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10:37 a.m., July 14, 2021
The apartment is spotlessly pristine and adequately furnished, just how Osamu remembers it the day his realtor waxed praises about its interiors and location several weeks ago. Sporting a questionable dye job with his too-tight suit and trousers, the agent, eerily similar to circa high school-Atsumu with his over the counter dye and dodgy sneer, hands over the keys before bidding Osamu goodbye with a spring in his step. Osamu grunts in response and nods at the realtor, whose name Osamu still can’t remember, and turns back to scan his new Tokyo home from the foot of his entryway. Though the woodwork and craftsmanship leave a bit to be desired, its location is what has pushed Osamu to sign the lease so quickly — a fifteen minute walk from Okachimachi station and more relevantly, a further ten minute walk to the upcoming Onigiri Miya Tokyo branch. The fact that the deposit and the monthly rent is alarmingly cheap definitely helps.
It should probably clue him in with what else the apartment might be housing.
Osamu shuts the door behind him and takes eight seconds to acclimate himself to his apartment, fossil grey eyes gazing horizontally in dead silence. After another beat, he walks.
The open kitchen on the left is nothing compared to what he and his mother work with back in Hyogo, but it has what Osamu needs to feed himself. He passes through it towards the narrow hallway, where the furthest corner leads to the only bedroom.
Sunlight spills through where the door is left ajar from the late morning rays and Osamu steps in with a nudge to the entrance, revealing the rest of the space inside. Dust frames a rectangular area close to the window and Osamu wonders how many futons have been rolled over on the expanse on the wooden flooring before every tenant packed up and left.
Hitching his backpack off his shoulder to grip a strap with one hand, Osamu uses the other to unlatch the closet open and frowns.
The shelves haven’t been emptied and its contents are coated with a shield of more dust. It’s peculiar enough to have an array of things remain inside the cabinet - things that the dingy agent conveniently didn’t mention - but upon closer inspection, Osamu realizes how deeply personal they are. They aren’t items that come with a furnished apartment. A lamp, for example, or a vase a previous tenant might have left behind. No, they all appear to have belonged to someone and for some reason, they sit untouched. Perusing through the stacks of novels and varying bookmarks, Osamu eyes something peeking out of the top shelf.
Reaching up on his toes, Osamu pushes aside a stack of old mangas and pulls out the photo frame hidden there. He blows off the dust coating it to reveal a picture of a tall, pale boy whom Osamu deduces to be a college student, staring at the camera with such intense, mermaid-blue eyes that it almost feels like he’s looking right at Osamu. Intrigued, Osamu runs his fingers along the frame, getting the sudden uncomfortable feeling that something is watching him.
"Return that to where you found it, if you will.”
There’s no crash of the frame hitting the floor and glass shattering into pieces when it slips from Osamu’s hand. It hovers inches above the ground, held up by an invisible force while Osamu feels his heart speed up and his body go cold as he turns around slowly.
The pale boy from the photograph is standing in front of him, looking paler and almost translucent as he stares calmly at Osamu.
“The fuck!?” Osamu yells, backing away from him until he’s pressed against the shelves. “What are ya-”
“I am Akaashi Keiji, nice to meet you. Don’t touch my stuff."
"Yer stuff?” Osamu splutters as the photograph soars back up and clatters on the shelf, disappearing behind the stack of books once more. “What - oh my god.”
Keiji appears to shimmer in the light, solid one moment and then translucent the next. “Stop shaking,” he says with an eye roll. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I ain’t afraid of ya,” Osamu says with more confidence than he feels because - ghost . In his new bedroom . This isn’t anything like the pranks he and Atsumu pull off on Aran, this is another entity staring right at him.
“Well that’s unfortunate. Most people run screaming which usually means I get my bedroom to myself again."
The location. The price. Onigiri Miya Tokyo branch being a mere few months away from finally opening after a gruesome, tireless effort on his part. Summoning his resolve, Osamu says, "I ain’t going anywhere.”
Keiji arches an eyebrow. “You’re really not bothered by my presence?"
The truth is that yes, Osamu is quite bothered. There’s cold sweat beading his forehead and his heart is still hammering in his chest, hands quivering at his sides, but he still manages to shakily swallow his fear and lie. "Nah."
Keiji’s smiles curiously, a gesture that draws Osamu’s attention to the ghost’s lips. "That’s a first."
And then he’s gone.
