.
His Expiration Date
i can understand how when the edges are rough
and they cut you like the tiny slivers of glass
and you feel too much
and you don't know how long you're gonna last
— p!nk —
"Naho, it's time to go."
Kakeru wraps his arm around my waist and draws me close, nuzzling his face into my auburn hair. I can feel the warmth of his breath, hear the steady pulse of his heartbeat, and smell the nectar of cherry blossoms embedded into the fabric of his sweater. I love the way he holds me so.
"Mm, I'm ready."
His body automatically mimics a crutch, bearing my weight as we hobble toward the front door. It has been months since I could last stand on my own and Kakeru has been at my side every step of the way.
"Almost there," he murmurs as we near the entrance.
Through my thick lashes, I peer at his determined, albeit troubled expression—his eyebrows knit, eyes heavily fixated on the doorway. His face has become a lot easier to read; thank goodness. I am, however, perplexed to see Kakeru worry, given the notion that he's probably worried about me.
He must notice my apprehension, for a smile graces his lips in an attempt to reassure my questioning gaze; it doesn't ease my nerves. His smile is broken, forced, transparent—I can see right through him.
"Ne, Kakeru… it wasn't your fault… just remember that."
He doesn't reply for a moment, but eventually, with hesitancy, he bows to kiss my forehead. His touch leaves my stomach churning.
Why does this feel like goodbye? Every time I come here, it feels like I'm never going to see him again.
"You'll wait for me, right?" I ask hesitantly, keeping a firm grip on his arm. Subconsciously, I'm afraid that by letting him go, he'll disappear. He doesn't meet my gaze but says, "I'm not going anywhere."
A shiver runs down my spine. Those four words had been his last before the accident that winter night. Despite my unreliable memory, I vaguely remember his silhouette intercepting the path of an oncoming truck, ebony hair curtaining his face, eyes glassy as if he'd seen a ghost. I sprinted towards him then, his name sung in a key higher than the heavens, the silence of the bleak, hollow night broken by a blood-curdling scream. Kakeru had turned to look at me, looking more dead than alive. Then the world shifted and all I could see were shards of broken glass, my ears ringing in tune with the wheels screeching against the icy pavement. But the memory ends there and all I'm left with is the sheer terror of losing him.
A warm hand cupping my cheek brings me back to the hallway, to the door, to Kakeru. I meet his warm, charcoal eyes.
"I promise, Naho, I won't leave you again."
I believe him. The door closes behind me with a soft click, Kakeru remaining on the other side.
x
"Looks like you can rotate it now," the doctor tugging at my right leg concludes, bending the limb at the knee, "how long have you been walking on it?"
"A month."
"You're making good progress. When did the pain go away?"
"About two weeks ago."
"Excellent. At this rate, you'll be running again in no time."
I smile at this; it won't be long before I can run with Kakeru again. We'd been in a relay together, him and I. The school had been cheering us on, chanting my name like a champion. With the slip of the baton into his hand, our fingers had brushed, a motion that whispered keep moving forward. And once he started running, he had been unstoppable. Invincible; nothing could touch him.
"Ms. Takamiya, you're good to go."
"Thank you," I utter gratefully then grab my belongings and exit the clinic.
x
As promised, Kakeru is waiting at the end of the hallway.
"How'd it go?" His voice is laced with worry as he eyes my limping leg.
"It's getting better."
"That's… good," he breathes, a relieved smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "ready to go home?"
"Yeah, I'm ready… thank you," I say whilst blushing, getting flustered under his gaze.
Kakeru pivots on his heels then walks away with the sound of his shoes echoing in the corridor. I want to walk with him. I want to stand beside him.
"Kakeru, can you slow down? I can't walk that fast," I mutter loud enough so he can hear.
"Mm, sorry… I was thinking," he apologizes as he slows, allowing me to catch up to him.
My entire body struggles with every limping step, but soon enough I'm just inches away from him. He then, nonchalantly, extends a hand as if we hold hands all the time. It's reassuring—knowing he's here to catch me if I fall.
