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The thud of his own footsteps sounded heavier than his usual. Keiji takes a moment to pause on the pavement to give himself a small breathing session before resuming on his way. Despite trying to be wary of the weight of his foot, it felt like the concrete would sink anytime soon regardless of how much force there is to his steps. In what seemed like an eternity on the crowded streets of Tokyo, he comes face to face with a familiar coffee shop sign. It wasn’t as techy as the new ones that have just opened up, yet it was still neat with almost no signs of browning on the edges.
Just like how it was eighteen years ago.
To a regular person, it would just be a coffee shop, one of the many establishments in Tokyo that serve good coffee and palatable pastries. But for Bokuto Keiji, it was the coffee shop that witnessed his dilemmas, his hellish weeks of deadlines and clinchers, and it was also a witness to his years of pining that ended up much more of a fairy tale than he had hoped for, in a good way of course.
A smile unknowingly graced his lips as the memories flash through his head one by one, and he tries to fight back the clenching of his chest as a wave of nostalgia crashes over his consciousness. He was in public after all and the last thing he would want is to run into a colleague who finds him in tears over a coffee shop sign.
Acoustic mellow tunes and the scent of ground coffee beans with the faint hint of dairy filled his senses the moment the doors open. The ding of the bell was just as he had expected it to be, and the smile of the barista behind the register was filled with that of recognition.
“The usual, Keiji-san?”
“Just two medium-sized lattes for today, please. You know which one gets more milk than coffee.” The raven-haired responds, cringing for the fact that his own voice suddenly sounds foreign to him at this very moment.
It brought him momentary relief to find his usual spot vacant. It was located on the lower left corner of the counter where it was away from view and at a safe distance from the restroom, perfect for all-nighters and peace.
The moment of relief was short-lived as he heard the familiar ding of the bell, and a loud and lively voice that greets the barista causes the adrenaline to course through his veins. Bokuto Koutarou was always sociable and lively, someone who finds it easier to weave through a conversation and get into someone’s good books. And of course, the way he strides in with sunbeams on his aura while holding two cups of coffee was the very reason why Keiji fell for him in the first place.
The younger of the two said his thanks, receiving the cup only to be met with honey orbs that were cold as ice. If it were up to him, he would have done anything to avoid Koutarou, but things weren’t as easy as he hoped would be.
Before he could speak, a short stack of papers were placed in front of him along with a sign pen. Keijii’s stomach sank down further and it was an instance when he felt disarmed, incapable of finishing his own cup of coffee without throwing up, or looking at Koutarou without feeling any sort of devastation. However, it was always Keiji-like of him to put on a stoic front, a facade that he has mastered for years to mask whatever display of emotion that leads to unnecessary or unwanted vulnerability.
The bespectacled male only took notice of the way his hands were trembling when he let go of the coffee cup to take the pen in his hands. His gaze was fixed on a certain group of words that were larger and darker than the rest in the document. In his peripheral area he catches sight of his name as the first petitioner, and then below is Koutarou’s name.
MUTUAL DIVORCE PETITION
“You wrote this pretty well, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto flinched. It’s true that despite being a married couple, they have dropped the casual informalities at an unnamed point in time. However, the silver-streaked didn’t have time to dwell on such as he, too, felt suffocated with trying to act as if this whole process was not bothering him. His brows furrowed and lips formed into a small pout at the remark.
“Can you please just get on with it, Keijii? We’re not here for you to rub in my face that I’m an idiot.”
There was irritation in the older male’s tone. Akaashi had always been familiar with everything about Koutarou since the day they crossed paths in this very coffee shop, but there was a hint of malice in today’s tone which gave him a sharp pang on his chest. He was thankful that none of them bothered to make eye contact today, building the walls they’ve already been constructing up higher until both of them are unable to meet each other eye to eye.
On usual days, he’s expected that Koutarou’s sulking was only for jest. Today, the weight of the words given to him was a declaration that today is indeed the last of this… whatever they had.
As much as Keiji had tried to take in the details of the document, everything else was a blur. What use was it anyway, he thinks, to read whatever is in the paper when it all ends up in one destination.
He stalls as much as he could, pretending to skim through the pages with a focused expression as he waits for whatever miracle that may come his way. To say that things will turn around for the better is a stretch, but Keiji has always held his trust on Koutarou even if it was at a minimum.
Perhaps Bokuto-san would laugh and say this is all a prank.
Flip.
He’s gonna take the paper and rip it out and tells me he’ll be staying over for the night.
Flip.
