"So, who are you staying with now?"
Kotoko takes another sip of her drink, cold-brew, slightly bitter. It's not good for her, truthfully, but it's nice to appear classy in front of Motoki, who's the very definition.
And nosey, Kotoko notes, as Moto leans in, smiling slightly.
"Come on, Kotoko, I'm paying for this! Share the details. Tell me. You promised!"
Kotoko sighs. "I have stayed at Keita's — "
Moto squeals. Kotoko, alarmed, shushes her loudly, unable to prevent the onlooking stares from other customers in the cafe. She slinks in her seat.
"And? What happened?"
"Nothing like what you're thinking," Kotoko replies, briskly. "I swear!"
Motoki eyes her for a second too long, before speaking. "Sure. Be like that."
"I'm telling the truth! He…we…didn't do anything," Kotoko starts, trailing off, remembering Keita's closeness, her mind lingering on something that didn't — something that won't happen.
Because it can't.
"Do you like Keita?"
Kotoko blinks. "Of course I like him — "
"Let's be serious, Kotoko." Motoki frowns. "I know you do, it's obvious. You know, it's not bad to like two people at the same time, in fact, I'd say it's pretty normal."
Kotoko is quiet, lets Moto stare her down. Thoughts swirl her mind. The coffee in her cup appears blurry. Her vision is unfocused.
"But...when you're married, and to someone like Irie, well, I can't understand why you'd go for someone like Keita. And I understand you — you're practically obsessed with him. With Irie. You love him."
Kotoko nods. "I love him."
Moto hesitates, voice quieter. "Does he love you like you love him?"
Kotoko is quiet.
"I'm not trying to ruin your relationship," Motoki says, jumping in quickly. "What I'm saying is that Keita's treating you how Irie's supposed to treat you. That's why you like him."
Kotoko glances away.
Keita's treatment, with Irie's personality? Keita's treatment in Irie?
She imagines Irie, his passive resting face replaced with a crinkled, soft smile. Tries to imagine a stifled laugh from his always frowning lips, tries to imagine a steady, warm, controlled gaze from his always icy eyes.
Keita shows up, each time. It's utterly incompatible; Irie with Keita's behavior. At first, that time in the taxi, with Keita's presence in the cramped car, his limbs inches from hers, Kotoko'd been reminded of Irie.
She'd been distraught then, broken down by Irie, but it'd been Keita who'd came and picked her up, picked up her pieces and put them back together. It'd been Keita who cared, listened, been there.
Her chest tightens. Why Keita? Why is Keita doing Irie's job? No, what kind of husband would do that, hurt her like that? What kind of person would? What kind of person is Irie?
All these weeks, all these months, all these years, she'd had patience, she'd been — blinded by love, blinded by silly feelings, feelings that'd hurt her and only her, time and time again. It'd been her who ended up hurt, each time.
Irie's unscathed, because he'd never cared to begin with. He doesn't love her, no, not now, not ever.
These feelings that she feels around Keita, they're all new feelings, shared feelings, feelings that surprise her, feelings that surpass what she feels for Irie now.
Because what she feels with Keita is love. Love isn't supposed to hurt, isn't supposed to burn, isn't supposed to bring regrets with it.
Irie is incompatible with love, she realizes, sitting in the cold cafe, the coffee in her hands cold, the feeling in her chest cold. The only warm thing is the look into Motoki's eyes, warm, concerned.
"I've been seeing less and less of Kotoko," Yuuki says. "Doesn't she live here?"
"Yes, well, sometimes people argue," Papa replies, squinting at Yuuki through his glasses. "It's normal for young couples."
"I don't think it's normal for people to move out," Yuuki continues, crossing his arms. "She hasn't been here in days."
"Move out? What on earth are you talking about, Yuuki? Are you that bored? Kotoko won't move out," Irie says, standing from the couch. Papa stares after him as he makes his way up the stairs.
"I'm not a liar," Yuuki says, chasing after him. "Room looks pretty empty to me."
Papa sighs, returns to his newspaper.
His son, Naoki, blessed as he is, is the worst husband alive.
It's raining again. The rain pitters against the window, loudly. She's in Jinko's boyfriend's apartment. Tiny, slightly cluttered. The patio outside reminds her of Keita. The messy papers remind her of Keita. The way Jinko hugs her boyfriend reminds her of Keita.