"What were you thinking about?" I ask, curious as ever.
His hesitation to answering my question is obvious.
"I'm just really glad that you're making progress," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been worried… about your recovery."
His voice is quivering by the last word. The guilt leaves a gaping hole in my chest.
"I know I've told you before, Kakeru, but it wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault."
His head abruptly snaps to look at me. He knows I'm talking about the accident. The accident that nearly broke us both. His eyes simmer with anger; I brace myself for another argument. This is the side of Kakeru I don't know, don't understand and that makes him dangerous. When he sees my defensive reaction, however, his rage disperses and the grimace borne by his lips morphs into a smile.
"I never said it was," he says gently. He leans over and places a light kiss on my forehead. As he always does.
And I know why he does it: to remind himself that I'm fragile. To remember that at some point, I was broken. He believes he is the reason. He blames himself. Problem is, he never broke me in the first place.
x
The sky holds flecks of stardust in its hands, shooting stars flashing across the violet-blue expanse. Kakeru is transfixed, his gaze held captive by the embers of fallen stars, oblivious to my ongoing stare as we walk hand in hand. His fingers are laced with mine, generating enough warmth in the cold.
I shiver against the biting chill; Kakeru notices and unties his thick, woolen scarf. Gingerly, without a word, he winds the garment around my neck. A light blush coats my cheeks when I'm held captive within the intoxicating grasp of Kakeru's oh so sweet scent.
"Thank you," I murmur into the yarn.
He ruffles my hair in response then continues walking, his pace steady with mine until we reach my house atop the hill. The pavement is slick from a fresh sheet of ice, the ground glistening with the reflection of the stars. It's astonishing to me; I'm not sure as to where the sky stops and the horizon begins. I don't know when the sun will burn out. I don't know whether or not a meteoroid will collide with the ocean. I don't know if the earth revolving in circles will change course and fall out of orbit. But with Kakeru by my side, it doesn't matter. As long as he stays with me, I will be okay. We will be okay.
"Do you want to come inside?" I ask timidly, nearly tripping over a step leading to my porch.
His expression shifts immediately into one of indecisiveness; he's conflicted over his next course of action.
If at all possible, I blush even more.
"I-I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to… I just figured we could talk a little longer." I stumble through the rest of the sentence, nearly dying from embarrassment. "But I completely understand if you need to go home to take care of your grandma, or if you have something better to do, or if I'm not—"
Before I can say more, he presses his lips against mine. Kakeru's winter-kissed lips are cold and cracked, but I don't care. He tastes sweet and sour, ripe and delicious, just like the orange juice he once bought me before the cherry blossoms appeared. I think back to then, lost in the moment, caught between the past and the present, unaware of the time as he holds my lips within his, holding me so intimately, so lovingly. And all I know is that I don't care where we are in time: the past, the present, the future. I don't care where we are in space: this world, a parallel world, Heaven, Hell. None of that matters. Nothing matters but him. Because this world—whatever world—at this time—whatever time—is meant for this boy to be happy, to be loved. So, when he touches my cheek to break the kiss softly, slowly, and I see him positively radiating, I'm surprised that the snow tangled into his inky hair hasn't melted yet. He is warm and beaming and glowing. He is happy. I made him happy.
"Naho, I want to… just not tonight. If I could though, I would. It's not like this is goodbye," he says whilst tucking a lock of auburn hair behind my ear. "I'll pick you up tomorrow. We can go to the park and talk then."
"Mm, should I make a bento for you?"
"Of course! I haven't had a Naho Bento in forever," he chuckles then pulls away.
I'm cold within a matter of seconds, the feeling of loneliness crashing over me, but I ignore it. He seems to notice my agitation and frowns but stays silent. There is nothing he can say.
This isn't goodbye forever, you'll see him tomorrow. You will make a bento for Kakeru. You will go to the park together. You will touch his heart again.
As I crack the door open, I turn around to say goodnight, only to find that he's already gone. As I search for his lanky figure in the darkness, however, I see him hurriedly wandering down the remainder of the street. He doesn't turn to face me again. Even from far away, I observe the guilt carried atop his shoulders, the emanate regret heavy in his stride. To Kakeru, he doesn't deserve my love, he doesn't deserve to be happy.
