Archive of Our Own

Three months after Yashiro let his best friend fall off the side of hospital roof, Kenya had a visitor at his apartment. Fujinuma Satoru stood at the door with slumped shoulders, dark circles, and a defeated expression.

“Satoru,” Kenya said. “I haven’t seen you in a while. I stopped calling since you stopped answering. Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry. I need your help with something.”

Kenya’s western-style place was small and neat, much more to his liking than his parents’ glamorous mansion. He lead Satoru into the living room and offered him something to drink.

“No thanks, I just need to talk.” Satoru let out a breath and rubbed his forehead. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s going to be harder to believe than anything I’ve ever told you before.”

Kenya nodded once.

“No one else will believe me,” Satoru continued, “I’m afraid you won’t either if I don’t tell you the right way.”

“What do you mean, the right way?”

Satoru shrugged. “I’m trying to figure it out. But I never know which chance will be my last.”

“You’re not making sense, Satoru. Are you alright?”

“No,” Satoru snapped, his eyes flashing. “I’ve had this conversation with three other people, but they just ignored the parts they didn’t want to believe. Please, Kenya.” His eyes turned pleading. “Please listen to me.”

Kenya pursed his lips, just stopping himself from saying that he couldn’t ignore Satoru if he tried.

•

“Shouldn’t you be spending the holiday with family, mister?”

Ms. Fujinuma gave him a smile that said she knew exactly how much Kenya hated talking about his family. He smiled back.

“I am,” he said, walking to the side of Satoru’s hospital bed and pretending he didn’t notice Ms. Fujinuma’s slightly stricken expression. He sat down in the chair pulled up next to the monitors and stared at Satoru’s pale, gaunt face. Last week was Satoru’s 17th birthday, and all of the usual group had come for their annual visit. For Kenya, visiting once a year wasn’t enough. Once a month wasn’t enough.

“Then call me Sachiko, would you?” Satoru’s mother crossed to the other side of the bed to stare at Kenya’s own pale, gaunt face. “And if we’re family, that gives me the right to pester you. Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

Kenya looked up at her. Fujinuma Sachiko always managed to look perfect no matter the situation. She always managed to look calm no matter how many times the doctors hand her discouraging reports. She always managed to take control, regardless of how little control there was to take. “I wish I was as strong as you,” Kenya said.

Sachiko chuckled and shook her head. “It’s mostly for show. I thought you would have noticed that, being the smart friend and all.”

“I don’t believe that,” Kenya said, smiling. His eyes returned to Satoru’s still body. He looked for signs of life and found only the soft rise and fall of Satoru’s chest. “People don’t put on a show when they’re alone.”

“Have you been spying on me, Kenya?”

“I might have peeked in once or twice while you were reading him stories.”

“The doctors recommended I do it,” Sachiko said.

“I doubt they recommended violent murder mysteries.”

“I know how much Satoru liked playing detective. I thought I as well read him something useful if he decides to keep playing after he wakes up.” She smirked. “Don’t think I haven’t figured out that you were the one who enabled all his little detective games.”

Kenya’s smile faltered.

“You may be Satoru’s smartest friend,” Sachiko said, “but you were also the friend he took for granted most. How else were you supposed to get his attention if you didn’t help him play the hero?”

At Kenya’s blush, Sachiko looked equal parts amused and upset. “Please forgive me, Kenya. I’ve been feeling more pressure than usual. I’m not as smart as I act, either. Sugita’s been spilling the beans on all of you lately. You should forgive him, too. He’s frustrated that you spend more time here than with him and the others.”

Kenya tried to nod again, but he felt stiff. “No harm, no foul,” he said. “I know he’s frustrated, but I can’t…I just…”

Sachiko hummed and sat on the edge of Satoru’s bed. “Thank you, Kenya, for being here. Most people who know Satoru are able to forget about him for a few days or weeks at a time and can get on with their life. They don’t wake up remembering the pain and fall asleep worrying. They don’t wonder every minute of every day when Satoru will wake up. If he will. They hurt, but only when they pick at the wound.” Sachiko sighed. “I hurt all the time, and I think you hurt a lot more than most, too. We stick around here to tend to the wound as best we can because it just keeps bleeding no matter what we do.”

