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Twenty-three-year-old Zen Kirishima thought he had it all.
Out of college, with a decent entry-level job, an incredibly supportive family, and most importantly, the most beautiful, caring, and amazing wife he could ever ask for, not everyone could say the same as him. At twenty-three, he had a whole life ahead of him, not on his own, but alongside the woman he once teased when the two shared a classroom.
In the beginning, Sakura was the diligent class president, and Zen was the class clown who insisted on teasing her just for the fun of it. Eventually, Sakura's patience ran out, and Zen slowly began to find a touching tenderness in the angry expression on the class president's face.
You two are going to end up married with kids , his friends told him at the time. At thirteen, young Kirishima could only laugh at that statement. How could he possibly fall for someone like Sakura? It was just not possible. Sure, her annoyed face was cute, but he didn’t like her. Not at all.
A small incident during gym class was the turning point for both of them: Sakura had always had weak health, and during a running exercise, she abruptly fainted. Kirishima hurried up to her as soon as her body touched the rough surface of the track, feeling the most terrified he'd ever felt in his entire life.
Zen, being the hormonal middle schooler that he was, struggled at first to recognize his feelings for her as love, and continued to skirt the issue by delaying his confession, dismissing his reaction as the kind of reaction he'd have if one of his friends fainted. It was true, but Sakura wasn't exactly his "friend". His denial lasted until high school, when Sakura took the initiative to ask him out. The words "I love you" from her were all he needed to clear his mind.
As a result, Zen learned his first lesson: it was wiser to eat his words.
Years later, he was not only making chocolates for Sakura on White Day (and making a mess in his parents' kitchen, as one does), but he was also wearing a ring on his finger. Sakura had taken the initiative once more and proposed to him (since Zen was oblivious enough not to make the first move, again).
This was Zen's second lesson from life: Sakura was always going to beat him, no matter what.
As they both began to have a stable enough life, they both began to see themselves living together with a little person who would crawl on the floor. Someone who would grow up enough to learn to walk and call their names. They wanted a son. Or a daughter. Or both. It didn't matter the details, they wanted a child, as simple as that.
Everything was going fine until Sakura began to develop a series of unusual symptoms that had no real explanation or cause. It took at least eight appointments with eight different doctors to ultimately find that she had a chronic condition, and that she’d gone so long without treatment that her immunity had been severely compromised. Not only that, but Sakura’s condition had a direct impact on her fertility, and they were advised at the time that carrying a full-term-pregnancy could be fatal for both the baby and her.
Thanks to the fact that Sakura's mother was still in contact with her trusted midwife, both Zen and Sakura were able to get information on how to proceed. She gave them the same information as before: the pregnancy could be fatal for her. However, it was not impossible as long as it was monitored and proper care was taken. That was the light at the end of the tunnel they both needed to stay hopeful.
When the midwife told them they were going to have a daughter, Zen almost fainted from the excitement. That night, he kept thinking about the things he would do with her: helping her with her homework, or with her coloring books, or perhaps he would offer himself as a guinea pig for their daughter's make-up. After an arduous naming session, Sakura finally came up with a name they both agreed on: Hiyori.
They did their best to keep the pregnancy as normal as possible. There was a time when the midwife gave them hope that the birth might not be so bad for Sakura, and when the day came, November 12th, Kirishima asked for a day off, and it didn't take him long to bring Sakura to the hospital for the delivery.
Like all things in life, however, something went wrong.
That was Zen's third lesson: never take anything—or anyone, for granted.
Grief, to him, was an ache that had long attached to his body. It wasn't something that was supposed to stop hurting with time, but not get worse either. It was something he had to live with, as simple as that, like an unpleasant situation. Sakura's death left a score on his body, and every 12th of November, the ache would slow down time for him.
The first anniversary of her death sent Kirishima into a circle of despair. He could still remember how his body grew an invisible heavy weight on his back as soon as the clock hit twelve in the morning, and how the space next to him on the bed felt strangely cold. Visiting his in-laws made him feel like a criminal; he couldn't look them in the eye without feeling like he was being held responsible for their daughter’s death. It took him another year for him to gain the courage to visit Sakura's grave. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle the view.
Seeing Hiyori's face felt like a blade piercing his heart. His beautiful daughter was the spitting image of her mother.