While I know the accident hurt us, broke us, we're healing. We are healing.
I desperately want to believe this. I do believe what I'm saying to be true.
So why does it feel like a lie, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth?
x
It has been a year since the accident.
Kakeru loves me but won't allow me to love him.
It isn't fair. He isn't fair.
He's kissed my lips. He's tasted the sweetness of my happiness, the saltiness of my tears, the rust of my bloodied flesh. He knows my lips through and through; yet, he cannot believe that the words I'm fine leaving my parted lips to hold true. He refuses to accept what happened the night of the accident.
Perhaps his hope had died that night of the accident. I don't blame him. In great detail, he told me what happened: the moment he saw the car ram into me; how my body flew through the air; the sickening thud of my body hitting the road; the sound of my ribs breaking from the terrifying fall. I don't remember it, but I believe him. I have to (his words are all I have). After so many months, the most I can remember is Kakeru's eyes widening at the sight of me rushing towards him, my outstretched hand pushing him off the street and out of harm's way.
The night of the accident fades with Kakeru's voice entering my consciousness. We are steadily walking to the hospital. Despite the physical contact, the wall refuses to crumble between us; it's been this way since the night we kissed. Ostracized, I want to break down the wall with my fists. I want him to let me in for once. I need him to understand that it wasn't and never will be his fault for the accident. That I don't regret saving him. That I want him to love me with no limits, without holding back.
"You ready for today?" he hums, the sound like gentle vibrato.
"Mm, I'm kind of nervous though. It's been awhile since I've really stretched my legs," I mutter in response, elongating my left stride to prove a point. "I can't wait to run with you again."
It's subtle, but Kakeru's eyebrows furrow at my words. He shies away from my view as if to conceal what he's feeling, what he's thinking. Not that it matters. Even with his face hidden, waves of regret radiate from his stature.
"Yeah, me too."
x
Kakeru doesn't wait in the hallway like he usually does. Instead, he's a gentleman and stands beside me as I check in with the nurse at the reception. She doesn't acknowledge him as she does me, but I assume it's because she's focused on filling out my entry form to the clinic.
"You don't have to wait with me," I whisper to Kakeru without looking away from the nurse.
"You don't want me to stay? But it's your last appointment."
"I know that. But they have to fill out some paperwork afterward and it'll take a while," I pause and bite my lip, considering what I could say to convince him, "besides, you could always go buy some Manju buns for us. We'll probably be hungry by noon."
"Mm, okay. But I'll keep you company for a little while longer," he says, leaning in and nuzzling his face into my hair.
It's customary by now for him to hold me this way. It has been since the accident. At this moment, however, his arms are strained, his jaw locking as if to keep from screaming. I realize, here and now, that it hurts for him to hold me so. His resolve isn't diminishing, it's collapsing. This is (hopefully) my last appointment; it's never occurred to me that by coming here, for every appointment, for every check-up, I haven't spared him the pain of remembering that dreadful night. He's probably nervous that we'll have to come back if this appointment doesn't go well; hence, the tension in his shoulders with no sign of subsiding.
"It'll be okay. I'll be okay," I murmur, clasping his hands, stroking his knuckles.
"Did you say something, Ms. Takamiya?" the nurse suddenly asks.
Before I can answer, the door leading to the rest of the clinic swings open, my doctor rounding the corner to greet us. Kakeru pats my arm lightly, his skin warm to the touch then removes it so I can shake my doctor's hand.
"Good morning, Ms. Takamiya, how are you doing?"
"Fine, thank you. And yourself?"
"Never better, never better. Shall we head to the examination room?" he asks, gesturing to the hallway he'd appeared from.
"Mm."
As he leads the way, I glance over my shoulder in a feeble attempt to smile at Kakeru, but I find that he's already gone.
x
"Ms. Takamiya, your legs have shown great improvement since your last appointment," the doctor says as he jots down some notes in my file.