Kenya had to blink a few times when his vision suddenly blurred. “Why won’t it heal? Why is it healing for everyone but us?”

“Because we’re not trying to move on,” Sachiko said. “And we don’t want to.”

“You’re his mother, though. You can’t move on, especially since he’s not…” Not dead.

When his face fell in his hands, Kenya tried to make it seem like he was preventing a headache rather than a breakdown. “I’m just another one of his friends. I have no excuse for pretending I was as close to him as he was to you.”

Sachiko leaned over, pulled away one of Kenya’s hands, and held on tight. “Kenya. Satoru and I were never especially close. I just understood him better than most, just like you. It can be painful to let go of someone you love, but to let go of someone you know better than yourself—it feels like death. Because if that connection is severed, what else is there to remind you who you are?”

•

“So you were really 29 years old? In your 11 year old body?” Kenya asked. Satoru nodded slowly. His body was tense and his eyes were so on guard he almost seemed hostile. “You were a good actor then.”

Satoru froze. “What?”

“I mean, I thought it was strange that you suddenly became more mature, but not 29-years-old-mature.” Kenya gave a tentative smile. “Either you were were really good at acting 11 years old, or you really weren’t that mature to begin with.”

Satoru’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

Kenya smirked. “Or maybe you really did want to be a superhero all along, and that’s why you were so convincing.”

“You believe me?” Satoru asked in a small voice.

Kenya shrugged and waved his hand. “I can’t really fathom anything your saying, but yeah, I believe you. Why shouldn’t I? You’re not insane, and you don’t have any reason to make up a story to make you seem like it.”

Satoru gave him a look that made Kenya backpedal. “I mean, I personally don’t think you sound insane, but I’m saying I could see how people might think you do. Who else did you tell?”

“No one in this revival,” Satoru said.

Kenya’s eyes widened. “This is a revival?”

For a moment, Satoru looked confused. Then, his expression melted into an almost palpable relief. “You do believe me.”

“If this is a revival, then—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Satoru said, genuinely smiling now. “I fixed—actually, you fixed the problem. So this revival, it should be reality now.” He leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. “You believe me.”

“How do you know time won’t start over?” Kenya asked.

“I don’t.” Satoru looked up at Kenya again. “I still don’t really know how the whole thing works. I mean, for a while, I couldn’t figure out why the hell I was hallucinating a butterfly.”

Kenya had guessed instantly. “The Butterfly Effect, right?”

“Um, yeah,” Satoru said. “It took me forever to catch on. Have you always been this smart?”

Kenya rolled his eyes. “Not when I was 11, no.”

There was a lull between them until Satoru broke the silence.

“I told my friend Airi first. She was a friend from several revivals ago, so to speak. After Yashiro’s arrest, I ran into her again, but she had no clue who I was since we never had the chance to meet in newest version of events.”

“But you became friends again?”

Satoru made an embarrassed face. “Well, I botched our ‘reunion’ at first by acting like a creep. I didn’t really explain myself right when she asked why I seemed to know her. She almost called the police on me, actually. Ironically.”

“Oh,” Kenya said. He wished he knew who this girl was.

“Yeah, luckily the butterfly came around and gave me a second chance. I told myself that the best way to become friends with her was to pretend it was for the first time. It worked pretty well at first.” Satoru scratched the back of his neck. “But it’s hard to pretend you don’t have a history when you have one hell of a history, you know? Eventually, all I could think about was telling her the truth. I was impatient, and when I told her, she wasn’t even close to being ready to accept it. She didn’t understand that I had known her in a past reality, let alone appreciate the fact that in that reality, she saved me from getting arrested.”

