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It was a breezy day in Tokyo. The sun was setting, and it was nice and warm outside. It had been a few years since Hoshina had retired from the defense force. He remembered that day like it was yesterday: Mina raising a toast to him, Kafka crying like a baby. He remembered it all. And he misses it dearly—Kafka most of all.
Retirement was spent mainly at the gym or trying out new cafes. He needed something to do to keep his mind off of things. He didn't really want to think much. Everything felt numb. He could barely eat a cake without breaking into a crying mess. Lately, he has picked up a hobby of painting. Especially oil painting. His apartment was littered with oil paintings of various sizes. When he was at home, he could only do oil painting after oil painting.
It had been years since it all happened, so he resorted to hoarding these paintings, his clothes, his torn suit, everything. Anything to make it feel like Kafka was still there with him and not buried in the Defense Force National Cemetery. Hoshina refused to allow anyone to take any of his Kafka memorabilia away from him, much less even touch it. He would obsessively buy anything he knew Kafka would have purchased or liked. Even perfume. The perfume Kafka had worn the day he died was burned into his memory. He couldn't get the memory out of his head. Kafka was torn apart by a kaiju before he could even react. Kafka begged him to remember how much he loved and never forget him. To remain positive even when he's gone. But it was so hard to. What would it have been like if Kafka hadn't been there to annoy him? To kiss him awake. To love him.
That week, Mina stopped by to drop off some snacks for Hoshina to eat, only to find him lying on his couch, unmoving. He looked like he had been crying for the last hour.
"Hey... are you doing alright, Hoshina?" Mina asked. "You don't look very good."
"I'm... fine. I suppose. I don't know..." Hoshina replied, his voice hoarse from sobbing so violently just a second before.
Mina set the snacks down on the counter and kneeled behind him. "Are you sure? You don't look or sound okay."
"I'm fine," he choked out, tears threatening to fall again.
"Hoshina..."
"I'm-" he couldn't hold it back. He started crying again. "I miss him so much. So fucking much. Why did he have to die? It's not fair!"
"I know.. I know.."
Mina stayed with him while he cried and made sure he was hydrated when he was done. Before she left, she cooked him dinner, worried he would go hungry again that night. Hoshina at first didn't even want to get up, but eventually did as his stomach was killing him. He sat down with the bowls of food in front of him. It was chicken curry with rice and assorted pickled vegetables. It smelled exactly like Kafka's cooking. When he started eating, silent tears started streaming down his face. It tasted exactly like Kafka's cooking. All he could do was sit there and eat. It tasted too damn good, and it hurt him so much.
The following evening, he had enough energy to shower for the first time in a week and get out of the house. He decided it felt right to visit Kafka's grave and leave a bouquet of flowers.
"So many years have come and gone. So much has lost to time. Standing upon the place where you and I had stepped. I can recall the wind that blew your hair across my face. Like it was.. part of me. And though the world is lost to me now, 10,000 miles across the sea. I'll remember you."