came the quiet reply.

“It’s getting colder, so how about hot tofu? And maybe some boiled taro with yuzu miso, plus a curry-flavored stir-fry with beef and lotus root. Feels like a menu that calls for some sake. Want to drink?”

“Anything’s fine,” Sakutaro repeated weakly, the exhaustion in his voice unmistakable.

When they arrived back at the apartment, Sakutaro parked the truck in the garage and began walking toward the gate.

“Sakutaro-san?” Tsugumi called after him, trying to keep his tone neutral. “If you’re heading out, should I leave dinner ready?”

Sakutaro stopped but didn’t turn around.

“It’s the first time,” he said softly.

“What?”

“The first time I’ve completely forgotten someone. Not just a conversation or an appointment—an entire person.”

His voice was strained and raw.

“That’s… that’s not necessarily a side effect,” Tsugumi replied, forcing himself to stay calm.

“No one remembers all their classmates. It’s been nearly ten years. People change, and it’s not like she stayed the same either. Honestly, I’d be surprised if I recognized any of my old friends on the street.”

“You’re right,” Sakutaro said quickly, but then he resumed walking toward the gate.

“Sakutaro-san,” Tsugumi called out again.

“Sorry. I just need to be alone.”

With that, Sakutaro disappeared, leaving Tsugumi standing alone in the garden.

Back in his room, Tsugumi lay down on the tatami, unable to summon the energy to cook.

There was no rhyme or reason to Sakutaro’s memory loss. It struck at random, devouring pieces of him without warning. Worse still, he might never even realize what was gone. When the holes inside him multiplied, would they eventually consume everything? Tsugumi imagined what it must feel like, the gnawing fear of being eaten away from within with no way to stop it, no way to patch the gaps.

The thought alone made Tsugumi’s breath hitch, his hands clasped in an unconscious prayer trembling under the weight of the terror he could only begin to imagine.

The sound of someone returning echoed from downstairs. Tsugumi thought it might be Sakutaro, but it wasn’t. Footsteps climbed the stairs and entered Seto’s room. From the Kanami family’s apartment came the noise of a television. Nothing could be heard from Nira’s room, though Tsugumi knew he was there. Ellie and Kudou were at work. Whether present or not, this apartment was always brimming with the subtle presence of its residents.

This place is truly lively.

Do you dislike the liveliness?

No. I like it. It makes me feel safe, like I’m not alone.

It was a conversation Tsugumi had once shared with Sakutaro. But it had been a blatant lie.

Because now, surrounded by the hum of life, Tsugumi felt so scared. So lonely. Trembling, his body yearned for someone to help him.

In the room swallowed by the night, Tsugumi sat up abruptly. He ran out of the apartment, heading toward the nearby park, but Sakutaro wasn’t there. He called Sakutaro’s phone, but there was no answer. He searched everywhere he could think of: cafés, family restaurants, and the izakayas frequented by the apartment’s residents. It didn’t take long to run out of places to check. When he called again, someone else answered the phone.

“Oh, thank goodness. Are you a friend of this guy? He came into the shop and started downing drinks like crazy. I kept an eye on him, but of course, he eventually passed out. If you know him, please come get him.”

The person on the other end sounded like the proprietor of an izakaya. When Tsugumi asked for the location, he learned it was two train stations away. Clearly, Sakutaro had planned to drink heavily from the start, far enough away to avoid familiar faces.

When Tsugumi arrived at the bar, Sakutaro was awake but thoroughly drunk. He sat at the counter, swaying unsteadily. Apologizing to the proprietor, Tsugumi tried to lift Sakutaro’s arm over his shoulder but couldn’t manage on his own. With the proprietor’s help, they carried him outside and into a taxi. Tsugumi climbed in after him.

During the ride back, Sakutaro leaned his head against the window, silently watching the scenery flow by. At the apartment, Sakutaro stopped Tsugumi from paying the driver, fumbling to hand over the money himself. He managed to step out of the taxi but quickly wobbled and ended up sitting on the dry grass in the yard, his legs crossed. He looked utterly dejected, his head bowed. Tsugumi sat down beside him.

“...Why aren’t you asking anything?” Sakutaro’s question came softly.

Tsugumi tilted his head toward the sky.

“I’m trying to figure out what to do.”

“What to do?”

“But my thoughts are all over the place. I can’t pin anything down.”

He wanted to say something comforting, but the words he wanted to offer and the words Sakutaro might need were likely different. Besides, there are times when no words can reach someone. Times when they crave solitude, yet also wish for someone to be near.

The white flowers lining the garden wall glowed faintly in the night. Tsugumi found himself thinking about the impermanence of memory. Even if Sakutaro forgot the beauty of these flowers, they would bloom again next year. And the memory of the evening they tried to blend their fingers into the colors of twilight—would that, too, be forgotten? Even sitting side by side, the thought brought an unspeakable loneliness.

But the flowers would bloom again. Their fingers could be intertwined again, countless times. Not the exact same memories, but equally beautiful ones would always be born anew. If one thing is lost, you can add another.

It was a comforting thought—perhaps too comforting, Tsugumi realized. Words like that might feel hollow or even infuriating to someone whose life was constantly unraveling. For someone who piled up one memory only to have another crumble beneath it, nothing ever truly stayed. No matter how truthful the words, sometimes they just couldn’t reach.

“Instead of crying, try harder. Improve yourself. Be grateful.” Sure, those are better ways to live, but if you try to swallow every ‘good thing’ just because it’s good, eventually, you’ll overflow.