“But you did get arrested, didn’t you?”

“The police followed her, probably because of Yashiro,” Satoru said. “Airi’s heart was always in the right place. Even when I told her something she could never believe, she still tried to reason things out. But she didn’t—could never—have the history I remembered. I kept forgetting that.” Satoru’s eyes dimmed a little. “Thinking about how it was possible no one would ever believe what I went through terrified me. I didn’t exactly leave Airi on the best of terms.”

“No butterfly hallucinations after?” Kenya asked.

“No. I waited days for one, but reality just kept going. So I admitted defeat and went to my mom next.” Satoru leaned forward, speaking more quickly. “But I was so upset about screwing up with Airi that I got even angrier when my mother didn’t believe me either. She got pissed that I was pissed and things only got worse from there. When she tried to bring me back to the hospital, we got in a fight, and out of nowhere a revival took me back to the moment before I explained the truth to Airi.”

When Satoru paused, Kenya took the moment to try and wrap his head around what Satoru was saying. He asked, “So you did get a third chance with Airi?”

“Well, maybe,” Satoru said, “But I think it was actually a third chance to tell the truth without the consequences of Airi and my mother thinking I was crazy. So I left Airi’s place without telling her anything and went to find Kayo, who I was convinced I should have told the truth to first.”

Kenya tried not to appear too disappointed.

“But she took the truth even worse the my mom. She thought I was trying to trick her or make her feel guilty or something. When she finally started listening, she became convinced that I was keeping some other secret, and I was trying to hide something with my crazy story as a cover. Hiromi ended up kicking me out because Mirai was crying.”

“I’m sorry,” Kenya said.

“Don’t be. It doesn’t matter, anyway. After getting kicked out, I was revived back to the bridge where I was supposed to reunite with Airi. But I pretended not to see her and went straight home. That was three weeks ago.”

Another silence passed between them.

“So,” Kenya said. “Were you afraid I would get angry too, or did it just not occur to you to tell me anything?” He tried not to cringe at the resentment in his tone.

Satoru sighed and began to rub his temple. “I don’t know. I was…” He shook his head a little hopelessly. “What occurred to me was that maybe all the revivals were trying to tell me I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone the truth at all. Once I thought that, I was afraid that if I tried again, I would have to endure the consequences of losing someone’s trust in me forever.”

Kenya frowned, waiting.

“To be honest, Kenya, I thought of telling you right after failing with Airi,” Satoru said, adjusting his glasses. “But the thought of losing your trust, forever or otherwise, was so unbearable I decided to risk losing my mom’s trust first because she would just write off my story as a lapse in sanity. And then I decided to risk losing Kayo’s trust next because she would be able to forget about me if she wanted to—like people always do when they begin to avoid someone.”

“That’s an awfully big assumption,” Kenya said. “Did you think all your friends could forget about you if they wanted to?”

“No.” Satoru shook his head. “But after so many people shutting me down, I didn’t have the heart to watch you do it, too.”

“What made you change your mind, then?”

Satoru refused to meet Kenya’s eyes. “I asked my mother for advice. I told her there was something important that I couldn’t tell her, but had to tell someone I trusted. I told her I was afraid of losing that person, because telling them might change everything between them.”

“And what did she say?”

Satoru was quiet for a moment, then finally looked at Kenya. “She told me that you were the one friend she was sure I could never lose.”

•

On Satoru’s 25th birthday, there was only Sachiko and Kenya to celebrate. And mourn.

After saying a few words to Satoru as he slept, the two of them sat outside to enjoy the good weather. Kenya could tell the years were wearing on Sachiko, even if it didn’t show on her face.

“How are things with you and Sugita?” she asked.

Kenya shrugged. “The same. He keeps assuring me that he’ll be there for me when Satoru wakes up, but until then, he’s just too busy with work and family to keep visiting. I know it’s a lie, but. Moving on and all that.”

