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A Google search on “how many ways to say sorry” yield one hundred seventy four million results in under the time of 0.43 seconds. The first result suggested there were twenty five ways to say sorry. Rin Matsuoka had been looking through them, finding the best way he could apologize.
On a Wednesday, he had an argument that grew into a battle of words. The person on the other side being Makoto, his boyfriend that had been living with him in his apartment for the past five months. This was an unusual incident for them. They rarely argued — and those other times they did — they ended with both of them laughing it off and finding resolutions.
This time was different. It started small with a conversation about Rin’s family, particularly about Toraichi — his father. Five days from now would be the anniversary of Toraichi’s passing. He passed away when Rin was a child, his life taken by the wrath of the stormy sea.
The couple had been good at avoiding this particular topic. Makoto, being Makoto, had his fair shares of worries. Multiple times, he’d try to say something about it, optimistic that he might be able to help Rin in some sort of ways. Most of the times, he ended up not saying a thing about it.
Rin was able to move on. He had made his father proud from his successes in life. His father would likely to not be bothered by Rin having Makoto as his partner in life. The deceased man had told him before that in his youthful days, he’d hang out and go on dates with both men and women. The kiss he had with Rin’s mother, Miyako, as meaningful as the one he had with a foreign man in an alleyway in the sweaty, sun-kissed summer of 1981.
Rin moved on, but he did not want to forget. He did not want to let go of his times with his father. He did not want to let a single frame of his memories slipped away. Keeping them forever as shards in his heart, their edges cut through. He had bled, and would be willing to succumb to it.
This was one of the main concerns Makoto had for Rin. It was a major fear within him. He had played the what-ifs and the worst scenarios back-and-forth, looping and looping until he had to rewind them.
It was in the afternoon, after Rin had done push-ups, that Makoto gained enough confidence to talk to him about it. Rin chuckled, as an initial response — saying that he would talk about it later. Makoto agreed to this, resisting the urge to remind his beloved one. While Rin was in shower, cleaning himself of all the sweats, Makoto made him and Rin two cups of tea. He drank a bit of his and became lost in his thoughts.
What should I do?
What can I do?
Would it work?
Would this turn ugly?
Rin, slightly taken aback by seeing the cups of tea on their kitchen table, sat down across from a frowny Makoto. He picked his cup up, sipping the mildly hot liquid. He proceeded to ask Makoto whether this conversation they were going to have was about his father.
Makoto simply nodded. Rin could see the struggle in Makoto’s eyes and gestures — the soft green eyes turned sombre. He sat the cup down, sighing. It was only a matter of time. This was inevitable, like many events in their lives.
No one was, or ever would be, in control.
And so, Makoto began speaking — his voice never loud or too commanding. It was full of anxiety and uneasiness. It had been building up inside him, and in Rin too. They were what their friends called “a perfect couple” — always kissing and embracing. But like every single one of them, a breaking point was bound to happen. No matter how prepared they were, the cracks would implode and shake their worlds.
Rin listened closely to what Makoto had to say. He had never seen him like this. This was almost a nightmare to him. Each question asked by Makoto, he could only return with silence and more sips on his tea. He sipped and sipped, draining it from the cup it was in.
“Rin...please say something. Don’t leave me out here,” begged Makoto, his eyes forming tears.
Rin spoke with a shrug — the dismissive kind. He was about to get up when Makoto grabbed him by his arm, stopping him from going anywhere. Makoto added that he could not run from this forever. Rin looked right at Makoto, his maroon-colored eyes signaling his anger.
“Let me go, Makoto. Let me go,” ordered Rin. He tried to pull away but he could not. Makoto proved to be quite strong. Tightening his grip, Makoto attempted to have Rin sat down. He urged Rin to sit again — to talk through this. He explained further, saying how much he loved Rin with his whole heart but he could not live like this.
In those nanoseconds, regrettably, Rin exploded. He tore Makoto apart. He shouted. His words burning the man, once his greatest ally, alive. Rin came very close to hurling the cups down the floor.
