Chapter Three: An Impressionable Memory
Fifth Day
7am
Tooru stared at the ceiling, clad in nothing but a pair of severe black trousers and undershirt, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as the world awoke around him, surrounding him with agonizing familiarity. The night had ended as it began; quietly, the absence of any sounds of proof of life the hallmark of what would've been a normal day. Any other day, he'd gotten up and showered before the sun rose, dressing at his own pace, knowing that Hajime would be just a couple hours behind him.
He'd smile as he entered the kitchen, breathing in the rich aroma of the brewing coffee, set the previous evening just before Hajime had left for his shift. Any other day, he'd penned a quick love note and stuck it on the refrigerator, promising to be home before lunch. Any other day, he'd come home to him sleeping, deciding if waking him prematurely would be worth the effort.
Any other day, he wouldn't be faced with burying the love of his life, sealing away his heart, his happiness, his will to take the next breath.
Tooru bit his lip hard, his eyes crinkling at the corners and welling with tears as he continued to stare, nearly choking on a sob. Each second that passed, he descended further into his thoughts, reliving the minute details of their life lived so far. He wanted to force the hands of time backwards, to return to sleep only to wake slowly, knowing that at some point during the day, he'd see his beloved, to once more tell him that he loved him. He allowed that wishful thinking, the wistful thoughts pulling him back to the last time Hajime had come home before he'd left for the library. If he'd closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift, he could swear he'd hear the key jingling as it slipped into the lock, the door opening and closing softly and the dull thud of his shoes as he unlaced and slipped them off echoing through the serene quiet. If he listened closely, he'd hear him tossing his keys on the kitchen table and haphazardly flinging his jacket over the couch on his way toward the bedroom. If he took a deep breath, he could smell the aroma of the brewing coffee and if he waited, he would feel him sinking in the bed next to him, nuzzling against him in an effort to wake him gently- but not before taking a moment to simply gaze at him.
Tooru exhaled heavily and sat up quickly, his watery eyes shifting toward the closed shrine, his heart pounding against his chest. He'd erected the shrine as soon as he got home that night, electing to allow Kentaro to assist him. Kentaro had lit the incense while he placed a picture of Hajime in the shrine, tears spilling out of his eyes as he stared at it for long moments. Kentaro's gentled touch reminded him that he had to finish, reluctantly closing the shrine and placing the white sheet over it. In a couple of days, he'd open it again, replacing the offering and lighting new incense but for the moment, he couldn't bear the sight of it.
Tooru wiped away the tears and exhaled and moved, shifting to sit on the side of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. What he wouldn't give to be able to spend the day in bed, immersed in memories, to have the freedom of ignoring everything and everyone.
Every night since Hajime's death, he'd worn his old t-shirt and sleep pants, its wear evident in the slightly frayed edges and the imprint of his ever familiar scent accosting him with every breath taken. He wanted nothing more than to forget that in a couple of hours, he'd be sitting in front of his coffin, gazing up at his photograph surrounded by flowers, and offerings, the monotone sutras filling the air. He'd had to suffer through the otsuya two nights before, watching as Hajime's fellow officers presented their offerings, sitting in silent repose as the mourners filed in front of the coffin to light incenses and then offer their condolences in a solemn bow. Two hours of keeping his mournful wails at bay, allowing the silence of his tears to telegraph his grief.
And he'd have to suffer through it again.
After a moment, Tooru sat up fully and glanced at the clock. Two hours, only two hours separated him from forever.
He took a deep breath and released it, pushing himself up to stand. As much as he wanted to ignore this day altogether, he realized that he had to face this head on. Afterwards, he could shatter; allow the grief he'd been keeping in check for five days to finally overtake him.
He moved on rote, blindly moving toward the white button down and black suit jacket that hung on the closet. The muffled sound of pots clanging prompted him to move faster, slipping the suit jacket off and tossing it on the bed. He quickly donned the shirt, sliding the tie into place around his neck. He walked toward the mirror, buttoning each button as he stared at his reflection, taking note of his dulled eyes. Days before, they'd been ringed with a violent purple hue, evidence of his increasingly restless nights.