4:45 p.m., July 29, 2021
His spectral roommate hasn’t shown himself to Osamu since moving in and Osamu almost forgets about his presence until he lugs back extra paraphernalia that he can’t cram into the Tokyo branch’s storage. Chucking the ghost’s clutter into an empty carton, Osamu only barely jumps at the sound of a panicked voice.
“Might I ask what you’re up to?” Keiji demands.
“Packing yer trash,” Osamu responds without glancing at Keiji.
“Those are my belongings, if you haven’t noticed.”
“An’ this is my room, my apartment, if ya haven’t noticed,” Osamu sighs, broad shoulders still hunched over as he kneels in front of the closet.
“Where are you taking them?” Keiji doesn’t acknowledge Osamu’s point, looking worriedly between the hands that continue grabbing more of his things to where they’re tossed into the box.
“Dunno, the garbage chute I guess,” Osamu says.
“ No .”
It’s cold. Tokyo is right in the middle of summer but none of the heat simmers through the window because the apartment is suddenly cold . The chilling voice that escapes Keiji’s lips sends a spine-deep tremor through Osamu and he grits his teeth in exasperation. Resuming his task at hand, Osamu ignores the drop in temperature and the furious expression morphing quickly on Keiji’s pale face.
“ Stop it! ”
The shrill scream convulses through the room and the window pane rattles until the glass shatters, shards scattering on the floor and the bedroom door slams shut with a deafening thud.
That afternoon, Osamu learns what happens when you make a ghost angry.
Osamu finally glances up, taking in Keiji’s heaving form - muscle memory, Osamu surmises, as there’s no possible way the ghost is breathing any air - and speaks.
“Ya said ya wouldn’t hurt me,” Osamu says, trying to keep the terror out of his voice, keeping his vision locked on Keiji.
“You’re throwing away my life.”
Osamu swallows and stands up straight. “Look, Akaashi-kun,” he begins, belatedly recognizing it’s the first time he hears himself say the ghost’s name, “I’m this close to opening my restaurant’s branch in the city. I got so much shit I gotta sort through t’ make that happen and I’m gonna need the space I’m payin’ for. I know this stuff means a lot t’ ya but in case ya haven’t noticed, yer dead. And I’m sorry ya are.”
All of the rage from earlier melts from Keiji’s face and Osamu spies a trace of a glimmering, luminescent jewel cascading down Keiji’s cheek. He wonders if it’ll feel wet on the tip of his finger if he reaches up to wipe it away.
“Please,” Keiji begs with a whisper.
He’s always been weak to pretty boys and Keiji, dead or not, is exactly Osamu’s type. The desperate expression on Keiji’s face leaves Osamu curious enough. He sighs again.
“Why do ya still need t’ keep yer stuff?” Osamu questions.
“I don’t want to forget who I am.”
The phantom punch that lands straight between his ribcage has Osamu standing in solemn silence for a moment before he nods once. The words echo through his thoughts and processing the reality Keiji has disclosed sets Osamu to work, returning Keiji’s things back to their place.
That afternoon, Osamu decides he’ll make room for Keiji.
11:13a.m., August 1, 2021
“You seem to be very skilled at that.”
Looking up from shaping his fourth rice ball, Osamu glances to the side and studies the fascinated awe on Keiji’s face. It must be odd, Osamu deduces, to be treated to the sight of a ghost hovering over a man fixing a snack in his kitchen. He had almost told Atsumu about his new Tokyo friend over their daily call yesterday but in the end, it had felt too private, too sacred to share. Osamu wonders how someone who, in technical terms, no longer exists can suddenly add another thing Osamu has to keep from his own twin.
“Thanks. Would be a disgrace for the restaurant if I couldn’t do it myself,” Osamu shares with a hesitant smile.
“You own an onigiri shop?” Keiji takes the initiative to float even closer, looking like he’s seconds away from bending and sniffing the aroma if he could. Osamu fights the urge to inspect whether Keiji’s feet are touching the floor.
“Sure do. Ya like rice balls?”
Smiling ruefully, Keiji whispers, “I do. Sometimes, I think I remember what my favorite filling tastes like.”
It’s an opening Osamu can’t be tempted away from. Questions pertaining to the afterlife don’t particularly plague his mind, not when he is constantly both restless and lethargic from overseeing the debut of Onigiri Miya Tokyo. He opens the can of worms.
“Do you remember how ya died?”
Keiji’s freezes, as if he isn’t unusually still enough already, and his wide mermaid-blue eyes meet Osamu’s in a daze. It hits Osamu that this might be the first real conversation Keiji’s had in a long time.