There is no point of feeling guilty anymore, Kotoko thinks. How many times has Irie flirted with other girls in front of her? Caused her a lifetime of worry, anxiety, heartache? She thinks of Matsumoto in college, thinks of the office ladies at work, thinks of the nurse from last month, thinks of the woman in the grocery store…
There are so many instances that Irie has let her down. So many. And in all of them, Irie has never apologized, not once. It has been her who's been left on her own. With Irie by her side, it's like she is single. Not in a relationship at all.
Being ignored constantly. Speaking to Irie, and faced with nothing but a cold stare. Asking him something, and met with nothing but silence. Met with nothing but his back.
The thought of speaking with Irie again brings tears to her eyes. Doesn't he know just how much it hurts? The pain that is ever so real, the pain that comes again and again, each time he disappears from her life? Doesn't he care about just how much she is hurting?
No.
He never has, never will. Is it her fate to be clung to a man who views her as nothing but a nuisance? A man who is desperate to leave her, in thought, in word, and certainly, in the future, in action? With Irie by her side, it is like she is doomed. There is no happy future for Kotoko.
Perhaps, it was all a mistake, Kotoko thinks. Being with Irie.
It were all a mistake. She'd be better off without him, she thinks. He'd be better off without her, she decides.
Jinko returns from kissing her boyfriend goodbye at the door, starts apologizing, starts talking. It is like Motoki's words from Jinko's mouth.
"Do you really love Irie? I mean, the way you did before you guys got married?"
She feels like a record player, a broken one. "I love him," Kotoko replies, again, wondering if she is convincing Jinko, or herself.
Keita calls. She accepts, on the first ring. It's not a big deal; she is not a bad person for welcoming a smidge of happiness in her otherwise empty, drab heart.
Keita will make her feel better.
He always does.
It's because, unlike Irie, he loves her. He'd said it himself. It's simple as that. Why did Kotoko refuse earlier? Should've, should've, should've.
Her life is full of choices that she regrets. Tonight, when he comes, in that same taxi, she won't regret a thing.
What is the point of hesitance? The point of waiting? The point of thinking about Irie's feelings, when he, for almost 10 years, has not considered hers once? There is a start and end to all things.
The ending, for her and Irie, is just beginning.
Keita says he'll be a while. Kotoko wonders what taking him so long. She is, at a bar, she thinks. Someplace with a lot of people. Someplace with a lot of loud people.
There is a man who slides in the booth next to her. He is too close. It is not a nice closeness, like Keita's, and it not a familiar closeness, like Irie's, no, something startling, something unpleasant.
"You're gorgeous," the man says, words coming out slowly. An interesting conversation starter, Kotoko thinks. "Why're you all alone here? A girl like you, well, I'd treat you well."
"Yes," Kotoko says. "I'm a girl who's treated well."
Is her despair that visible? Her sadness so easily spotted on her face, so plainly seen even by this drunk stranger?
It must be well known that Kotoko is not treated well.
So why then, why wasn't Irie able to see? Why wasn't he able to take notice?
Thinking about it, makes her cry. Makes her sob, makes the tears that have been welling up inside her explode out.
Scares off the stranger. Makes the bartender come out and ask if she's alright. Makes Keita ask if she's alright again and again on the phone, asks until she finally sputters out a no.
She takes a step, another one, and another, until she's perched on the cold concrete of the steps outside the bar. The evening lights twinkle and glitter in the sky, the cars rush past her, the people walk.
Life moves on, uncaring to her sadness. The night threatens to pass her by, threatens to enclose her in darkness at the same time. She'd wish again, on a star, but that is a thought that shouldn't be finished.
She'd spent too much clinging to him, waiting for her love to be returned. The feelings of loneliness she'd felt in those early days, have returned.
No, they've never left.
Her body feels cold. She'll get sick, regret this later, when she's feeling talkative and faux-active, but now, there's no one to talk to. No one who deems her words worthy, except for maybe Keita, but even he is just a number on her phone now. He is not here, is he even coming? Does he even care? Why did she call him again?
Her phone buzzes. She picks up on the first ring.
"I'm outside," she says, skipping the greeting. "Why are you coming?"
"Why wouldn't I?" He replies, and with those three words, those three reassuring words, Kotoko decides.