The floorboard creaked under his foot the sharp sound echoing in the dense silence. This was going to take getting used to, surrounded by nothing more than ambient sounds, devoid of his rich laughter and booming baritone. Tooru closed his eyes against the mounting sorrow and shook his head.
One step at a time, Tooru.
Just one step.
Tooru tied the tie around his neck quickly and forced a small smile, practicing for the many faces he'd see today. The smile didn't make it to his eyes.
"Oikawa, are you alright in there?" Yahaba's muffled voice barely registered as Tooru finished perfecting the Windsor knot. "Breakfast is almost done."
Breakfast was not something he desired but he wasn't going to give voice to that. Instead, he smoothed the tie down and answered, "I'm almost finished. I'll be out in a minute."
"Okay," Yahaba answered. A beat of silence passed before he spoke again, "Kenma and Lev will be here in about an hour. Kentaro said he'd be here in thirty."
"All right."
"Oikawa…"
"I said all right," Tooru answered tightly. He closed his eyes forcefully against the building rage. He shouldn't have lashed out at Yahaba but he couldn't help himself. Nothing would temper the fury that swallowed him whole when he thought about the countless of others who still had their hearts beating in their chest.
Tooru exhaled and reached for the suit coat, slipping it on and buttoning it slowly. Once done, he stared a moment longer at his visage, taking in the changes, both minute and drastic, realizing that this would be the image he'd see for the rest of his life. Empty, desolate, waning warmth replaced with a cold reality.
One step.
Just one step.
9am
He sat before the plate, eyeing it with equal parts of disdain and hunger, the enticing aroma wafting around him, tempting him as much as it made him nauseous. A mug, Daichi's favorite, sat to his right, a lazy tendril of steam rising, the decadent scent of coffee mingling perfectly with the prepared breakfast. If only he'd had the appetite to enjoy the delicious offerings, if only Bokuto hadn't wasted an entire hour in the kitchen, studiously preparing a meal that Koushi was certain he would not eat.
If only…
"It's not going to eat itself, Kou," Bokuto offered as he sat across from him, settling before his own plate piled high with food, taking his chopsticks in hand. Koushi looked to see him staring expectantly, his brow lifted in a silent challenge. For five days, Kotaro had stayed with him, forcing him to attend to even the most basic of needs, providing him with something more than the mind numbing silence he'd otherwise had to endure. Generally, Koushi ignored him and Kotaro allowed him his space but it was comforting to know that someone was there if he'd needed a shoulder to cry on.
As it turned out, however, Koushi was all cried out. Even now as he stared morosely at the plate, the overwhelming sorrow still suffocated him but his aching eyes couldn't- or wouldn't- allow a release. It was a heavy sensation, weighted down with grief that had no pathway and each breath he'd taken was one laden with such deep seated pain, he was surprised that he'd been able to move a muscle.
Koushi could feel Kotaro's brazen gaze on him, daring him to defy. In response, he shook his head as he pushed the plate away, keeping his own eyes averted. He no more wanted to eat than he wanted to breathe at the moment and nothing his good friend said or did would change that.
"Ya know," Kotaro started blithely, "we've gone through this a million times already, Kou." Koushi heard the chopsticks clicking together and Kotaro inhale as he shoveled the food in his mouth, chewing loudly, making an absolute event out of eating. It was annoying and brash and evidently Kotaro thought it would change his mind.
It didn't.
Instead, Koushi pushed away from the table and started to stand. Only Kotaro's voice stopped him from leaving completely.
"You're doing him a serious disservice." Yellow- hazel eyes met topaz, each gaze lit with a certain fury as they stared down each other. Only Kotaro spoke, his voice dripping with disgust, "I've been with you for five days, Koushi. Five days and you've done the exact opposite of what Daichi would've wanted. You've barely eaten, drank even less and the way you mope around here…"
Koushi gripped the chair, the tension turning his knuckles white. How dare he…How fucking dare he cast judgement?