“...No.”
Time. Many bargain for time, wanting more of it. Wishing it would slow down, or run faster. It yields to nothing, unbending in its will. Osamu knows this and yet, at that very moment, it stops.
“No?”
“No. I remember my name. I know it is mine, it’s on the front page of every book on the shelf. I know I had friends, I see the same faces smiling with me in my photos. But everything else has… faded,” Keiji looks away then, eyes distant with regret. “A previous tenant carelessly threw something away that belonged to my parents. I’ve forgotten what they look like, or what I used to call them.”
Osamu swallows thickly, clenching his fists. He doesn’t think his heart could feel heavier than it does now. As far as expectations go, Osamu admits he has an unimaginably long list before arriving in Tokyo. None of them involve cohabiting with a spirit, one that continues to forget, and forget, and forget.
Scrambling to pacify the ghost’s sullen mood, Osamu offers, “Do ya maybe know why yer still here? Some unfinished business ya might have?”
Keiji tilts his head to the side, scanning Osamu with his remarkably blue eyes despite his hazy appearance.
At this point, Osamu doesn’t know whether to laugh at himself for carrying on his Tokyo life with a ghost for a roommate like it’s nothing out of the ordinary, or having a crush on that same ghost.
“Are you offering to help me, Miya-san?”
And what a pleasant sound that is, Osamu has to confess. No one has called his surname sounding so pure, so bewitching.
“Until I have to join ya, why not?”
8:43p.m., August 1, 2021
“Where did ya go earlier? Thought ya would have at least stayed for lunch,” Osamu calls out, leaning by the doorframe. His room has darkened considerably without the light on, but Keiji’s ethereal glow emits enough of a gleam to give his presence away. The ghost looks up from where he stands in front of the closet, seemingly lost in a fog as he takes Osamu’s form in.
“Oh, my apologies if I’ve proven myself to be rude, Miya-san,” Keiji faces him and bows his head slightly.
Frowning, Osamu asks, “Where do ya go when I can’t see ya?”
“I don’t know,” Keiji reveals. “I know I was in the kitchen with you, and I know I’m here in the room, but that’s it. I’d like to think I still have emotions, and that they might have something to do with where and when I manifest. I feel... a pull when it happens,” he tries to illuminate.
“Huh, mmkay,” Osamu nods slowly. “Well, I’m beat. Will the couch be comfortable?” he jokes. He also ignores how quickly he has moved from being terrified of the spirit to wanting to see the smile he’s only seen in Keiji’s photos.
Keiji only offers him a straight face. “Goodnight, Miya-san.”
6:26a.m., August 2, 2021
“Hello there, Miya-san,” Keiji greets him, eyes growing wide as Osamu steps out of the shower with only a towel hanging off his waist.
“See somethin’ ya like?” Osamu grins.
Keiji narrows his eyes, holding the book that Kita has given as a gift to Osamu. Keiji waves it in a gesture to show what he refers to when he says, “Possibly. I’m surprised to find you immersed in this genre, Miya-san.”
“And I’m surprised yer holdin’ somethin’ that ain’t from yer side of the closet,” Osamu retorts, moving towards him to start digging for a set of clothes.
The book lands abruptly on the floor next to Osamu, with Keiji nowhere in sight.
10:08p.m., August 3, 2021
“Fancy seein’ ya here.”
Keji snaps his attention on Osamu, who has just walked in sporting his flimsy sleep shorts and nothing else. He reverts his eyes from Osamu’s bare chest but attempts a polite smile directed towards the chef, resuming to stand in the middle of the small kitchen listlessly.
“I think I was a terrible cook when I was alive,” Keiji says with no context. Osamu indulges him anyway.
“What makes ya say that?” Osamu slides on a dining chair directly facing Keiji.
“Just a feeling,” Keiji shrugs. “This must be diabolical to work with, given how little space this kitchen offers you,” Keiji assesses.
“When a customer praises the food they eat, they thank the chef, not the kitchen.”
Keiji's lips curl into a beautiful smile, and he nods in defeat.
“Don’t ya ever feel hungry?” Osamu asks, genuinely curious.
“I think I do,” Keiji says, and Osamu watches the ghost fiddle with his fingers in front of him. “But the moment passes and then it’s gone.”
“I wish I could cook for ya,” Osamu blurts out without thinking.
