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Paper, plastic, glass, cardboard, plastic, cardboard, paper, glass, plastic. Piece by piece, Shiho pulled bits of trash gathered from around the apartment and sorted them into bins. An aluminum can of Shiho’s favorite soda went in one; one of Honami’s discarded scribbles went in another; the empty, flattened cardboard box that had contained their last delivery of dog food filled up a third.
Sorting the recycling was not something Shiho was naturally inclined to do. As far as she was concerned, rounding up the recycling into one bag was sufficient work on her part, and the crew that came to take it away could do the rest. That was not the way Honami saw things. Everyone has a responsibility to contribute towards resource conservation, she would say. If we have the time to sort it ourselves, then there’s no reason not to.
Despite Shiho’s indifference on the matter, it was difficult to live in the same house as someone and not adopt a few of their habits as your own. After only a few weeks of cohabitation, Shiho had already become accustomed not only to sorting the recycling, but having one less pillow on her side of the bed and an absence of cheese in her diet as well. It was unnerving how quickly these small changes could entrench themselves in her daily life without her even noticing. She still distinctly remembered one day at Ichika’s apartment, over a year ago now, where she had instinctively turned off the lights behind her as she and Honami were leaving and accidentally plunged her forgiving host into the dark. Flipping the switch on her way out was not a habit she’d picked up back at the Hinomori household, and she could still recall the knowing smile that had crept onto Honami’s face as Shiho awkwardly scurried back inside and turned the light back on.
Still, she thought, it was no surprise that Honami should leave these little imprints on her. Their lives were intertwined now, and more than anything, Shiho sought to please her somehow; the kind, caring Honami who was always looking out for her, who was always thinking about someone else’s well being, who didn’t have a mean bone in her body. If spending a few extra minutes sorting garbage was what it took to give something in return, Shiho was happy to take that time.
Besides, the act itself was surprisingly pleasant. Glass, paper, glass, cardboard, cardboard, plastic. There was a certain rhythm to the sorting, the sounds each material produced, and Shiho found herself gradually drifting away into the motions. Plastic, paper, glass, glass. One by one, piece by piece.
The procession was finally broken when her hand scraped against the bottom of the bag of recycling and came up empty. She blinked in surprise, then crumpled it up and placed it into the plastic bin as well. The plastic let out a satisfying crinkle of a job well done; well, not done, she thought, and began carefully stacking the bins on top of each other before lifting them all together off the floor.
Almost instantly her arms protested at the surprising weight, and she heaved them back down, careful not to drop them.
“Tch,” she clicked her tongue. Of course. No wonder it was heavier than usual; the glass bin had filled up after their moving out celebration the other day. Just remembering how much Shizuku drank made Shiho shudder. She’d be happy if she never had to hear another slurred wail of “Shii-chan’s all grown up now” again.
Regardless, the recycling was too heavy for her to carry on her own. Shiho stood with a groan and glanced around the living room. Honami was nowhere to be found amongst the stacks of boxes, packed and ready for the movers that were scheduled later today.
Shiho crept towards the bedroom, carefully stepping over a sleeping Shibao in the hallway, and peeked inside. This was the last room in the apartment that still needed to be cleaned out, but Honami had made significant progress already—or at least, she should have by now. Instead, Shiho found their chest of drawers just as full of their things as it had been over an hour ago, and rather than packing, Honami was crouched on the floor with her back to the door, looking down at something in her hands.
Doing her best not to startle her, Shiho sidled up behind Honami, rested her chin on her shoulder, and looked curiously at what had been distracting her.
Ah. She should have known.
Clutched in Honami’s hands was a collection of photos, the topmost one old and curled brown at the edges. The date scribbled in the bottom corner was from almost five years ago; Shiho recognized her own stout handwriting in each character.
“Do you remember when we took this?” Honami asked, tilting her head to lean affectionately against Shiho’s.