"Really?" I reply, my voice triumphant in anticipation.
I'm finally going to pull through.
"Indeed. The x-rays we took of your knees indicate that many of the fractures have healed completely. You've also gained a lot of muscle since your last visit. This is excellent news, Ms. Takamiya!" he cheers, filling out the remainder of his clipboard before signing my report.
"So, am I free to go?"
"In a moment. I just need to run your report by the nurse at the front desk to get you all checked out and ready to go."
"Would it be alright if I wait outside with Kakeru? I want to tell him the good news," I ask, looping my bag over my shoulder.
"Kakeru? Who are you talking about?"
I'm dumbfounded at his words. Kakeru had definitely been there. He'd been there to ease my anxiety. He'd been there to see me off, to watch me pass through those double doors safely. He'd been there, just like every other appointment, waiting for me, praying for me, holding me when I couldn't stand. Kakeru had been there through it all.
"You know, the boy that brought me to the clinic?" I explain, hoping to eliminate confusion.
"What boy?"
"Sir, there was a boy next to me earlier. How could you not have seen him?"
"Ms. Takamiya, there was nobody in that waiting room but you and that nurse. You came in alone."
x
This isn't real.
This isn't real.
This isn't real.
I refuse to accept this.
This is all a bad dream. I need to wake up.
Please let me wake up. I can't lose you. I can't lose you a second time.
Kakeru—
—you can't leave me again.
The burning in my legs is excruciating as I sprint through the halls, escaping through the front door, running along the street in the hopes of finding him. I can barely see the ground beneath my feet, my vision blurred with tears, but I can't bring myself to look straight ahead. I can't bring myself to see him; yet, I need to see his face to convince myself. To convince myself that he's not really there, but rather, a mere ghost: a haunting memory of the boy I once loved.
You said you wouldn't leave me.
You promised you would wait for me.
Kakeru—
—you can't break that promise.
As I run, what little is left of my composure breaks away, my memory refracting and splitting. Fragments of the night drift back to the forefront of my mind: Kakeru straddling the road like a deer in the headlights; me rushing towards him; the sound of wheels screeching against the slick pavement; the bones in my legs cracking as my body slams into the windshield. I remember Kakeru pivoting towards the sound of my voice, his expression one of shock and horror as I fell to the ground completely paralyzed, blood filling my mouth and dotting my vision.
My voice had reached you, but my body never did.
I thought I could touch you.
I thought I saved you.
Kakeru—
—you didn't survive that night.
The adrenaline pulses through my veins as I breathe harder, as I run faster. My calves are beginning to ache; I don't stop. The longer I run, the more I remember. My skull has been cracked open and the memories are spilling out, flooding my system.
On the night of the accident, even with half-lidded eyes, my organs convulsing at the deafening blow, I could only concentrate on Kakeru. The world had been mute, though, his mouth was ajar, throat constricted as though he were screaming. Even though I could barely feel the ground beneath me, I felt his voice shake me from the inside out.
Kakeru, get out of the way. Save yourself for once.
And then, he was gone, a truck slamming into him. In the distance, I heard someone shrieking in anguish. His name echoed in my ears and I realize, it had been me screaming.
This world was meant to be yours.
This world was meant for you to live.
For you to be happy.
For you to smile.
Kakeru—
—you should have saved yourself.
The tears are hot on my cheeks, but I keep running. I don't want to let go. I don't want to lose him. I can't lose him.
But I already have.
I immediately come to a halt, my legs quivering with exhaustion, my chest heaving.
My mind, however, is somewhere else.
Kakeru is already gone.
He isn't coming back.
He's dead.
Before I can stop myself, my legs give out, knees bowing as I collapse to the sidewalk.
You promised we'd be together ten years from now. You promised you'd stay for me, for yourself.
My shoulders are shuddering, feeling as though the weight of the world will crush them, will break me. Maybe it already has, but I don't know, nor do I care.
"I don't want you to disappear from my life again!" I scream, wondering if my voice can somehow reach him.
It's too late. He's gone. Kakeru is gone.
