They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or does it force longing? Whatever it is, it is pointless. Irie isn't even home. Kotoko had thought that all this time, she had wanted him far from her, out of her life, cut out of it entirely. Her anger was rash, she thinks, too sudden, too much, and now, she feels it tenfold, only it is sadness. Perhaps it is longing.
She doesn't long for him, really, but when Kotoko grabs her belongings she is forced to reenter their shared room, the large, lavish room made with them in mind.
She is forced to remember everything viscerally, and Kotoko finds that she does not want to. There is no point in remembering bad memories. She would rather spend her days reminiscing on fond, happy memories, even if they are only memories. Anything to escape the hurt and pain that is so frequent nowadays.
Surprisingly, no one else is home, except Yuuki. She does not ask after Auntie and Uncle, and Kotoko does not even ask about Irie either.
Yuuki is expecting her to, and so when he informs her that Naoki has not been home either, Kotoko is startled.
She tells Yuuki to tell everyone else that she is fine, and she is surprised to see breakfast laid out on her spot at the table, covered with a plate. As if they'd been expecting her to eat with them.
There is another covered plate, next to hers.
Yuuki catches her staring at the pushed-in chairs in the kitchen. He pointedly ignores the tears that well up in Kotoko's eyes.
Kotoko takes some clothing with her, takes her USB charger, takes a water bottle with her and that is all. She'd only needed her jacket, really, and her badge was hidden inside her uniform — anywhere else and she'd lose it — and so she does not have much to carry.
Yuuki locks the door behind her when she leaves, and as Kotoko walks back to the parked taxi, she realizes that Yuuki must be incredibly lonely. She feels selfish for leaving, even if she is not the one at fault.
Right? It's him, not her.
Thoughts of him are like pressing a firm finger into a fresh bruise and holding it there. Hurts, but you cannot stop once you start.
Keita is in the car, watching as she gets in. His arm brushes her knee when she sits down, as he reaches to take her sparse belongings. He spends a little too long staring at the bundle in his lap, and when a little furrow appears in between his eyebrows, Kotoko feels embarrassed.
She can understand why he might be surprised; Kotoko has never been a minimalist. His confusion would've been almost funny, under better circumstances.
"Did he speak to you?" Keita asks, serious. "What did he say?"
"He wasn't home," Kotoko replies, hurriedly putting on her seatbelt. She always feels more secure and grounded with a seatbelt. "I didn't speak to anyone but Yuuki."
"Yuuki," Keita repeats, thinking out loud. "The younger Irie?"
Kotoko nods, turns to the window. Everything is still. She can see — if she squints — the blinds of window flipping up. Perhaps Yuuki is watching her.
The hum of engine is familiar, background noise until it becomes too noticeable. Kotoko glances up at the driver, sees his steely eyes in the rearview mirror. She thinks for a second that he can see her, remembers that he's actually looking behind them all.
She knows some things about cars; her father has talked her into learning the basics. Kotoko is not entirely useless, no, the rules are just a lot and it's difficult to remember them all. That's why she hasn't gotten her license yet, yes, that's the only reason why.
Still. If she had her license, she wouldn't be in an unmoving cab, seated dangerously close to her coworker.
Kotoko turns to Keita, tugs him out of his thoughts. "Where are we going?"
"I already told him," Keita replies, furrowing his brows. He sits up slightly, as far as the seatbelt will let him. He is quite large in the car, taking up almost all the space. "What's the hold up?" He asks, his voice carrying over to the driver.
"Gimme a minute," the driver replies, gruffly. "One minute."
Kotoko and Keita glance at each other. The driver soon pulls off the side of the driveway, enters into the road fully.
Kotoko notices that he keeps adjusting the rearview mirror, glancing away from the road and fixing it with one hand.
Must be a thing seasoned drivers do. He is a taxi driver, after all.
Kotoko is halved without him.
Being back at the clinic is terrible.
Kotoko cannot focus on anything else.
"Kotoko, hear me out on this," Keita says, leaning against the frame of the large door. His head almost reaches the top of the door frame. "Why don't we just cancel on Marina's plans?"
"Cancel?" Kotoko turns to him, sets down the trays in her hands. "Why would we do that? They're expecting us."
"You're not in the mood to celebrate," Keita replies, tilting his head. "It wouldn't be fair to you."
"...It wouldn't be fair for everyone else," she says, glancing at the floor. "We have to think about them too."
Keita gets off the door frame, walks over to her. "Learn to live for yourself," he tells her, hands in his pockets. "Their happiness means nothing if you're unhappy. Has anyone ever told you that?"
The words are simple. Their meaning is simple. Keita is being kind. She should accept kindness.
For some reason, some odd, unknown reason, Kotoko feels those tears from early morning spring back up in her eyes. She shakes her head no at his question, feels a tear escape her eye.
"I'll be the one to tell you that, then," Keita continues, gently. "It'll be me," he continues, reaching out his hand.
Kotoko wipes her face herself, swipes it herself. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "Sorry, Keita, I don't know — "
"There's nothing to be sorry for," he says, and there is something in his low, quiet, almost soothing voice that makes her change her mind. "Let's cancel on them, alright?"
She can only nod, and for some reason, when he lowers his hand away from her face, clasps his large, warm hand in hers, Kotoko feels secure.
More secure than when she's strapped tight and safely with a seatbelt on.
Keita is steady in his grip, and he doesn't let go.