He held her in his arms as she slept peacefully, unable to hold back the tears. Her nose, her eyes, her ears, everything she had, she got from Sakura. Hiyori was the only thing she had left him before she left. The most beautiful gift, if one could say so, as well as the memory of a loved one's farewell.
His parents helped him through the first year, so he swallowed his grief and tried his best to work as much as he could and be there for his little girl. He didn't have time to grieve, not when his daughter had more important needs.
Ten years later, thirty-three-year-old Zen Kirishima still dreaded November 12th.
NOVEMBER 11 TH , TEN YEARS LATER
“Yokozawa, wanna come over?” Kirishima suggested as they both walked through the corridor. It was only seven in the evening, but it was already dark outside. The windows were beginning to fog up from the cold outside, contrasting with the warmth from the room temperature, and the weather forecast did not indicate any possible rise in temperature for the time being.
“Sure,” Yokozawa replied. He was carrying a briefcase in one hand and a tiny paper bag in the other. A small gift for Hiyori. “Actually, Hiyo asked me the other day if I could help her with dinner today, so I was coming anyway.”
"You two are so close lately, sometimes I wonder if you're more of a father to her than I am,” Kirishima joked as he pushed the button for the elevator. Yokozawa didn't react to his comment and waited for the elevator next to him.
Since the beginning of November, Yokozawa noticed that Kirishima was behaving differently. He was as teasing as ever, but something about him felt wrong. It was as if he was trying to keep something to himself. Yokozawa was no stranger to interfering in people's internal struggles: he once tried to force his feelings on someone, and the result was disastrous. It wasn't something he did out of malice, but rather out of concern, or even love.
His past experiences quickly taught him that even caring had its limits, and that he couldn't interfere in people's relationships, even if it was for the best. Since then, he tried his best to restrain himself. However, he still wanted Kirishima to confide in him whenever he was going through something. After all, Yokozawa himself was in the process of learning how to open up to him.
He knew that something was wrong, but the question was how to bring it up without fucking up on the first try. The question kept bouncing around in his head until he realized that he was already at his home, cooking dinner with Hiyori, and Kirishima was there as well, clumsily trying to peel a carrot. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were not. Hiyori was also aware of his father's low mood.
Yokozawa approached her and whispered so that Kirishima wouldn't hear them. “Did something happen to him, Hiyo?”
Hiyori approached him with a worried expression on her face. "Onii-chan, didn’t you know? Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mom’s passing," she explained.
The dots instantly connected inside his head. It made perfect sense, but now he felt extremely inconsiderate. In his defense, he didn't know. Kirishima never told him (not that he needed to).
"Papa talked about it the other day. He wants to go to the cemetery tomorrow. We haven't been there for many years."
" Many years ?" Yokozawa inquired.
Hiyo placed all the chopped vegetables inside a bowl and set it aside, "I think last time we went, I was around four or five years old. I don't remember much, though. My grandma said it was because my dad was too busy with work why we stopped going."
Four or five years old. No wonder she’d have little to no memories of it. She was too young.
"Onii-chan, it's good that you came today," Hiyori told him. "This time of the year has always been bad for Papa, but this year has been really hard on him, for some reason. I think having you here with us might lift his spirits."
On the night of the first incident between them, Yokozawa, still befuddled by his inability to remember what had happened the night before, and while suffering from the hangover of the century, saw something shiny on Kirishima's finger as he put on his clothes, and the first thing his intuition told him was that he had gotten himself into serious trouble.
Unless it was a simple ring Kirishima liked to wear on the ring finger of his left hand, it was unmistakable that Kirishima was a married man, and if Yokozawa's hunch wasn't wrong, it was also unmistakable that he was now involved in a marital affair. His gut instinct didn't change for the better when he went to Zen's house for dinner for the first time and met Hiyori, his daughter.
The last thing Yokozawa wanted was to be a homewrecker. He had already suffered enough being the third wheel when he was still after his first love. And so, as soon as he saw his daughter, he knew he had to draw the line, but it took only one sentence from Kirishima for Yokozawa to completely backtrack:
“I don’t have a wife. She died a long time ago.”