“All that, yes.” Sachiko grinned. “I wanted to ask you. Have you thought about ‘all that’? Have you met anyone?”

“Met anyone?” Kenya stared at Sachiko blankly.

She shook her head at him. “Where’s the sex-hungry man in you, Kenya Kobayashi?”

Kenya’s face went red. “I—that’s—”

“You’re a good, successful lawyer,” Sachiko said. “Not to mention exceedingly handsome. You should have no problems finding a woman who wouldn’t mind your visits to the hospital. So why don’t you find one?”

Kenya didn’t answer right away. He took a deep breath and looked around at the scenery of the hospital grounds, as if there was an answer hidden somewhere right in front of him.

“Do you want the truth?” he finally asked. “You won’t be angry when I tell you?”

Sachiko frowned, the answer obvious in her expression. Kenya felt a wave of relief and somberness crash over him. “There was a day in fifth grade when, out of nowhere, Satoru didn’t hate Kayo Hinazuki anymore. He left school one day, complaining about her standoffishness again, and came back the next unable to keep his eyes off her. Overnight, his whole personality changed. It wasn’t obvious, but it was enough for me to notice. I thought maybe Satoru decided he had feelings for Kayo or something, but that usually made boys less mature, not more. And that’s what Satoru had become, shockingly more mature, at least in general.

“I think that’s when I really started to pay attention to him. I didn’t mind immature kids too much, because that’s what I was used to. But when Satoru started acting differently, I felt a kinship with him. When he started becoming distant, I threw caution to the wind and tried to fork the truth out of him. I wanted to know what had changed, but more than that, I wanted him to know that I had noticed his behavior in a way no one else had.

“Satoru told me he wanted to be a superhero. It didn’t make sense, yet it helped things click into place all the same. He noticed Kayo’s abuse, and wanted to do something about it. I thought it was stupid and brilliant and I really, really wanted him to include me in his plans. Which he did. And at some point during our secret adventures, the tiny crush I had on him became not so tiny. It began to hurt when I saw Kayo and Satoru together. Once, they fell asleep leaning on each other, and I nearly said something nasty before I stopped myself. Another time, Satoru said that if we were caught, I should pretend to know nothing instead of stand by him. That hurt even more.

“If I had understood how hung up on him I was, maybe I would have taken a step back and reevaluated things. But being with him was too exciting to waste any time being reflective. I actually stalked him for two days because I was worried about him. Whether I was actually watching out for him, or whether I was just watching him, I’m not sure. But then Satoru almost died, and I became all too aware of how much I was attached to him. The only thing I had was reflection. I wanted to investigate, but anything that could have happened to prevent me from doing that, happened, and when the police found no evidence, I felt completely hopeless.

“While my friends tried to be happy again or went to therapy if they couldn't, I refused to feel anything but guilt and despair and anger. My therapy was crying alone in my room whenever my parents tried to encourage me to live normally again. I let my attachment grow stronger than ever. The fact that no one else seemed as crushed as I was fed my ego enough for me to turn the situation into a kind of romantic tragedy that I could pity in all spare time.”

Kenya blushed under Sachiko's surprised gaze, but plowed on. "I eventually saw those illusions of grandeur for what they were, and I grew out of them. But I never got over the feeling that moving on like everyone else was betrayal. When I turned 18 and my mother asked about girls, all I could think about was how the idea of trying to feel that way toward someone else felt like betrayal, too.”

It dawned on Kenya that he had never told all this to anyone before. The tear tracks on his face were proof. Whatever expression Sachiko had now, Kenya wasn’t willing to look. He just needed to finish his tale of woe. Maybe if he said it all, he could finally start…to let go.

“Satoru’s adventure with Kayo had a happy ending,” Kenya said, bowing his head lower. His voice was getting thick. How, after all these years, could he still be so lost in the past? “But his adventure with me…”

A hand rested on Kenya’s back. “Your adventure isn’t over, yet,” Sachiko said.