It is kind of awkward, truthfully, but he's saying something, and he is just so earnest and kind that Kotoko finds herself almost brought to tears again.
When he waves goodbye, smiles and leaves, Kotoko finds herself missing the warmth of his hand, even if it was for a fleeting moment.
Dinner is outside. They'd stayed in the hospital for far too long, missed lunch, not that they'd ever had a set schedule to eat in such a busy environment. The group — Motoki, Marina, and Tomoko — had given the two of them suspicious looks as they said their goodbyes, but nevertheless, didn't ask too many questions.
Kotoko was thankful, but she still felt the weight of their stares, still felt the unanswered questions lingering in their eyes.
Keita's apartment is small, but he doesn't live on any of the high floors, so they dine outside. The chairs in the patio area are a little hard, a little cold, but Keita distracts her from that feeling, talking loudly and telling her funny stories.
He waits for her before he eats, jumps when she starts coughing, reluctantly apologizes when she blames him for almost choking.
Keita is so easy-going.
It feels like — when she's in his company — Kotoko has known Keita for years. Mistakes don't feel as lofty when she's with him, any burdens are carried together, and understanding comes easy.
Kotoko eats her sandwich, holds it with both her hands — a bad habit of hers — and watches Keita, really takes him in. She has found herself doing that more often now, noticing every small thing about him.
His lips point slightly downwards when he's not talking, his eyebrows are thick. His eyes are dark, but when he smiles, the light filters into them and brightens the color. He sits in a funny way, with his legs spread out wide, as if the chair simply isn't enough to contain him.
Somehow, the conversation turns back in time, flips the calendar back.
"What were you like in high school, Keita?" Kotoko asks, giggling.
"Don't choke on your food again," he chides, but Kotoko knows he's not going to change the topic.
She waits for him to continue.
"I was serious, at least that's how I was described," he answers, finally. "I was voted Least Likely to Get Married, actually," Keita adds, sheepishly. "People had strange ideas about me, back then."
"What?! Least likely…"
"Yeah," he replies, a tad concerned at her reaction. "Is that bad?"
"No, no," Kotoko says, quickly, reassuring him. "I just don't agree with it! You seem like you'd already have someone, Keita. You're like, husband material!"
"Husband…material?"
"Yes, you've never heard of it? It's a thing, I'm sure it is!"
"That's suspicious coming from you," Keita says, frowning. "Your taste in men isn't exactly — "
"I don't want to talk about him," Kotoko cuts in. The plate in her lap is suddenly heavy and cold. "Let's talk about something else."
He watches her, from the side of his eye, and then he nods, a curt, short nod. She'd thought he'd press the issue, demand her to explain why, but...Keita doesn't.
"Sure," he replies, easily. "Let's not talk about him from now on."
"...At all?"
"At all," Keita repeats, absolute. "He doesn't deserve to be spoken about, not after all the hard times he's put you through."
Kotoko is quiet. "I…I guess that's only fair," she finally says. "You're right."
"Of course I am. Anyways," he says, shuffling. The chair creaks as he sits up slightly. "What were you like back in high school?"
She blinks. "Me? In high school?"
Keita nods. "It's the same question you asked me."
"Oh, um…I was normal! I just did my work and there wasn't anything special about me! No nicknames or anything like that! I was normal."
She flashes a cheery smile at him.
"That's hard to believe," he says, slowly. There's a hint of a smile, amusement threatening to seep into his expression. "Tell me the truth, Kotoko."
The relationship was over before it began, really. Crying about lost love, when it wasn't there at all, is pointless.
"So you're saying that you've…always doubted his love for you? Even back then?"
Kotoko freezes. "Was — Was I talking out loud?"
Keita nods, sips at his drink. Sometime, halfway through the conversation, they'd started drinking. Quite a terrible idea. "You were."
"Oh," she breathes, swallowing hard. Her throat feels like it'll rip in half if she swallows again, so Kotoko stays quiet.
"You can keep talking," Keita says, holding his gaze on her. "I won't say anything."
"I'm embarrassed," she replies, "embarrassed that I told you all of this — it's so personal to me."
"I won't say anything," Keita says, slowly. "I'm not going to say anything to anyone. You can trust me."
Kotoko's vision blurs. "Okay."
Keita sighs, a long sigh, crosses his legs. "You don't have to love me, Kotoko, I'm not going to pressure you to — "
"I want to," Kotoko says, interrupts. A tear leaves her eye, rolls down her cheek. "I want to love you, I do, but I — I can't."
When she looks up, confused by his silence, she is met with a small smile.
"I'm…happy to hear that," Keita replies. "I love you a lot, Kotoko."
"You're just saying that! Don't say that so easily," Kotoko says, her volume increasing. Sure, yelling makes her head hurt, but Keita's words, if she accepts them now, will hurt far more.
"What's wrong with sharing my feelings? I'll say it again, if you don't believe me. I — "
"Don't! I don't want to hear it!"
He sighs again. "You don't want to hear it from me, is that it?" Keita's voice is quiet, soft.
Kotoko says nothing.
"I won't force you to stop loving him," Keita continues, suddenly emboldened, "but I'd rather you not relive your past, I want you to see for yourself why I'm the better choice."
She blinks at him.
"...I don't want you to get hurt, Kotoko."
"I know he's put you through hard times, I know that," Keita continues, and when Kotoko looks at him, really stares at him, she can see that his eyes sort of shine, like a graphite finish. "I'll heal you, Kotoko. I will."
