a/n: I'm glad Kuraba Toma is dead in the real series. Anyways, this writing was excruciatingly difficult for me, mostly because I didn't know anything. I didn't know what the dynamics between Hijikata and Mitsuba were like, and so I had to go off on the very limited material that existed in the canon. But overall. I'm very happy with it.
As a personal note, I don't suggest skimming this oneshot. You'll miss the details if you do. For the record, Hijikata is an editor by day and a writer by night. 8)
An Abject Loneliness
-x-
"The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapours weep their burthen to the ground,
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan."
- "Tithonus", Lord Tennyson
-x-
The first day they met was during a scorching afternoon. She was perspiring; her pale hands gripped onto a handkerchief as she mopped the sweat from her bangs. She reminded him of anxious sparrows looking after their young as she ordered the movers with a stern authority; it had impressed him momentarily before one pushed into him, reminding he also had things to be placed in his room.
It wasn't much. There was a bookcase, to hold his books and letters from Tamegoro; a futon that badly needed replacing but he hadn't gotten around to just yet. There was a desk and a lamp so he could take work home from the office for nights when he could not sleep well. A pile of newspapers and a stack of clothes were neatly placed on top of a chair. They were all stark reminders of his bachelorhood and he cared not to look at his room when the movers had gone and left from his side. He had tipped them well and so he stood outside of the woman's room. Perhaps it was to forestall the continual dregs of loneliness before his hopes were dashed once more.
She was busy - apparently the movers had mixed up some of her belongings with his and so he waited for a few minutes before she turned her head. He held up a bag full of women's magazines and said gruffly, "I believe these are yours." Her eyes looked at him with a curiosity he was not accustomed to in Tokyo.
"Thank you," she said, her lips full and pink. "By any chance, are we neighbors?" she enquired politely, not yet taking the package from his hands.
"I guess so."
"Oh! I forgot to mention my name. My husband and I, Kuraba Mitsuba, will be living here for a while."
It had been a long time before a woman had touched his hand before; and though his fingertips had only grazed momentarily against the warmth of hers, he felt as if he had stumbled across something taboo.
-x-
The hand of the grandfather clock struck twelve, signaling his lunch break. Hijikata put on his coat and remembered that the landlady had invited him to play mahjong that evening, but he had declined due to his inability to understand such entertainment. He had never learned how to play and he was loathe to make a fool out of himself. Even so, there was a part of him that wished he could be part of the spectators.
It was problematic, and he occasionally regretted his hesitance when it came to pursuing company, but overall felt that it would have been inappropriate to infringe on such activities. And anyways, at the end of the day, all he wanted was nothing more than a smoke and perhaps some quiet time to work on his novel before the sun rose. He had been convinced a long time ago that he was meant to be alone. People looked through him and had aptly diagnosed him as a hard worker; nothing more, nothing less.
Kondo had taken him out and for once, however, Hijikata was glad for his company to keep himself from dwelling on his solitude. He was a momentary distraction. The restaurant was fine with smoking, thank God, and Hijikata quickly requested an ash tray after the two of them had settled down in their booth. It was a hole-in-the-wall sort of place, and the two men were fond of places that reminded them where they had come from.
The rudimentary small talk began with the inquiry of whether the apartment Hijikata had recently moved into was acceptable, and the man nodded, omitting the inconvenient truth that he was in fact living next to one of his subordinate's relatives. Okita had never fully warmed up to Hijikata and to add one more reason to dislike the man was an undesirable outcome.
Picking up his cigarette, Hijikata rolled it between his fingers as they waited for their food to be ready. "I heard an interesting thing yesterday. Amusing, really."
"Hm?" Kondo lifted his coffee, perhaps in the middle of thinking about Otae.
"In the old days, when people had a secret to share, do you know what they would do?"
"No idea."
"They went up a mountain, found a tree, carved a hole in it, and whispered the secret into the hole. Then they covered it with mud. And leave the secret there forever."
"Pssh, what a pain!" Kondo remarked. "I'd rather go to the cabaret to see Otae-san."