From the very beginning, before Tsugumi had known Sakutaro’s circumstances, Sakutaro had been speaking honestly with him. Sakutaro understood: you swallow things down, overflow, and then swallow again. Over and over, until you arrive at the present moment. Because of that, there was nothing Tsugumi could say to him now. Nothing at all.

“White flowers look like they glow faintly at night,” Tsugumi murmured, gazing again at them.

Sakutaro slowly lifted his head, his expression devoid of energy.

“I used to wonder why, ever since I was a kid. Maybe there’s a reason for it, or maybe there isn’t. I don’t know, but I’ve never tried to find out. I like just wondering about it.”

“...Yeah, I get that.” Sakutaro’s voice was soft as he continued. “You know, there are people who’ll immediately look it up online for you if you say something like that. They’re good people, but... it’s not always welcome, you know? It’s thoughtful, but... it’s hard to explain.”

“I understand,” Tsugumi said with a nod, and the two of them stood there for a while, silently watching the flowers glowing faintly in the night.

“They’re beautiful, these sasanquas,” Tsugumi said after a pause.

“...Huh?” Sakutaro turned to him, startled. “They’re not camellias?”

Tsugumi blinked, then glanced back at the flowers glowing faintly in the dark.

“No, they’re not. They’re similar, but these are camellias' cousins—sasanquas. It’s autumn, and their petals are fluffier than camellias', don’t you think?”

Sakutaro stood, approaching the sasanquas to peer at them intently.

“I can’t tell. Are you sure they’re not camellias?”

“Yeah. I researched it once, for a novel.”

At Tsugumi’s words, Sakutaro gazed at the white flowers with a puzzled look.

“...No way. I had no idea. Not at all.”

His face turned sheepish, like a child caught in some mischief.

“What’s wrong?”

“These flowers… my grandmother loved them.”

As a child, Sakutaro had found red camellias blooming wild in a nearby forest. The garden of his grandparents’ shared house only had white camellias, so he’d thought she might enjoy something different. When he brought it back, his grandmother had thanked him and happily displayed it in the living room—but in truth...

“She didn’t love camellias. She loved sasanquas.”

Sakutaro gazed at the white flowers in a daze. The two were so similar in appearance that it was easy to confuse them, but his grandmother must have cared deeply about the distinction. Yet, she never corrected him, only saying, How beautiful, as she admired the flowers that weren’t her favorite.

“...So, it wasn’t camellias after all,” he murmured, his face a mix of laughter and tears.

“I think your grandmother was genuinely happy,” Tsugumi said gently. “It was a gift from her grandson, after all.”

Standing beside him, Tsugumi watched as Sakutaro’s eyes remained fixed on the sasanquas.

“To realize this at almost thirty... I’m such a careless fool. I’d apologize to her if she were still alive. I’d make sure to give her real sasanquas this time. I wonder how many other things I’ve missed like this. Things I’ll never realize, things I’ll forget, things I can never take back.”

His profile was filled with frustration, and it tightened something in Tsugumi’s chest.

“I think that’s just how people are.”

“...”

“Everyone lives their lives making mistakes, big or small.”

“...”

“And I bet even when we’re eighty, we’ll still be making them.”

At those words, Sakutaro finally turned to look at him.

Tsugumi leaned closer to the sasanquas, breathing in their faint, delicate scent and narrowing his eyes in appreciation.

 

"It smells wonderful," Tsugumi said with a smile, only to receive an odd look in return.

"What?"

"You've got something on you. Yellow."

Sakutaro reached out and rubbed Tsugumi's nose with his finger. It seemed the flower pollen had gotten stuck there. Tsugumi let himself be wiped clean, only for Sakutaro to suddenly burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

"What is it?"

"Sorry, it's spreading."

Sakutaro laughed, drawing circles on Tsugumi's nose with his finger.

"You're the one spreading it, Sakutaro-san!"

Tsugumi batted his hand away, laughing. Seeing Sakutaro laugh made him happy—just that was enough to bring a sense of relief.

Sakutaro took a deep breath, exhaling as his laughter subsided.

"Thank you, Tsugumi-san."

His expression softened, relaxing as if the tension in his face was melting away.

"...Your smile, Tsugumi-san, I like it a lot."

"Really? That makes me happy."

Tsugumi wasn’t great at taking compliments, but this one he could accept.

"Just being near you makes me feel like I’m forgiven."

"Sakutaro-san, you don’t need anyone’s forgiveness."

"But I’ve caused trouble for my parents and Grandpa."

There were so many things Tsugumi could have said—That's not true. Or, Saying that would only make your family sad. All appropriate responses. But Sakutaro already knew those things. In the end, all Tsugumi could do was take his hand and hold it gently.

"But they're still here, with you."

He tightened his grip on Sakutaro’s hand.

"Because they love you, Sakutaro-san."

I do too. The words rose in his throat but were swallowed down.

Swallow too much, and it spills over. Even now, his feelings threatened to overflow, visible in the way his eyes lingered on Sakutaro, or the way his lips parted as if to say something. Desperate to stop them from escaping, Tsugumi diverted his gaze to the white sasanqua flowers.

They were friends, after all. If Sakutaro realized his feelings, Tsugumi wouldn’t be able to stay by his side.

He could feel Sakutaro’s gaze on his profile, and though his chest ached, he continued to stare intently at the white flowers, masking the unsteady rhythm of his breathing.

That night, Tsugumi wrote another short story that wasn’t for work.

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T.N: In case you´re curious about the camellias, here´s a picture.