This is probably a prank and he’d put at the end of this contract that we’re gonna have movie night with some takeout.
Flip.
It felt like a boulder was dropped to his stomach as the younger male sees their names at the bottom of the last page, with his husband’s signature resting above the name of the person he loves.
He was actually thankful for the amount of self control that he’s practiced throughout the years for if not, he would actually have become a bawling mess inside the coffee shop. What was mere minutes of “reading through” the document felt like hours, as if he was moving in slow motion in picking up the pen and dragging it around the piece of paper with only muscle memory as his driving force to comply with his end of the deal and just get this over with.
Koutarou gave him a smile once the papers were back in his hands, and the sense of relief it had for his husband, no, soon to be ex-husband was a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life. And although it physically hurt to do so, Keiji did his best to return the same smile. After all, he still is a man who had a sense of pride left in him.
His trembling hands are now hidden beneath the table, fiddling on his fingers like how he always did when he carried feelings he neither wanted nor understood. The younger tries to say something, anything, as Koutarou skims through the document once again, but what else was there to say?
‘Ten years down the drain. Was it nothing to you?’
‘Is this the only way?’
‘Are you sure?’
“I hope you’d live a happy life, Bokuto-san.”
Calm, calculated, and sincere. Those had always been Bokuto Keiji’s best qualities according to Koutarou, who didn’t bother to hide the surprise in his face as soon as the words break their silence.
“You don’t have to act so nice, Keiji.” It came out harsher than he intended, but he too was desperate to keep his act up. After all, he wasn’t as dumb as others think, and he knows this is the only way he can stop hurting his husband in ways beyond their control.
“It’s the last time you’ll experience it. Please treasure it, Bokuto-san.”
Perhaps the laughter that echoed around the small corner they were in was Koutarou’s resignation, an acknowledgement of the karma being brought upon him for even thinking about, much more going through, the divorce. If he were to be hurt, the only person he’d allow it from would be from the man sitting across him smiling so beautifully; whose beauty hasn’t changed despite the added bags under his eyes and faint lines on his face that have been carefully carved and sculpted through these years.
“If there’s nothing else then I’d better get going. Goodbye, Keiji.”
Bokuto placed the papers back in the envelope he had on his lap and finished off his milky coffee before heading on out, not missing to greet the barista for what seemed like the last time. Each step echoed loud and clear for the younger, and as much as he wanted to stand up and retract his signature, he was frozen still on his seat. Before him, the cup of coffee turned lukewarm and a diamond ring sat quietly on the surface of the wooden table.
People might think it was poetic to leave a heavy symbol of your love in the place where it first bloomed, like that of drawing a circle when your ending point is the place where you have started to draw it, but nothing is poetic about a lost and hopeless love when you’re experiencing it first hand.
Akaashi takes the ring and slips it on top of the similar one already settled on his finger, leaving the cup of coffee behind instead and greeting the barista goodbye. He doesn’t promise a return, but he knows he wouldn’t be visiting the place for a while.
The outside world seems to be a lot more spacious now that he isn’t very much secluded within four corners and a roof on his head. The sky was a gentle tinge of orange and purple, the last traces of the sunlight tingling Akaashi’s skin as the sun slowly made its descent.
How he got home without getting himself lost or in an accident was a mystery, and yet the outside world seemed to be an illusion once Akaashi was inside the home that used to be lively with him and Bokuto. One by one he takes in the details of the space that he has to get used to by himself once more. The pictures on the shelves had to be taken down or replaced, and the trophies from his former lover are now empty spaces that he’d have to fill with something else. But renovating the house could wait.
He takes one of the frames on top of the shelf and he comes face to face with him and Bokuto smiling brighter than the sun. They wore matching tuxedos and their hands were intertwined as they stared at each other filled with love and warmth. Droplets form on the surface and eventually Keiji sinks down to the ground while hugging the frame close to his chest.
Did it start with telling each other to eat ahead because they were busy? Or was it the missed calls due to naps at work and deadlines he wasn’t able to meet? Maybe when they began to push back dinner plans for more important engagements? But surely, slowly, there is the kind of love that withers once basked in neglect.
Tomorrow, Keiji will have to deal with double checking the closet, slowly cleaning up the traces of his ex husband, meeting his lawyer, settling the bank accounts and their property, and every other technicality that comes with a formal and legal separation.
For tonight he cries his heart out, letting himself feel all the frustration, brokenness, and sorrow that he would begin to bear alone after eighteen years of staying in Koutarou’s orbit.
You’re just leaving
You’re just leaving me behind
You said this was love
But you’re throwing it all away…