"Not everyone's like you," Hijikata snapped back.
"I'm just an average guy; I don't have secrets like you. And anyways, you bottle things up! Hey, tell me something, Toushi!"
"Don't have any," the man said, somewhat aggravated that his message had been lost in transit.
The rest of the afternoon passed by less eventfully. Both of the men discussed upcoming articles and manuscripts that had to be edited soon, for the deadlines were coming up and it wouldn't do for the company to be lagging behind. Especially not for a business so new; they had the advantage of being able to access upcoming talent in such a big city, but the fact still remained that they were in a precarious position at the moment. Though they came from Bushu, most of the publishing houses had moved their respective quarters to Tokyo and it still remained a highly competitive industry.
After Hijikata finished typing up his last manuscript, he set for home. He hadn't expected anything unusual save for the raucous noise from enthusiastic mahjong players, but this was proven wrong when he saw Mitsuba was walking away from the noodle stand in which he usually bought his supper late at night.
"Hijikata-san," she greeted him politely.
"Kuraba-san," he replied.
There was no need to further acknowledge the other. The subtle intermingling of her perfume and his cologne - the scuff of his shoe and her quiet footsteps on the concrete floor as they passed each other - those were all minor details that did not need embellishing.
-x-
"Don't you think it's funny that you've never seen her husband?" Yamazaki mentioned off-handedly as the two made their way to a badminton court.
"I've seen him before," Hijikata said. "He's a merchant. He just likes to travel overseas. And you forgot your tie."
"I left it in your room so I could see Mitsuba-dono again," his subordinate replied, much too chipper for his own good. Hijikata glared at him.
"... The hell are you thinking?" Hijikata scoffed. "That's Sougo's sister. You'd be eaten alive before anything happens."
"Oh, I should have figured. They really do look alike, don't they?" Yamazaki threw the shuttlecock and swerved while Hijikata ran to meet the ball halfway.
"If you had a girlfriend, she'd be a worried woman!"
"None of yer business!" Hijikata scowled. "I'm not like you!"
-x-
"Aneue, you really ought to stop going out so often for spicy noodles."
"Sou-chan, don't worry about me. I only do it to get some fresh air, you know."
"Still - "
"You haven't introduced me to your girlfriend yet," she interrupted brightly. "What did you say her name was? Kagura, wasn't it?"
"I call her China," he said, disgruntled at the abrupt change in topic. But it had the desired effect. Soon he dwelled less on the mundane matters of the day and espoused more of the frivolous.
-x-
They saw each other at the noodle stand again. This time he and her were both waiting for the rain to stop. Neither of them carried an umbrella. He lit up a cigarette before he acknowledged her.
"Kuraba-san."
She smiled her customary smile, which was so sweetly tinged with bitterness that he couldn't help but to look at her again. "It seems that we both like spicy noodles, huh?"
He didn't smile back. "I don't like cooking for myself."
"Neither do I," she sighed.
There was nothing more he could say to that. "I haven't seen your husband lately."
"He's abroad now, on company business."
"Oh." Suddenly Hijikata was grateful that he still had a few drags of his cigarette left. The time seemed to stretch longer under that stall, with a few stragglers heading out now that the rain had thinned to a drizzle. "We better get going," he said finally, stubbing it with the heel of his shoe.
When they reached the apartment, the landlady scolded them both. "Ai-ya, Kuraba-san, you could have eaten with us. You too, Hijikata! We made dinner for everyone. There was no need to be out in the rain like that. Both of you could get sick!"
"Next time, I suppose," she replied, her eyes apologetic. She looked down on the ground, bowing down to the woman and then straightening up, walking away to unlock her door and disappearing inside.
Hijikata had not gone inside his room yet; in the middle of unlocking his door he could clearly hear the landlady remarking to another resident, "Her husband's always away. It's sad to see her so lonely."
-x-
The third time they came across each other at the noodle stand, she was the first to greet him. "Hijikata-san, we really ought to stop meeting up like this."