"I'm going to chalk this up to your idiocy, Kotaro, and forget that you even had the audacity to say such a thing." Koushi shook with rage, his lips thinning as he closed his eyes tightly. It took every last fiber of his being not to swing on him to unleash all of the pent up agony that had swelled within the passing days. Instead, he took a deep breath and released it slowly as he opened his eyes, an absolutely nasty grin curving his lips, "So very bold yet such a coward. You talk about me but tell me, Kotaro, were you so cocky when Akaashi left you?" Koushi narrowed his eyes, delighting in the brief emptiness in Bokuto's own eyes, "Now you know how that shit feels."
The words didn't faze Kotaro; he sneered and sat back, crossing his arms around his chest, "Ya got me there, Sugawara but I did snap out of it and now, I wouldn't trade our friendship for anything. You…you're not honoring what the man wanted. His last words, his last thoughts, I'm sure, were that you let him go."
"And you were there when he died, Bo? You were right there, holding his hand, watching as he struggled to take his last breath? You heard his last words; you felt the strength leaving his hand?" Koushi tossed his plate at Kotaro, barely missing his head. He was annoyed and furious, the need to strike out at something, somebody burning through his body. When Kotaro stood, Koushi welcomed the blatant challenge, squaring his shoulders as he stood taller. Expending his grief with violence seemed like as good as an idea as anything else and truth be told, he'd probably feel better. It wasn't productive in the least bit but the ends didn't necessarily justify the means at this point.
Kotaro merely shook his head as he stared at him, a faint smile painting his lips, "You conveniently forgot that Daichi was our friend, didn't you? We were tight, thick as thieves, nothing left unsaid between us." Kotaro took a step toward Koushi, his voice level, "And you conveniently forgot, you ass, that he'd told all of us to look after you once he was gone, to make sure that you survived him."
"Don't be so sanctimonious, Bo. You weren't here…"
"But we were here!" Kotaro bellowed angrily. Explosive emotion lit his eyes, casting an icy glare toward Koushi as he approached, reaching to grasp Koushi's shirt to pull him closer. They were face to face, nose to nose and Koushi could feel the heat of Kotaro's words as he continued, "We were with you every step of the way, Koushi. We suffered right along with you. We heard his pleas for you to let him go, to move on. To find a reason to live, not die with him! He never wanted you to follow him!"
"There's nothing left for me here!" Koushi screamed as the long absent tears finally fell. He held Kotaro's gaze steadily even as his voice crumbled, "I never wanted to survive this, to move on. When he died, he took the best part of me with him. I have nothing left!"
Kotaro let him go and turned away, his own voice softening, "You have us, you bastard. You've always had us."
"It's not enough."
Kotaro's shoulders slumped dejectedly and let him go. Absently, he smoothed out Koushi's shirt, his eyes never lifting, "I'm going to chalk this up to your idiocy, Koushi, and forget that you even had the audacity to say such a thing." A knock at the door broke the spell and Kotaro chuckled lightly, "One day, you'll see the error of your way, Koushi. You'll see that surviving is not as hard as you think. Succumbing is far worst."
And with that, Kotaro left him to answer the door.
With Kotaro gone, Koushi deflated, his eyes landing on the shattered plate. He was as broken as the dish but even in such a conflicted moment, he recognized what Bokuto was trying to do. There was truth in his words but that truth didn't ring for Koushi. What was most important to him was unattainable, his heart lost to the unreachable horizon of eternity.
Kotaro was wrong.
Surviving would be the death of him. And he'd welcome it with open arms.
12pm
It was a serene ceremony, all of his colleagues, his friends, had shown up, all of them with watery smiles and soft words of condolences. Tooru watched as they approached the dais to light the incense and bow, showing their respect and then doing the same to him as they continued on, the silence only broken by intermittent sniffles and quiet mumblings. Tooru kept his eyes on the magnificent portrait of Hajime, only averting them to receive the numerous mourners that filed behind him. He stared at the way his husband's eyes always seemed to be smiling at him, even in chastisement, always grinning for him as if he were the only one in on the joke.