“We agreed to share. Why didn’t you? Why?” Makoto inquired, his voice shaky.
Rin gritted his teeth, attempting to pull away again. He pulled and pulled, and finally he was free. His freedom came with a cost. He pulled too hard he brought Makoto into him, the latter’s waist crashed right into the edge of the table. Hurt, but not enough to earn a doctor’s visit.
A shock absorbed Rin whole. What have I done? He lamented. The two syllables of “I’m sorry” wouldn’t come out. Witnessing with his eyes, he saw Makoto cried. Rin almost reached his hand to him to express an apology. A weight in himself restrained him. Makoto sat down on the chair, sobbing — his face buried in the comfort of his own hands.
Rin could do nothing. He left the apartment and into his car, where he drove miles and miles away from home.
Finding himself in the desert and surrounded by sands, rocks and the evening skies — the sun saying goodbye. He parked his car and wandered into the land with no man. He came across an abandoned small structure — a house with no windows and in deteriorating state. Looking inside, he noticed that there was a couch with a strong resemblance to the one he had back at his place. He observed it, followed by a kick to test its strength. The dust blew up, particles of it hovering in the air.
Rin left the house. Nothing there for no one.
He walked and walked, the voices inside talked and talked. They blamed him, berating him for hurting Makoto. The buzzes in his pocket kept ringing. Someone was calling him. He did not want to pick up.
Almost nighttime, with the darkening skies — his curiosity gave in. He pulled out his phone, seeing that Makoto had been trying to call him. He saw texts from the man, asking about his whereabouts. There were also missed calls from their friends, asking about the same thing.
A hesitation. A pause. Maybe later.
He unlocked his phone and launched the browser, typing in “how many ways to say sorry.” Rin laid his eyes on them, absorbing as much information as possible. The signal went from three to two bars, with the cellular disappearing and appearing time to time.
He wasn’t so certain of the current time, only that he had been staring blindingly-bright screen of his phone in the dark. Above him, a plane flew by, roaring. The battery on his phone reaching a state in need of recharging.
His phone buzzed again. It was Makoto, persistent in his quest to get a hold of Rin. Of all the articles Rin had read, he still couldn’t decide to use which one. He had questions — whether or not after this Makoto and him would be the same. He had committed a sin he was not ready to face. The wind from the east picked up, howling. Sands dancing mid-air.
The desert gave nothing to no one.
Rin returned to his car, driving right back to the apartment. A sudden thought whispered to him, questioning how he would feel if he drove too fast and smashed into another vehicle.
Would you become a ghost, wandering the world to no ends?
Silence still proved to be a great answer.
He arrived at the apartment, parking the car at the same spot he parked prior him driving off into the desert. His phone’s life hanging by a thin thread. Through the fire exit, he climbed the stairs to the floor where his apartment was. He could not face another question from anyone, for now.
Standing in front of the door to the apartment, he breathed in with closed eyes. He breathed out, with opened eyes. He formed his fingers into a fist. Not to hurt, but to knock. To say hello. To say the words he had to say.
He knocked the door, loud enough for the person inside to hear. His knocking, in morse code, translated to as “I’m sorry.” Rin waited, unsure of what could happen next.
The door knob twisted and the door opened, revealing a teary eyed Makoto. He could only bare to see his face just for a glimpse. An expectation rose — his worst nightmare of their world ending.
Under his breath, almost audible, Rin murmured words to apologize.
Makoto brought Rin into his arms. With that, he could hear what Rin spoke.
Whispered, repeated and from the heart — the word “sorry” kept streaming out of Rin’s mouth. For the first time in many years, he let himself cry. Makoto held him tighter, warm and forgiving, and said the exact same word back to Rin.
Recovery.
Reconciliation.
Guide me back, my love.
I have lost my soul.
I will guide you back, but only if you do it with me.
Open your heart to me.
Let me feel your beating heart, so you can feel mine.