He looked at her. It was eight o'clock at night. "You shouldn't be walking out here at this time anyway," he pointed out.
"I was coming back from seeing a film. I didn't know you worked so late."
"Well, I do."
She laughed. Inexplicably, his cheeks turned warm. She handed her thermos to the vendor, uncorking the top while the cook poured her share of noodles.
They walked back, Hijikata stopped a block away. "You better go ahead. The neighbors will talk if they keep seeing us together."
-x-
The landlady had decorated the living kitchen with Christmas decorations. Soon Hijikata began to loathe the general spirit of the holiday.
It never had suited him to be around a group of happy people, looking forward to something that wasn't anything special. It was just a day. How anyone found it prudent to spend so much time and money for a day was beyond his comprehension.
A few girls at work asked him if he had any plans. He told them yes - he knew the apartments were all vacant since most of the guests spent the holiday with their families, and thus he had planned to spend a good chunk of time working on his novel.
On Christmas Eve he had finally slipped away from the company party and walked straight back to the apartment. Upon unlocking the door, he saw that it was not empty.
Mitsuba was there, the only one sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper.
"Oh, it's you," he said.
"Yes, it's me. What's a handsome man like you spending this Christmas evening in this sort of place?" she asked, smiling with that same bitterness he had always seen her with since the day they had met. "Surely someone like you must have several girls at your beck and call."
The hell if she was going to antagonize him like that. "Where's your husband?" he asked bluntly. Already he had a few drinks in him and it was making him more loquacious than usual.
"Not here," she said. She turned back to the newspaper.
He sat down next to her and lit up a cigarette. "Kuraba-san, your husband is a sorry excuse of a man if he can't even manage to spend Christmas Eve with his wife."
She flipped a page.
"Where's your brother?"
"Out with his girlfriend."
"Oh. Your parents?"
"Dead."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," she said, and finally she folded the newspaper away. "Hijikata-san... you don't need to indulge a lonely woman like me on a night like this. I'll be fine."
He sat up. "Are you used to being a martyr?"
"What sort of question is that?"
"It's a simple yes or no question," he said.
"I don't know. Does that answer your question?"
Hijikata got up from the couch and went inside the kitchen. Rummaging for something, he let out a cry of victory as he uncovered several unopened sake bottles, presumably hidden by the landlady for her special mahjong tournaments.
"Here. We'll celebrate Christmas Eve with this."
"But I don't drink..."
"Doesn't matter. Consider it a one-time thing."
He set out two small cups and poured the beverage into each. Handing one to Mitsuba, he held his cup next to her hand. "A toast. To both of our shitty Christmases."
She laughed. "Okay then... cheers."
"Cheers."
Mitsuba lifted the cup to her mouth and took a sip. "Mm. That's good." Suddenly she had an overwhelming need to tell him everything. "I didn't expect to spend my Christmas like this."
Hijikata poured himself another drink, having downed the first one with ease. "What did you expect?"
"We made plans. He was going to take me somewhere warm and sunny year round. Nothing like this snow in Tokyo." She sighed. "Hijikata-san, forgive me for being so intrusive, but I was genuinely surprised when you turned up here by yourself."
"I like being alone," he said bluntly. "People are invasive. I'm better off without 'em."
Mitsuba laughed a little bit at that. "You should trade spots with me. I'm alone most of the time."
"Why?"
"I don't know," she said. As if to reassure herself, she repeated it again. "I don't know."
"Your husband doesn't seem to help."
She extended her cup, motioning for him to refill it. This time she just swallowed the entire thing whole. "I - I found a gift on his nightstand. He'd forgotten to pack it on the morning of his trip."
"Kuraba-san..."
"It wasn't for me, or his boss. I could tell. It was a silver watch, a dainty one. The kind you give a lover."
She hiccuped. "I wonder how it all started."
Hijikata took another sip of his drink. Whatever he had planned on accomplishing when he decided to sit next to Mitsuba, it wasn't this. "Someone had to make the first move," he said.
"Of course. How else could it have begun?"