Tooru's lips spread in a small smile, a tuft of air escaping his lungs. He was always doing something to provoke the ever stoic Hajime into smiling, even in their worst moments. In the middle of a fight or just chilling on the couch, there were too many times to count in where Hajime would gift him with his most prized possession. And all it took was for Tooru to be himself.
"Oh Hajime," Tooru whispered brokenly as he lowered his head. He swiped at the escaping tears, fighting back the bone crushing sobs that were clawing to surface. There were still a great many that had come to offer their condolences and although he wasn't really keeping track, he knew that the steady stream of people meant he'd be there for hours more.
Oh how he wanted to just get up and walk away, to leave all of this pomp and circumstance behind. How he wanted to forget that the body that sat on the dais, laden with a few of his possessions and clad in a ceremonial kimono was no longer the man he'd married. He wanted to forget how alone they'd been when they'd taken the next step, how Hajime's parents disowned him for choosing to love his best friend. He wanted to forget the darkest moments in where he didn't know if their love would survive.
He just wanted to forget.
But that wouldn't be fair to Hajime. He deserved the memories, both good and bad, deserved to be remembered as a man who stood and fought in what he believed in, a man who stood and fought for him.
As much as he wanted to forget, he couldn't.
And so he remembered as the steady stream of murmured apologies and bows continued, he remembered.
The tears continued to fall without hesitation.
"You know, this would probably go a lot smoother if you just read the instructions, Daichi."
Koushi cut his narrowed eyes to his lover, watching as Daichi frowned and shook his head, making to get up from their little nest littered with screws, paper, and a discarded box. He huffed as he reached for the instructions only for them to be quickly snatched out of his hand, followed by an exasperated sigh. Koushi fought to swallow his laughter as he reclined against the couch, listening to Daichi mumble the instructions underneath his breath. He glanced quickly to see a thoroughly confused expression on his face and lost his battle, a hearty laugh erupting.
"What's so funny?" Daichi asked as he cast a stern eye toward him. He shook his head again and hit the sheet of paper lightly, "I can't make heads or tails of this, Kou. It would be easier if we just dove in. You know how good I am with my hands. This wouldn't take long at all."
Koushi chuckled and reached to take the instructions, flipping them around, "I'm leaving that one alone, Daichi. But it would help if you read the instructions in a language you could read."
"Hardy, har, har," Daichi mused irritably, "I knew it was upside down."
"Yeah, and sale me another tree," Koushi responded with a snicker. He moved to face Daichi, moving the man's hands away and entering his space, settling within the cradle of his legs. The close proximity was enticing as was the distinct scent that only Daichi could hold, luring him into a complacent sense of comfort and muted passion. He licked his lips and advanced, giving him a succession of quick pecks, only to be ensnared by Daichi's firm lips. Koushi's pulse jumped as the kiss intensified, Daichi's tongue tracing along his parted lips, seeking entry.
Koushi gasped and drew away slowly, catching Daichi's questioning eyes.
"We'll never get this done if we go there, Dai," he answered breathlessly. Daichi wrapped his arms around his body and Koushi felt him sag against him, his breathing labored. Panic gripped him for a second before he let it go, encircling his own arms around Daichi's neck. He pressed a kiss to the column of his neck, whispering, "Promises…"
"Are the beats of our hearts," Daichi finished softly. A small laugh filled the air and Koushi smiled against him as they both tightened their grip around each other, savoring the warmth that flowed between them.
