Narukami's P.O.V.
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I really need to get out of this bad habit I've picked up lately. It's becoming a bit of a problem. See, lately, I wake up at about noon and lay in bed for about an hour. At lunchtime I'll roll out of bed in last week's clothes and maybe cook a pack of instant noodles. I'll sit on the couch and look at the television which isn't turned on. And I just lose myself in my thoughts. I usually don't even eat the damn noodles. I like to make them because you used to make them all the time. Yours were always better than mine.
This is so stupid. It's downright ridiculous. God.
See, this time a year ago, you were here with me. Hanamura Yosuke was my best friend, battle comrade and lover. That's you, by the way. You were my Yosuke. And things were going so well for us. We were the really cutesy couple that you usually read about in those really bad mangas. You know the kind.
Then I woke up one morning and reached over to your side of the bed to wrap my arms around you. It was cold. December. A few days before Christmas. I was giving you a watch that year. A real expensive one, too. I didn't buy it anywhere in Inaba; I sent abroad. It was European. You told me you'd love to go backpacking across Europe. I promised to bring you, and I would've, had you stuck around. When I tried to grab a hold of you, you weren't there. I woke with a fright to see I was alone in the bed. Your stuff was still everywhere. School blazer hung lazily on the corner of my bed's headboard. Shoes at separate corners of my room. Various other belongings left around the house.
You never said a word. Didn't leave me with a note, didn't give me any signs as to where you may be going, nothing. You left me with nothing, Yosuke. What the hell was that for? I tried, you know. Tried to be a good boyfriend. Tried to be exactly what someone might want; attentive, sweet, romantic, spontaneous, interested, helpful, supportive. But I don't know what it is I did to make you leave. I told you how much I needed you. God, I still need you.
I'm sitting here in last week's tshirt and my underwear. I rarely bother changing clothes anymore. And school? Forget that. I've stopped talking to people, stopped going out unless I absolutely need to. I told Dojima that I've got a job to keep me going, keep the rent on this place paid. The truth is, your parents have been paying for it. They pity me. Everyone does. I've exiled myself. It's been almost two months since your disappearance and I've never missed anyone so much.
Sometimes, you know, I'll call your phone. I don't expect you to pick up, but it's one of the only ways I can hear your voice anymore. I miss your voice. A lot. I miss your brown eyes, your long hair. I miss a lot of things.
You know, you missed our anniversary. Twice. In January, we were nine months going out on the thirteenth. In February, ten months. You'd never have missed them if you were here. You were so punctual when you were here. So I guess this means I should change my calendar. Since there's no more you, there's no more anniversary, right? Yeah, right.
I miss you so much. When I first saw you [after, of course, you had taken the trash can off your head] I remember wondering for the first time whether I was enough. I remember feeling incomplete. I remember asking myself if the quiet, grey haired boy was enough in himself. The answer was no, Yosuke. You completed me. Quite literally. Since your disappearance, I've reverted back to feeling unwhole.
I hate those god damn love songs. Because they remind me of you. We were going steady, going well. Things were amazing. And then you disappeared and I may as well have died. No one calls around anymore. The murders came to an abrupt halt just after Naoto's, a few weeks back.
I wish I could stop blaming myself for this. No one else does, but I do. I keep crying whenever I think of you - heck, I'm crying now. The cup of ramen is cold in my hand, uneaten once again. I haven't eaten since sometime on Tuesday. It's now Saturday.
The television flickers to life. I jump, phased. Yosuke, if you're dead, stop playing tricks on me. It's not funny. I almost spilled the ramen which I don't really want anymore, but I have to pretend I care about something that isn't you.
I just want to see you again. I'm trying to ignore the television's continual buzz and to think over it. Trying to out think my fears.
The buzzing stops and the screen clears.
You're in front of me, trapped inside the screen.
What time is it? I flip open my cell phone, unbelieving.
00:01.