They sat in silence for a while before Mitsuba hiccuped again. "Thank you for tonight, Hijikata-san. Or - shall I say - Toushirou-san." Her mouth lifted into a cynical smile. He supposed at this point it was fine for them to descend into first-name basis. How else could a confidante express her concern over a cheating husband to an unwed bachelor such as himself?
"I almost forgot to tell you. My brother respects you very much, did you know that?"
"No. But I don't believe that's right."
"He does. He just doesn't know how to express that admiration. After all, he's so young. Not like us."
After that last cup, she rose to go to her room. The grandfather clock had already struck twelve. "Merry Christmas, Toushirou-san."
"Merry Christmas," he said.
Later when he cleaned up and had stowed everything away to where it belonged, he found Mitsuba sleeping on the floor next to her door.
How troublesome. The woman couldn't even hold her own drink.
He shook her shoulder. "Kuraba-san, wake up. This isn't a place to be sleeping."
She was too deeply sedated by the strong alcohol, and so she continued to slumber in peace. He sighed to himself.
He supposed this was to be expected from such a fragile looking thing like her. The keys were in her own hand, so he gently pried them away from her fingers and quietly unlocked the door to her room. Then he lifted her up - she was much lighter than he had expected - and carried her into bed.
He felt sorry for her and, in a way, sorry for himself too.
-x-
In his spare time, he wrote about the samurai. In particular, he liked the Shinsengumi. He was writing an inspired autobiography of how it all started as a ragtag bunch of ronin without a master to lead them. Regardless, he admired that they were able to find their way to the Bakufu.
Very often he would have the urge to walk towards the noodle stand, and burn the midnight oil as he took his supper. Here was a good place to watch people while no one talked to him.
Mitsuba had came across him on one such occasion. "I didn't know you were a writer, Toushirou-san."
He noticed that even when she was sober, there was no restraint exercised in calling him by his first name. It'd been a week since Christmas ended. Still, her husband had not come back, even for New Years.
He put away his pen. "It's nothing."
Self-conscious, he closed his notebook as well. She chose to slip gracefully into a seat next to him. "What do you write about?"
"Nothing big."
"Oh, do tell," she said, pressuring him a bit.
"It's stupid. You wouldn't want to hear about it."
She only laughed. "Okay. I'll stop asking then." The owner passed down the bowl of noodles and a bottle of Tabasco. "For you, miss."
She dumped half the bottle in her noodles, and Hijikata just stared at her as if she wasn't human.
"What? I thought you liked spice."
"Not that much." The owner came to him and chuckled.
"Here you go. One mayonnaise bottle for you." He proceeded to fill up the bowl with the condiment.
"I ... For some reason, that really suits you," she said, giggling.
For a while, they just slurped their noodles in silence. Finally, she patted her mouth with a napkin, taking care that not a single drop was spilled on her clothes.
"I used to have a lot of hobbies. For some reason, I gave a lot of them up after I got married."
"Why?"
"Everything changes when you get married. You have to decide on things together."
"Hm."
"I sometimes wonder what I would have been like if I hadn't married."
"I think everybody thinks that sometimes."
She smiled. "Of course. I figured I'd be happier. When you're single, you're only responsible for yourself. But when you're married, just doing well on your own isn't good enough."
He slid out a cigarette from his Marlboro box and lit it up, meal done for the day. "Maybe he'll come back."
"I don't know. Maybe he won't."
"Kuraba-san - "
"Please, call me Mitsuba."
"Mitsuba-san, there might be a reason behind all of that. You'll have to confront him eventually."
She sighed. "You're right."
Both of them paid and they lingered at that stall before setting out for home. It was then that she asked him for a drag on his cigarette. He asked her if she had smoked before, and she said yes.
He passed it to her.
The feeling of taboo that had came across so strongly the first day they had met lurched over him like an ocean wave. And yet - that intangible moment of connection that passed through their fingertips lent him a strange warmth. He wondered when was the last time he had ever shared a cigarette, and wondered why he hadn't given Mitsuba a new one. But before he could vocalize any of this, she had already handed it back to him, blowing smoke the other way.