She glanced down, looking at the picture again. It was the four of them—Honami, Saki, Ichika, and herself—and they were much younger than they are now. The composition practically screamed teenage awkwardness. In the front was Ichika, gingerly holding her guitar as though it were a valuable antique rather than an instrument. To her side was Saki, eyes practically bulging with excitement. Judging by the arm stretched towards the screen, she must have been the one holding the camera. Shiho herself stood by Ichika’s other side, looking not at the camera but at the bass in her hands, brow furrowed in concentration. In the back, Honami stared anxiously ahead like a deer caught in the headlights. Her drumsticks were still poised in the air as though they had been just about to start a song.
“Mhm,” Shiho grunted in acknowledgement. “Our first studio practice after getting the band back together.”
Honami nodded. “You were such a grouch back then. I mean, you still are, but… you’ve definitely softened up a lot since high school.”
“And you were such a scaredy cat, cowering behind your drums like that,” Shiho shot back, and Honami let out a giggle. She couldn’t help but smile in return. “God, I never imagined that the Honami I knew back then would be capable of haggling with the real estate agents, but here we are.”
“I wasn’t haggling. I was negotiating .”
“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Shiho threw up her hands in mock innocence, eliciting another laugh. All at once she was struck by how wonderful it was to be able to make Honami smile like that, to hear that gentle sound like a melody dripping from her tongue, to be able to give her these little moments of happiness; Shiho could feel her face softening, and in front of her, Honami’s expression following suit, and she leaned forward to close the gap between them with a kiss.
There was a feather-light touch as Honami’s delicate lips brushed against hers, and then they parted again. Shiho could feel the slight dampness where their lips had touched, and she ran her tongue over it, pulling that small piece of Honami inside her, where it would join the pillows and the lights and the cheese and the recycling and all the other small pieces of Honami she had stored in her chest over the past few years.
They continued to stare into each other’s eyes for a moment longer, but then Shiho pulled her gaze away. As much as she’d love to just sit here and kiss Honami silly for the rest of the afternoon, there were things to be done; the movers would arrive in just over an hour to take their belongings.
“Here, love. I’ll help you finish packing these up.” Shiho heaved herself to her feet, then offered a hand for Honami to do the same.
Honami motioned to follow, but hesitated for a moment, looking around the room. It was mostly empty now, much the same as it had been when they’d first moved in. The cute green and blue plaid bedspread that they had painstakingly picked out together had been removed from the bed, and the nightstand looked painfully bare without Honami’s nightly glass of water. The rug on the floor that they always wiped their feet on before climbing into bed was rolled up snugly in the corner. Through the bathroom door, Shiho could see an empty counter, all the little toothpaste stains that had built up throughout their time here painstakingly scrubbed clean. Only the drawer in front of them showed any sign of their life here together.
“I’m going to miss this place,” Honami murmured. There was sadness in her voice, and it sent a pang through Shiho’s heart. “We made so many memories here. I don’t want to leave them all behind…”
“I know,” Shiho acknowledged. She understood how Honami felt. It felt like the entirety of their relationship had been constructed between the thin walls of this apartment, and yet here they were, scrubbing it all clean, leaving it behind as though it had never happened; they would leave a piece of themselves here, Shiho knew, a piece of the precious time they’d spent together.
But…
“It’s okay.” Shiho reached out to take Honami’s hand. Her thumb rubbed comforting circles into her skin, a reminder that Shiho was here for her. “We’ll have plenty of chances to make memories at our new place, more than we ever made here. There’s so much more waiting ahead of us. Don’t you know that I’m not going anywhere?”
Honami smiled. “Yeah, I know.”
“So come on then.” Shiho pulled Honami to her feet, then into a tight embrace. They shared another quick peck on the lips, and then she leaned back, grinning. “Let’s finish this packing, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Honami nodded, then: “I love you.”
The way she spoke those words were so sweet, lathered with all the genuine care and affection in the world, and Shiho felt her eyes welling up in tears of happiness. I love you too, she thought, I love you so much; that feeling was what she hoped to convey through her next words.
“‘Farewell’ to our first home together,” she said fondly, “and ‘welcome’ to a lifetime with you.”