Keiji blinks at him and Osamu would like to believe there’s a pretty pink flush coloring Keiji’s features if Keiji weren’t a translucent, intangible being.
11:16p.m., August 4, 2021
The door slams behind them and the man with milk chocolate hair continues to blab about ‘Iwa-chan’ and how the supposed brute can’t seem to accept his sincere intentions.
“Ya ever shut up?” Osamu finally spits out, eyeing his companion warily as he kicks off his shoes. The other man smirks, sliding a hand upwards from Osamu’s abs up to chest.
“Make me.”
Osamu grabs the other man by the back of his neck and a faint ‘oh’ slips from inside the apartment, somewhere near his kitchen. He knows the sound didn't come from the man in front of him, and he squints his eyes in the general direction in the darkness.
“What is it?” the other man asks, his smirk fading into a glare.
“Nothin,” Osamu says. “Let’s go to my room.”
8:38p.m., August 9, 2021
Five days of total silence from Keiji leave Osamu irate and ready to explode. He’s not used to being alone in his bedroom for extended periods of time anymore, and without Keiji his room feels bare and lifeless. The irony makes Osamu laugh bitterly.
“Seriously, Keiji-kun, where the fuck are ya?” he asks in a tired voice when he comes home on Monday after multiple hours of leading the construction in Onigiri Miya’s and there’s still no sign of his ghost flatmate. “Was it somethin’ I said? Did I do somethin’ to offend ya? Ya know I can stop the flirtin’ if it makes ya uncomfortable. Just- show yerself will ya?”
“I’m here.”
Osamu spins around and finds Keiji on his bed, leaning back against the headboard with his legs stretched out and thumbs twiddling in his lap. “Finally,” Osamu says, walking over to him and sitting down. “What was up with ya?”
Keiji shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “Wouldn’t know. I think I needed time away.”
“From what? Bein’ dead?” Osamu attempts to poke at him.
“From trying to pretend I’m alive,” Keiji says. “I let myself fall into your life and forgot that mine had ended. I expected too much. It’s - it’s frivolous. Forget it.”
Osamu stares at him, wishing he was better at comforting people, or spirits. Keiji’s eyes are somber, and they make Osamu’s heart ache and his stomach heavy with guilt.
“I’m so-”
“Don’t,” Keiji cuts him off. “Don’t pity me. I don’t want you to.”
Osamu stares at him hard for a moment longer and decides it’s about time they didn’t just chat in the tiny kitchen. “Why don’t I show ya the new recipe we’re introducin’ as a Tokyo special?”
Keiji’s eyes light up a moment before his expression betrays his words. “Why don’t you ask your pretty friend with the brown hair to watch you instead?”
“Keiji…” Osamu whispers. “Why are ya bein’ like this?”
“I have to go,” Keiji announces.
“Wait! Don’t disappear- Keiji!” Osamu reaches for him and his hand goes right through Keiji’s arm. He freezes for a second and tries again, watching his hand slip through the outline of Keiji’s fingers. It’s nothing but cool air to Osamu’s own hand, and he looks up to find a pained smile on Keiji’s face.
Osamu blinks and finds himself alone in his room.
3:46a.m., August 27, 2021
It’s a rare chilly night and as Osamu blinks himself awake to pull the blanket he had kicked off in his sleep, he finds someone has beaten him to it.
“Hey,” Osamu croaks out, “I missed you.”
Keiji nearly drops the blanket from where he kneels beside him, lips curling into a small smile. “I missed you too,” he says, resuming his task and shielding Osamu from the cold with the blanket.
“Sleep beside me?” Osamu tries.
“I don’t sleep, Miya-san.”
“Osamu.”
“Miy-”
“Please.”
Keiji hesitates, his ghostly pale hand still clutching the edge of the blanket.
“Osamu-san, I don’t sleep.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Osamu says, determined. “Stay with me anyway?”
“...Okay.”
His phantom figure lies next to Osamu on his side, staring at Osamu bashfully. Osamu says sleepily, “Good night, Keiji-kun.”
3:15p.m., September 18, 2021
“What did I say about wastin’ food?” Osamu says with no real heat, grinning stupidly at his kitchen partner.
“Osamu, I am a ghost. I am a ghost with no idea how I can slip through walls one moment and then pick up items in the next. It is not my fault the rice balls keep falling from my hands,” Keiji defends himself. It’s the sixth rice ball that has splashed into the bowl of diluted vinegar and his frustration is evident on his silly pout.