He stopped a block before their destination once more. "You should go ahead. Before - "
"Before the neighbors catch us together. All right." She turned to Hijikata. "I could read your manuscript, you know. And give you ideas. After all, I enjoy reading and I have a lot of free time."
"I'd like that, actually."
She beamed at him. "Then I'll try my best."
-x-
Surprisingly, Mitsuba was everything he could have asked for in a reader. She took in the force of all his words, read them with care and love, and told him what he needed to hear. She knew the Shinsengumi better than he ever did, probably owing to some odd reki-jo hobby back in high school.
The manuscript was delivered to Kondo's mailbox. Later Hijikata would remember smoking over two packs a day, before Mitsuba had finally told him that his behavior was paranoia at its finest. After, wasn't he a witness to constant rejection on a daily basis? Every author had gone through it before.
The letter came to both of them as a huge relief, confirming that he was accepted for a short-story serial in a magazine.
"There'll be more work," Hijikata said. "Maybe with my day job and this, I'll be able to afford a new apartment."
"What for?"
"To write in. There's nothing between us, but I don't want any gossip."
She smiled sadly. "You don't need me to write. You can do that on your own."
"No I couldn't," he said. "You were the one who made me take it seriously. And anyways, it'll be a place to meet without any guilt."
"So that was your plan."
"Of course. I couldn't have done it without you."
-x-
Eventually he became Toushirou and she became Mitsuba, but only in private, never in public. The bi-monthly serialization was a success and they met on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons in his new apartment. No one minded Hijikata taking off from work early as he made sure to come into the office hours before anyone else did.
"I'll call you tonight," he said. "Let it ring three times, and then hang up."
"All right," she said. "Is there anything in particular you want to eat?"
"Katsudon with mayonnaise on top, please."
She giggled and then said, "Okay. Then I'll bring it up next time."
"Thanks."
As she left his room for the day, a sinking feeling crept into his stomach.
I won't become like him, he thought. I can't, for her sake.
-x-
"Tell me honestly... do you have a mistress?"
He looked at her with shock. "You're crazy! Who told you that?"
"Never mind who - do you or don't you?"
"No."
"Don't lie! Look at me. I'll ask you again. Do you, or do you not, have a mistress?"
"Yes."
Her eyes went wide. Stunned, she went back to looking at her food, stirring her noodles with her chopsticks.
Hijikata wiped his mouth with a napkin. "That's no reaction. If he admits it outright, let him have it."
"I didn't expect for him to admit it so easily... Honestly, I didn't know how to react."
"One more time, then."
"Okay." Mitsuba took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Tell me honestly... do you have a mistress?"
"You're crazy! Who told you that?"
"Never mind who - do you or don't you?"
"No."
"Don't lie! Look at me. I'll ask you again. Do you, or do you not, have a mistress?"
"Yes."
Mitsuba hit him in the shoulder. It didn't hurt, not even a little bit. For a moment, he wondered if their play-acting was good enough. But then she broke down in sobs and he felt even more horrible for even choosing to suggest this twisted role play.
It was worse when he came closer, embracing her as she cried into his shoulder. It was a quiet crying, from an everyday suffering.
"Mitsuba, this is just a rehearsal."
"I know," she said, hiccuping in between sobs. "I know."
"He won't admit to it so easily. It's all right. Don't take it so hard."
-x-
"Will you come over tonight? The editor is hounding me; he says I'm too slow."
"I can't. My husband's back."
His mouth had gone dry, the moisture sucked out as if something had taken out all the air from his body.
"I'm very sorry, Hijikata-san."
In words that he had no control over, he replied - "That's fine. Good luck." He wasn't sure if it was more for him or for her.
-x-
It was a prelude to an end.
"I'm moving out in two weeks," he told her. "I'm going to Hokkaido."
"How long?"
"I dunno. Anything goes. The rent will be cheaper, anyway."