Okay. So, he wasn't a homewrecker. At the very least, he would be able to sleep peacefully at night, or so he believed. Kirishima's bed was big enough to accommodate two people, and Sakura's side rapidly became his (more like he didn't have a choice). The first time he slept there, he felt an eerie chill creep to his heated flesh, telling him in a hissing that said place wasn't his and never would be. It was a dead person's place, and sleeping on it felt improper to Yokozawa. Setting foot on Kirishima’s home felt wrong. The place tacitly rejected his presence, despite the warm, welcoming vibe from the Kirishimas.
It took him a few months to stop feeling like an outcast in that house, and a few more days to get used to the tombstone coldness of his side of the bed. He knew very well that Kirishima loved him and that his past with Sakura didn't invalidate his current feelings, and Yokozawa didn't want Kirishima to erase someone so important in his life from his mind, quite the opposite.
At that moment, it wasn't about being jealous of a dead person, it was about wanting to be there for the man he loved.
He had no concept of what it was like to lose someone so close to him, such as a spouse, but he wasn't going to let that stop him.
The rest of the evening went on in the usual way. Kirishima chatted with both Yokozawa and Hiyori during dinner. The conversations went as usual: how Hiyori was doing in school, how busy life was for manga editors, how things didn't seem to be getting any better in Sales, and so on until a good hour passed. At first glance, he seemed to be his normal self, but Yokozawa didn’t buy any of it.
Moments before his departure, Yokozawa stared at Kirishima, who was smiling at him, and placed a hand on his shoulder:
"There's no need to keep up the façade. You're bad at pretending," Yokozawa commented.
Kirishima’s eyes widened at his words. “What are you talking about? I'm fine, no need to worry about me,” Zen insisted.
“You’re bad at lying, too,” Yokozawa replied. “Kirishima-san, I’m serious. I'm worried about you.”
At that moment, the fake smile was wiped from his face. Those tired eyes weren't lying to anyone.
"I told you a while ago that my wife Sakura died a while ago, didn't I?" Kirishima paused, "Tomorrow will be ten years since her death."
Hiyori had told him the same thing just a few hours ago.
“It’s been so long, and I thought that I've finally made peace with it, but for some reason this year, I don’t know... It... came back?” He said as he touched his chest.
Yokozawa didn't answer, instead continuing to listen to him. He was going to let Kirishima speak whatever he needed to say.
“I didn't visit Sakura’s grave on the first anniversary. I was still struggling a lot, with Hiyori and my job, so I didn't have time,” Kirishima’s eyes started to water, “but also because there was a part of me that refused to acknowledge her death. I obviously felt like shit for not going.”
Yokozawa kept on listening.
“And then people around me started to suggest that I should try dating again.” Kirishima made another pause to gather his tears and control his voice. “I knew that Hiyori needed a mother. Life as a single father isn’t bad, but it sure is difficult when you have to dedicate most of your time at work, and it can really suck when your boss is the least understanding person to ever exist…”
Yokozawa heard a light breaking in his voice.
“... But I didn’t want to replace her, not when I was still coming to terms with it.”
Yokozawa moved them both to the sofa and kept on listening.
“Eventually I came to terms with the situation and was able to move on. I insisted that I didn't want to remarry, just because I didn't want to introduce Hiyori to anyone until we had something serious.”
And then I came into the picture, didn’t I? Yokozawa said internally. It was the only plausible explanation for why Kirishima was in such a pernicious state. If that were the case, it wouldn't surprise him at all, and as painful as it was for him, Yokozawa was already imaging a scenario in which he'd have to keep his distance from Kirishima, if that meant he'd be able to stop feeling that way and heal from his emotional wounds. That would've been the most honorable decision, but a part of him didn't want to be noble. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted Kirishima to confide in him, to know that he'd never judge him for exposing the rawest part of his emotions to him.
Eventually, Kirishima grabbed Yokozawa’s hands and looked directly into his eyes. It was at that moment that he saw Zen’s most vulnerable side of himself. This wasn't the sly, flirty, and teasing Kirishima he knew. Instead, he was seeing the Kirishima that had kept mourning his late wife for the last ten years and was succumbing to the taxing effect grief had on him, not only on his body, but on his mind as well.
“I love you, Yokozawa. I don't want this to come off as saying that getting with you turned me into this mess. I don't want you to blame yourself for my own feelings,” Kirishima insisted.