“Try to figure it out, will ya? I wanna eat somethin’ ya make for me,” Osamu says, grinning across from Keiji on the dining table.
5:21p.m., September 24, 2021
“Ya know I’ve looked around to try an’ see if ya have unfinished business ya might have overlooked? Osamu asks. They’re on a couch on a lazy late afternoon rerun of an old show Keiji feels strangely attached to.
“Are you trying to get rid of me, Osamu-san?”
“Not a chance,” Osamu grins, spooning his bowl of ice cream languidly. Keiji flicks the utensil as soon as it draws near Osamu’s lips, smearing the sticky dessert all over Osamu’s chin and neck. He laughs, the melody ringing throughout the room, and Osamu can’t help but join him.
9:49p.m., October 29, 2021
“What are your plans for Halloween?”
Osamu looks up from folding his laundry, eyeing the neat pile on Keiji’s end where the ghost has been helping him. “Just some party Bokkun and Kuroo are throwin’ at their rich friend’s house. Why’d ya ask?”
Keiji shakes his head. “Nothing. You should have fun.”
7:06p.m., October 31, 2021
Osamu grunts, pulling on a half-assed costume he knows his twin would make fun of. Keiji has been absent the entire day and after getting used to coming home to the ghost since he disappeared in August, it has put Osamu in a foul disposition.
“I’m headin’ out now,” Osamu still says into the air. After another beat and nothing but silence answers him, Osamu steps out.
11:12p.m. , October 31, 2021
Being a fan of staying in over loud music and alcohol has Osamu leaving the party prematurely, waving lazily at his twin who tries to get him to stay. He takes a cab back to his apartment complex and when they reach the nearby konbini store that Osamu frequents, he asks the driver to drop him off by the store’s entrance. Osamu exits the vehicle and as he walks towards the store, he spots an eerily familiar figure. The man looks up and Osamu immediately recognizes his stunning eyes.
It is Keiji.
It’s his Keiji, in the flesh, sitting on a bench outside the store holding a half-eaten rice ball.
“Keiji?! Osamu yells, suddenly wide awake. He takes long, quick strides until he stops right in front of the other person, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him up to stand.
Swallowing his bite, Keiji waves shyly with the rice ball still in his hand. “Trick or treat?”
“Holy shit,” Osamu hisses, dragging his arms up and down Keiji’s sides. It’s beyond surreal to him, almost not daring to touch him in fear of breaking the illusion, but Keiji remains intact, warm, solid, real.
“Holy fuck,” Osamu says, causing Keiji to laugh meekly.
“What- how are ya here? What’s goin’ on?” Osamu asks. He cups Keiji’s face softly, his expression full of wonder like he’s feeling everything for the first time. Keiji leans in and with his other hand, Osamu slides it over Keiji’s neck, feeling the throb of his pulse point. “Yer really here,” Osamu almost whines.
“Not for long,” Keiji says, hand coming up to rest over Osamu’s. “It’s only until midnight,”.
“There’s barely any time left!” Osamu exclaims, his mind buzzing with questions. “How long have ya been like this? How can ya be like this?”
Keiji shrugs, “It’s been happening every year since I died. The second the day begins on the thirty-first until midnight on Halloween, I somehow become flesh and bone again. I - I don’t know why or how but I take what I get and usually just walk around the whole day and buy myself some rice balls with stolen money.” He looks guiltily up at Osamu at the last admission but Osamu doesn’t give a damn if Keiji has taken a few hundred yen from his wallet, he’s got more pressing things on his mind.
“Ya were like this the whole day?!” Osamu exclaims, feeling betrayed and left out. “Why didn’t ya tell me?! We could have had the day to ourselves!”
“I’m sorry,” Keiji begins. “I thought about it, but I always revert back to what I am. It wouldn’t have been fair to you-”
“I don’t care! The most important person t’ me is suddenly alive for the day! I couldn’t give a fuck if it ain’t fair!” Osamu brandishes Keiji in a hug and Keiji only barely gets to toss the poor, unfinished rice ball to the side before they can get rice all over their shirts.
“Osamu,” Keiji whispers, and it’s a beat before he wraps his own arms hesitantly around the other man. Osamu feels Keiji breathe in a choked gasp on his neck. This must be Keiji’s first hug in many, many years. With that in mind, Osamu stops thinking.
