A Rainy Monday Morning
The metro sped steadily down the track as it neared the next designated station. Hiroki gazed out of the window and glumly watched the world rush by, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. He was lucky to get a seat on this particular morning; weekday mornings, such as this Monday morning, were usually so crowded at this time that Hiroki was rarely fortunate enough to get a seat once a week, let alone a window side one. The metro car was overcrowded as normal, and Hiroki tried to ignore his claustrophobia by focusing on what passed by.
He mentally cursed every busybody packed into this metro car, making his foul mood worsen. Screw everyone, he though inwardly. Screw this crowded metro, screw the rainy weather, screw the fact that it's only Monday. Anybody looking at Hiroki could undoubtedly tell he was in a sour mood—his (extra) furrowed eyebrows, his twitching eyelid, his gritted teeth—his physical appearance revealed all.
However, in reality, it was not the rainy Monday morning metro ride to work that displeased Hiroki today; it was what pissed him off every day. The fact that he had angrily brooded over every day for the past seven months and sixteen days (not that he was keeping count) - the fact that constantly lingered in his mind. Seven months ago and sixteen days ago, that deceiving bastard of a fake lover had abandoned him. Kusama Nowaki, the world's biggest moron, had up and left without an excuse, an apology, or even a note! How could his supposed lover—the same man who openly raved about loving him, and in a way, worshipped hims—pontaneously so easily leave him, Hiroki wondered as the metro slowed to a halt. He seemed so in love with me, the bastard. He falsely swept me away, in an aura of bullshit. That wasn't love I was consumed by for six years. It was ignorance, pure ignorance, for that lying idiot. I wasted six years of my life with that moron. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. How could he—
Hiroki's thoughts were interrupted by the metro announcing the station. He grumbled as he picked up his briefcase and umbrella and shoved his way through the crowd of people, exiting the car. As he climbed the staircase that lead to the exit, Hiroki sighed and yielded to the mental argument he had with himself every morning for the last seven months and sixteen days.
I can't keep doing this, Hiroki promised to himself. I can't keep ignoring the damage that bastard did to me. I need to regain the calming composure I used to have before I was swept away by a wave of bullshit, and I need to stop focusing on that bastard. I need to erase any memory of Kusama Nowaki from my life. I don't need him; I don't want him; I hate him.
As Hiroki opened the metro station's doorway, he noticed the rain had gotten heavier, and opened his umbrella in response. The walk from the station to Mitsuhashi University was a short one, and Hiroki hoped he didn't get too wet. The streets were completely jam-packed with individuals on their way to work, most of them covered in umbrellas. Hiroki paused as he faced a red light and scanned the crowd—almost everyone was holding an umbrella atop them. And yet in a sea of umbrellas, one man's head was left exposed. The man's back was facing Hiroki, yet he stood out due to his extremely tall stature and lack of an umbrella. His hair was an oddly familiar shade of black, and his coat was an oddly familiar tone of beige.
It can't be, Hiroki inwardly remarked. Nowaki is supposed to be off in America somewhere, studying some medical bullshit. He's not supposed to be half a block away from me roaming the streets of Tokyo. There is no way that guy is him. No freakin' chance.
However, as the light turned green, every step made Hiroki more anxious and excited as he neared that man. He quickened his pace, moving his way through the crowd, trying to calmly catch up to him.
It couldn't be Nowaki.
Could it?
Had he really returned from America?
The information that Hiroki had retained about Nowaki's disappearance was brief, mostly picked up from his old work places and acquaintances. He knew that he left to further his medical career in America, and that he was due to be gone for at least a year. But, it'd only been seven months and sixteen days since he left—he couldn't possibly have returned to Japan this early…could he?
Eagerness overcame Hiroki and he began to run as the tall, black-haired man rounded a corner. He couldn't lose sight of him!
The distance between Hiroki and the supposed Nowaki was growing, as more people rushed by. Hiroki was desperate to keep sight of the man, so he impulsively bellowed, "NOWAKI!"
Hiroki's face reddened as a number of people turned to face him, including that of the tall, black-haired man suited in the thick beige coat.
His glasses, wrinkled forehead, and thin mustache revealed that he was indeed not Nowaki. Embarrassed, but more so, disappointed and ashamed, Hiroki lowered his umbrella to hide his face, and continued his walk to work. The rain continued to fall, and yet the liquid to wet Hiroki's face was the silent tears that softly drained from his eyes.