It was Yokozawa’s turn to feel a familiar burn on his eyelids. Despite his icy façade, he'd always been susceptible to other people's emotions. The telltale tear that threatened to fall from the corner of his eye was enough evidence of that.
“You shouldn’t feel guilty of this!” Yokozawa reacted, “She was a very important person to you, and not only that, but she was also your wife!”
Kirishima looked up at him, surprised by his comforting words.
Yokozawa continued, “Grief isn't something you move on from, you just get used to it. It's a reminder of the love you want to give to that person, but can’t give it to them.”
Kirishima composed himself and allowed himself to finally rest his back on the sofa, not without letting out a worn sigh.
"That’s actually one of the sweetest things you’ve ever told me. Thank you, Yokozawa.”
Oh. He’s smiling for real now .
Yokozawa looked over Hiyori's ajar door and felt relief once he saw that she was sleeping. He was afraid that their conversation would've woken her up.
"You sound like you have a lot of knowledge from experience," Kirishima commented.
“I haven't had that experience yet, and I hope I won't for a very long time. However, when I was a child, I saw my mother go through my grandfather's death,” Yokozawa replied. “I knew she was hurting, but whenever I tried to approach her to comfort her, she pushed me aside.”
Yokozawa looked down at his hands, “I know she meant well. She didn't want me to worry about her, and most people don’t like to be seen crying, after all. I should know that, but regardless, I don't want to see you suffering like this.”
Memories flooded into his mind like a river: his mother staring blankly out the window, oblivious to the ticking of the clock ringing in her ears. His worried father would always come home to be by her side and reassure her that everything would be all right. At that time, his mother had not yet reentered the workforce, and was almost entirely devoted to housework and her only child.
Yokozawa wasn't even half his current height back then, and his best efforts to stand on his toes didn't get him any higher than his mother's hips. So, he hugged her legs as the sincerest gesture a child his age could make. Since his grandfather's death, Yokozawa would also come home from kindergarten, push aside a chair to sit next to her, and try to hug her like her father, his small arms not quite encircling her. Apparently, his grandfather's health had already begun to deteriorate significantly when he was born, so he hadn't had much of a chance to get to know him. Still, he knew that his mother loved her father, and he didn't want to see her go through this situation on her own.
He always thought that part of his pride came from her. A sweet and loving woman, but one who refused to be seen crying, she always told him not to waste his time with her. “ Takafumi, don’t worry about me, sweetie,” had been engraved inside him ever since. Years later, he realized he was repeating her words like a broken record.
"I'm sorry to hear that, it must've been tough," Kirishima comforted him.
Yokozawa came back to reality and noticed that Kirishima was still holding his hands, his thumb stroking him lightly. "You're the one who needs to be comforted, not me."
"We're both wrecks in this situation,” Zen insisted, and proceeded to lift Yokozawa up on the sofa and wrapped his arms around him. “Come on, let me love you too.”
And he let him. Despite his skittish nature, Yokozawa allowed Kirishima's arms to wrap around him, and soon enough, he felt his head rest on his shoulder. “Don't keep these kinds of things to yourself, okay? I may not look like it, but I care.”
He nodded. “I love you, Yokozawa. Thank you for coming into my life,” Kirishima said.
Yokozawa’s heart skipped a beat, and his face gained a flushed tint on his cheeks. “I... love you, too.”
"Woah, I think my heart just healed after hearing that!" He teased. "No-wait! I think I'm still a little sad, could you say it again?" He then pretended that his chest hurt and made an obviously fake pained expression.
“Good one,” Yokozawa replied, unfazed by his teasing. At least Kirishima was back to his usual self.
“Pretty please?” Kirishima continued to beg.
“Forget it. I'm going home.”
He picked up his briefcase from the seat, put on his shoes, and put on his coat, with his scarf on top of it. As soon as he put his hand on the door handle, Zen walked up to him.
"Be careful on your way home."
Just seeing his face and remembering how he was before was enough to move Yokozawa.
"I'm going to visit Sakura tomorrow. I hope I'm not asking too much, but it would help me if you came with us," Kirishima asked him.
I want to go. I want to be there for you.
"I'll be there," Yokozawa assured him. "You just have to tell me at what hour."
“I’ll send you a text.”
He would be there for Kirishima, no matter what.