He leans his head back, taking in Keiji’s features. His eyes still mesmerizingly blue, cheeks flushed like Osamu has imagined, lips wet and red. He stares back at Osamu in awe, in regret, and when Keiji’s eyes flick towards his own lips and back, Osamu ducks in.
And Keiji’s gone.
Osamu stumbles on the street, his arms encircling the air where a living, breathing boy has been standing in one second and gone in the next.
He doesn’t have to take his phone out to know that it’s midnight.
12:21a.m., October 31, 2021
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Keiji says when Osamu finally lies down after having washed off the grime and sweat from the party.
“Wish ya told me,” Osamu grumbles, gazing at Keiji’s now pale, phantom form.
“We have next year?” Keiji offers weakly.
Osamu huffs in frustration. A year from now is a long time, but Osamu already knows his answer.
“Only if ya promise.”
11:37p.m., October 30, 2022
“You’re like a puppy,” Keiji laughs, watching Osamu pivot his gaze from the clock and back to Keiji where the ghost sits idly on Osamu’s dining chair.
“I waited a year for this, ya don’t get t’ make fun of me,” Osamu pouts.
5:36a.m., October 31, 2022
“Osamu-sama, please, I need a break,” Keiji pants out. He lies on Osamu’s bed uselessly, body glistening in sweat and blooming with red blemishes.
“Ya get five minutes.”
7:33a.m., October 31, 2022
“See if ya ever wanna try another konbini rice ball again,” Osamu grins, watching Keiji wolf down his seventh rice ball. After working up quite an appetite, Keiji can do nothing but sing his praises for Osamu’s rice balls, not when he has spent a year and some merely watching the other man make them in his kitchen.
Keiji sips from his glass of water before he speaks again. “I concede, my heart and stomach are yours.”
“Ya really are a weirdo, I’m tellin’ ya.”
“See if I do that thing again on my knees for you later.”
“Wait- no! Keiji!”
2:24p.m., October 31, 2022
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Keiji whispers, carding his fingers through Osamu’s soft, tousled hair.
“Hmm?” Osamu mumbles, shifting his neck to get Keiji to run through more of his hair as they lie on his bed to recover.
“When it’s midnight later-”
“We have the rest of the day, Keiji, let’s enjoy it-”
“Osamu, once a year isn’t-”
“Keiji, ya-”
“You deserve someone be-”
“Stop. No. Keiji, I want ya. I want this,” Osamu pleads. He leans in and their lips meet again and again, for what might have been the 511th time of the day.
9:55p.m., October 31, 2022
“I think I’m in love with you,” Keiji confesses. They’re curled up on Osamu's couch, with Keiji’s cheek resting on Osamu’s shoulder. Osamu has an arm wrapped around the other man, rubbing circles with his thumb on Keiji’s forearm.
“I am in love with you,” Osamu answers back without missing a beat.
10:28p.m., October 31, 2022
“Keiji, hey, Keiji,” Osamu nudges Keiji, prompting the lean man to blink his eyes several times before focusing on Osamu’s patient smile.
“Oh, did I fall asleep?” Keiji murmurs.
“Yeah, ya must be tired, sorry ‘bout that. I can wake ya before it’s time-”
“No, I’ll stay. I’ll stay with you,” Keiji smiles, sitting up on the couch. Osamu smiles back, unable to take his eyes off of him.
“Ya promise?”
“I do, I promise I’ll stay.”
11:54p.m., October 31, 2022
“Osamu.”
“Hmm?”
“Do you promise? Next year?”
“Next year an’ every year after that.”
11:59p.m., October 31, 2022
“I love you, Keiji.”
“I love you, Osamu,”
12:00a.m., November 1, 2022
“Maybe I should check the time just in-”
“No, don’t do that.”
“But-”
“Just let me hold ya while I can, please Keiji?”
“Okay.”
12:01a.m., November 1, 2022
“My leg feels funny. Can you move yours over please, Osamu?”
“Sorry, yeah give me a sec. There, feel better?”
“Much better. Thank you.”
12:04a.m., November 1, 2022
“Do you think I have time for one more rice ball?”
“Can’t hurt to try, can it? Let me grab one for ya.”
“Thank you, Osamu.”
Osamu moves off of the couch after arranging Keiji’s limbs comfortably on the sofa. It doesn’t take long for him to return with a fresh batch of onigiri, immediately handing one over to Keiji.
12:05a.m., November 1, 2022
With a grateful smile as he takes the rice ball from Osamu’s large hands, Keiji breathes in the aroma coming from the onigiri in front of him and takes a bite.