The desk could wait…
Koushi grasped at his chest as a hollow sob escaped his lips. He couldn't bear to look up at the portrait Daichi's mother had chosen, accosted by the glimmer of genuine happiness that stared back at him. Even though the disease had stolen most of his life, Daichi had lived it on his terms, refusing to allow death or fear to dictate his next breath. It was that exuberance that stubborn tenacity that attracted him to Daichi and kept him tethered even in the worst of times. It was what kept him from spiraling even further as the disease ran rampant in its effort to claim every second. It was seeing that beautiful boldness snuffed out as Daichi breathed his last that completely shattered him. He bowed his head deeply, keenly aware of Bokuto's arm slung over his back in an effort to calm him.
"Easy, Kou, easy," Bokuto offered softly. He held him tightly against him, something Koushi was grateful for. Tucked within Bokuto's strong embrace, Koushi didn't have to feel, to see, to hear. Surrounded by darkness and warmth, the ache eased slightly, allowing his exhausted mind a sort of respite from the never ending cycle of pain.
Koushi took a deep breath and exhaled shakily, aware that he couldn't hide for long. There was still yet more to endure before he could completely forget the world he'd once inhabited.
Tooru dabbed at his eyes as he stood at the entrance to the temple, failing to notice the bustle of the city, the cacophony of horns, engines, and people as they went about their business barely registering. He glanced at the tall building that seemed right at home in the middle of the city, it's modern, yet welcoming façade no different from the surrounding buildings of a burgeoning city. He'd heard of this new trend of burying the dead outside of family temples and was briefly intrigued, especially since family discord and conflict had made burying each other in their ancestral cemeteries impossible. With this new option it was convenient and far away from the painful memories that had colored their young marriage. Besides, he'd get just as much of the soothing, meditative silence that he needed without the extra hassle of paying to maintain a plot.
But that was neither here nor there; they were years away from having to decide on how to plan out the end of their lives.
Or so he had thought.
Tooru's eyes watered as he waited for Kentaro, grasping at the cold urn that had been placed in his trembling hands an hour before. It was striking even in its simplicity and severity; the black porcelain contrasting beautifully with the simple gold trim that ringed the top and bottom of the urn as well the golden etchings that spelled out his family name. Simplicity was always one of Hajime's best ideals and giving him what Tooru thought he'd wanted gave him a semblance of peace.
Tooru shuddered and reached to swipe at his eyes once more. Only minutes separated him from the end of this terrible ordeal but also opened the door into a more terrifying existence. He tried not to think about the hollow silence that would greet him when he got home, how utterly cold and desolate their space would be without the warmth of his awaiting aura. As ready as he was to be done with all of this, he couldn't quite bring himself to acknowledge the fear of the approaching loneliness –or the fact that he knew that he would go insane inside an hour without anything to distract him from his grief.
"The priest is ready."
It wasn't surprising that Kentaro had stuck around; he and Hajime had been partners and good friends, kindred spirits even. They'd spent as much time with each other as normal brothers would, constantly challenging each other, fighting like cats and dogs, and commiserating with a cold beer and uproarious laughter. Tooru likened them to a small family of sorts and Kentaro, in all of his obstinacy didn't endeavor to disabuse him of that notion. Although Kentaro's normal disposition was cold and standoffish, he could tell that losing Hajime had affected him more than anything else. Of course, the younger man would never admit to his compromised emotions, instead, he remained the silent foundation that wouldn't allow him to weather this alone.
Kentaro's quiet voice startled him, a stiff shudder passing through his body. Tooru glanced up at Hajime's partner and attempted a graceful smile. He merely nodded, his own stern lips slipping into a faint grin as he gestured forward. Tooru sighed heavily and turned toward the priest waiting just inside of the skyscraper graveyard.
Tooru caught Kentaro's glance as they moved in tandem, the apprehension blazing in the younger man's eyes. He barely missed a group of men who exited the building, many of them distracted by a silver haired gentleman. Their hushed assurances lingered in the air as they passed him, the muffled sniffles increasing with every step. Tooru stared after them, taking note of obvious sorrow of the man's distant gaze. He could relate, in a matter of minutes, nothing would matter. It would be over and then he would have to start over.
As they passed through the door, Tooru knew that starting over would be just as hard as facing the end.