"I have to go, Naho… it's my time."
Though I know he's not really there—instead a figment of my yearning memory—I find the strength to turn around, a transparent Kakeru looming over me. His expression is sad, but his small smile is there and I want to fall into his arms. I want him to pull me close and kiss my forehead, just like before.
"Come on, Naho. Stand up."
My legs obey him, but I refuse to look at him anymore. I refuse to accept this.
"I'm sorry," he relinquishes an exasperated sigh. Winding his arms around me, I'm pulled flush to his chest.
He's warm but not as warm as I recall.
"I'm so sorry Naho. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't bring myself to do it," he mutters as he kisses my head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
I can feel the warmth of his breath, hear the steady pulse his heartbeat, and smell the nectar of cherry blossoms embedded into the fabric of his sweater. I've learned to love the way he has held me so, my eyes closing at the sudden peace within his embrace. He feels safe. He feels like home. It hurts, but I force myself to remember that these are phantom limbs, that his breath is simply the wind, and that his scent is carried by the profusion of cherry blossoms in the air.
"When you were hit by that car, you nearly died. I watched you bleed onto the street, more dead than alive, and tried to save you. But I was hit and killed on impact," Kakeru explains.
I imagine his apparition trembling as the words leave his mouth.
"I regret it with every fiber of my being, I regret contemplating suicide. But you should know, I wanted to die up until the moment I saw you running towards me. Because at that moment, I knew I couldn't leave you—I promised you I wouldn't," he continues.
He slowly pulls back, allowing me to see his face. Disheveled ebony-colored hair. Glassy eyes. A broken smile.
"I made you a promise, Naho, then broke it right in front of you. You made me change my mind when no one else could and how did I repay you?" he cries, hugging me closer. "I left you behind."
"Kakeru…" I mumble into his chest, his body less dense than before.
"But then I had a chance to make it up to you… from the other side. You were in a coma for a month or two, then came around. I remember the day you woke up. I was sitting in the chair beside your bed, stroking your knuckles, and you squeezed my hand. I was astonished when I looked up and saw your smile, the smile you only revealed to me."
He grips me tighter, carding his fingers through my hair.
"You could see me, Naho. While I wanted to tell you the truth, I saw the relief in your expression and decided against it. So I chose to make it up to you instead: I would stay with you until you were better, until you were strong enough to walk alone again," he admits, closing his eyes in deep concentration, "but I can't stay here forever. I have to go now."
I know you do, but I don't want you to.
"I won't really be gone," he confesses, pulling away.
"I'll always be with you here."
His transparent hand is placed over my heart. He isn't warm, but I feel his heartbeat nonetheless. It's powerful, surging. The rhythm, the pulse, the steadiness of it all is his, is mine. For my heart beats for him, dead or alive.
"Kakeru, I—"
"I love you too, Naho. Don't be sad I'm gone. Just live."
"But I couldn't save you."
"You did save me though. This world was more than I could ever ask for. The fireworks we watched together were incredible. The relay was so much fun. And your bentos were what kept me going every day. You gave me your heart, and that is enough."
"But you're gone," I whisper, my lip quivering. "How is that saving you?"
Kakeru huffs then tilts my chin so I can meet his eyes once more. In the dimming light of evening, they are sorrowful, but at the same time, they are bursting with adoration and happiness.
"You made me laugh and smile again. Because of you, Naho, I remembered what it felt like to love someone."
"Kakeru…"
He leans downward, his left hand cupping my cheek then kisses me with every ounce of tenderness he possesses. Even after all this time, he still tastes sweet and sour, like the orange juice he had once bought me. It's bittersweet, knowing that he will always taste this way, for we have never kissed when he had been alive. But at the same time, I have a feeling that it'd be something like this: his arms wound around my waist, eyes closed, and lips tangy. Because of all things, I know that ten years from now, if alive, Kakeru would still manage to buy a carton of orange juice to share. And the oranges would just get sweeter as time ripened with age.
"Thank you, Naho."
And Kakeru, the boy I love, has finally expired.