"Why so quickly, Toushirou?" His stomach lurched uncomfortably at the mention of his name.
"A change in scene." To steady his shaking hands, he switched his cigarette from one to another, taking in a long drag. And finally, he admitted, "I've had enough of the gossip."
Sougo had already caught onto what the two were doing together, and had already voiced his inherent displeasure at the office. Mitsuba had accidentally left some of his rough drafts in her room. On a visit, he demanded to know, and Mitsuba had told him. It implied too much.
Stop ruining her happiness. You can't provide for her like this. Stop meddling in things that aren't yours to keep.
"But we know it's not true."
"I used to think the same thing. I didn't think I'd be like your husband. But I was wrong."
"... I didn't think you'd fall for me," she said quietly.
"I didn't either. I was only curious. But now I get it... feelings just crept in without me noticing." He flicked the ash off his cigarette. "You won't leave your husband. So I'd rather just go away."
She turned away from him. "Toushirou..."
"I won't see you again," he said. It broke both of their hearts. "Keep a closer eye on your husband."
-x-
"The train leaves in exactly a week," he said over the phone. "It'll be at the Tokyo station - the Chiyoda district. Eight o'clock at night."
In a lower voice, he said, "I've bought a ticket for you. Will you come with me?"
There was no answer from the other line. He sighed and shoved the train tickets under his pillow.
-x-
Mitsuba passed him by as he began to haul things about of his room. They had not spoken ever since the phone call.
Still, he could not bear to throw the ticket away. That would have been too much - almost akin to ripping his heart in two. She had been the first woman he had ever loved deeply and fully, and he hated that her husband had to get in the way. He had never spoken to the man and still he loathed him with every fiber of his being.
His suitcase was packed and he stood on the train station, hoping against hope that she would run up to him once more.
Yet the minutes passed by.
Nobody showed up.
-x-
She had left too late.
The train had already started, leaving her behind in a sea of people.
Hijikata wasn't there.
-x-
A month later, Mitsuba had found the address of where he worked. While her husband finally took her on a business trip in Hokkaido, she had crept up into his cubicle. His name had been stamped on his desk. Everybody had gone out to lunch and the entire office was empty except for her.
The pack of cigarettes laid on his desk amidst rough drafts of his writing. She smiled. She would have recognized his handwriting from far away by now.
She slipped one out, picked up his lighter, and placed it in her mouth like she had seen him do so many times before.
-x-
"Someone's been in my office," he said to one of his coworkers.
"Wasn't me."
"But something's missing."
A few minutes later, he finally narrowed down his loss to a single lighter. He sighed. Of course you couldn't trust anyone to not go through people's possessions these days. It was his own fault for not keeping a closer eye. He'd have to buy another one later at the convenience store.
"Oi, Kurasaba-kun, lemme borrow your lighter."
"Okay. Here ya go."
He tapped his Marlboro box and he was about to insert his cigarette into his mouth before he noticed that there was a faint rim of lipstick outside of it.
He stared at it, then threw the entire box away and opened a new carton.
-x-
"Hijikata-san, there's a phone call for you."
He nodded and the secretary left to leave him some privacy. "Hello?"
He waited for a few seconds and there was no response. He tried again. "Hello?"
On the other line, Mitsuba could not answer.
-x-
Goodbye, Toushirou, she thought to herself. She stood on the dock and looked at the water. Her husband sat next to her, enjoying the sun and the wind. While he looked away she tossed his cigarette lighter into the ocean depths.
Later she would retire to her room while her husband, oblivious, would make his way into his car and drive away. She would spend the rest of the day weeping.
A week after that, she had gone missing.
-x-
Sougo called him at the office.
"They found Mitsuba's body in the water. She drowned herself."
Something involuntarily throbbed in his chest. "You're joking."
"I'm not." His co-worker's voice was unusually cold and calm. "I'll send you the police report if you don't believe me."
"You don't have to. When's the service?"
"The service is only for family," Sougo replied.
-x-
Hijikata slid down the wall of his empty cubicle. His blue-grey eyes understood and saw nothing that made sense.
He wished he had missed that train. If only he had stayed a bit longer, this might not have happened. But it had and now it was permanent, an hole burning in his soul that he wasn't sure if he could ever repair.
The day at work had passed with a blur - no one had noticed him surreptitiously carry his papers out to the train so that he could work once more at home. He didn't think he would have made it alone that night without a distraction. Alcohol was out of the question - he refused to wake up with a hangover, not during the weekdays anyway - and so was writing.
It never helped a damn bit, though.
Mitsuba had always sat next to him, almost out of reach but there - perhaps in the corner of his eye, accessible only if he turned his head. He had done most of his writing in front of a mirror on top of his desk, and like a familiar ghost he would find the image of her reading his rough draft, page by page, to be soothing.
Had he pushed her irrevocably into a state of morbidity by reminding her constantly of what could have been?
Had it been a mistake to have spent that Christmas night with her?
-x-
"Hijikata-kun, your work has gotten sloppier. Fix it."
"I can't."
Itou pushed his glasses up, sighing. "Kondo-san told me what happened to Mitsuba. I am informed that you two were good friends, and I'm sorry. But this is inexcusable."
"Good friends? Is that what people really thought about us?" Hijikata asked. For a moment, Itou was taken aback. Hijikata could see him wondering if this was going to delve into unprofessional territory, but at that moment he could have given less of a fuck.
"Listen, you jackass. I was there when her husband cheated on her. But I never laid a hand on her. No one gave a damn about her. No one listened to what she had to say, but I was there. I was almost her goddamn reason to live and I left because I wasn't strong enough for her! I let her down - "
"Hijikata-kun."
"What?" he snarled at him.
"Let's get some lunch."
-x-
"One ash tray, please."
"One ash tray coming up."
"I might have to give you a week off," Itou said, as Hijikata pulled out his box of cigarettes out. "It's nothing offensive against you, Hijikata-kun. I just don't know if this is healthy for you."
"None taken," Hijikata mumbled, lighting one up. He had been smoking too much, but that was the stress for you.
"You don't know how great it was for me when Kondo-san told me you were transferring over here. I just didn't know the reason why."
"I needed to get away," he replied.
Itou nodded. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I won't judge."
And he did. In college they had regularly taken the same classes and an easy friendship had been formed. Later when Itou's older brother had died, Hijikata had attended his funeral so that Itou would not show up alone. It was an understated relationship - one more defined by action rather than words.
"I know. But it's a long story."
Itou checked his watch. "We've got time."
-x-
There were still some rough drafts that bore the scent of her perfume - lilacs in cool water - and he would lift the paper up, wishing he could go back.
"I didn't know you were a writer, Toushirou-san."
Stop it.
"It seems that we both like spicy noodles, huh?"
Stop it.
"You don't need me to write. You can do that on your own."
"STOP IT," Hijikata yelled. A second later, he realized that he was alone in his room. She had left him alone to rot and die and it was unbearable. For a moment he was sick and angry of everything.
He crumpled up the paper. And then smoothed it out.
Her handwriting had been so neat and polished. Her criticism had never felt like a stab in the gut. Merely, they had been a proposition that he could have either taken or ignored.
Something has to change, Itou said. It wasn't your fault.
-x-
He walked up to a shrine, and looked for a hole in the wall.
When he had located such a thing, he crept closer, pressing his mouth against the hole, to whisper of his dying love - to confess that he wished he could have taken her away before it was too late. Secrets he was under no obligation to tell anyone. Secrets that he would lock forever and never tell anybody, not even his closest friends.
He crumpled up Mitsuba's last and final rough draft, and plugged it into the hole.
-x-
The editor of the magazine had called him later that day to ask for his latest manuscript.
He smiled. "Of course. I'll have it for you tomorrow."
And he lit up a cigarette, sitting next to the noodle stand.
-x-
The End
-x-
a/n: I don't think I'll write anything better than this.
Also, Hijikata Toushirou is quickly taking over Tsukuyo as my favorite character. Help.