“I know,” Kenya said. “Which is why…”

Sachiko cut him off with a hug. Kenya hesitated a moment, then let his tears stain her shirt.

“I understand,” she said. “I love him, too.”

•

Kenya was glad for the space between his chair and the couch Satoru sat on. He was glad for the dim lighting that made him feel less exposed. He wasn’t glad that his weeks of effort coming to to terms with Satoru’s lack of communication were now voided.

“She told me you visited me more often than anyone else,” Satoru said. “She said that you refused to move on out of loyalty.”

“Out of blind hope that I would be there when you woke up,” Kenya said, grinning. “So I could ask you who the bad guy was.” They both laughed.

“Thanks for believing me, Kenya. And for waiting so long on my account. But I want you to know that you have no obligation to be loyal to me. I want you to know that you can move on however you want and I won’t be upset. You wouldn’t be betraying me.”

Kenya’s smile fell.

Was this where the adventure officially ended?

“But,” Satoru said, “If you wanted to hold off from moving on just a little longer, there’s something I was hoping to do with you.”

Kenya did all he could not to blush and nodded. “Yeah, sure,” he said casually. Satoru stood up, then Kenya. Satoru stared off to the right. Kenya stared off to the left. Satoru looked down at his shoes. Kenya looked up at Satoru. “Where to?”

An hour later found them both at Satoru’s new apartment. There were boxes that still hadn’t been unpacked, furniture still haphazardly placed. “Did you ask me over here just to help you do housework?” Kenya teased.

“What? No! No,” Satoru replied in an unconvincing tone. “There’s a box in my room…” He stepped into the bedroom and began rummaging among the piles.

“How’s your job going, by the way?” Kenya asked.

“Hmm? Fine. It’s fairly stressful, but better than any other job I could have ended up with, I guess.”

“I thought it was your dream to be manga artist.”

“It was my dream to be a superhero, and drawing them was the closest I thought I would ever get to fulfilling that.”

Kenya laughed out. “No way am I going to believe you ever admitted that to yourself!”

Satoru looked up an smiled. “I didn’t, until you made me back in fifth grade.”

“I thought that was a cop-out answer to all my questions,” Kenya said. “You didn’t actually want to be a…” Now he felt silly saying it.

“No, I didn’t actually think that at the time. Ah! It’s in the living room.” Satoru gestured for Kenya to follow him. “But like I said, you made me acknowledge the truth. When I was trying to save the day with you, for the first time I felt like my ability was truly meant for something greater. I kinda did feel like a superhero, even though I could never tell anyone what the ‘super’ part was.”

“So what was I?” Kenya huffed as Satoru picked up a wide, flat box from the corner. “Your sidekick?”

Satoru stood and looked him in the eye. “No. My partner.” He pushed the box into Kenya’s hands. “I drew these while I was recovering, most of them at the hospital, a few of them after I moved here. I was thinking of turning everything that happened 15 years ago into a manga. Maybe get it published a few years from now. I’ll clean while you…” He looked away. “Yeah.”

Kenya brought the box over to the kitchen table. Satoru didn’t say anything else as he began to unpack boxes in the living room, so Kenya opened the box and took out the sketchbook laying on top. The first page was of a drawing of Kayo holding Mirai. Something pulled in Kenya’s chest, but he wasn’t sure if it was envy or pride or awe. The next page was of Satoru’s hospital room. The next of his mother sleeping. Kenya flipped through every page of first book, feeling slightly disappointed that he appeared in none of it. The second sketchbook was all outdoor scenery. The third of original characters, or at least people he didn’t know.

When he picked up the final sketchbook in the stack, he was shocked by the first page, which mimicked the front over of a manga novel, with bold lettering and subtitles and characters. But it wasn’t Satoru dominating the page with Kayo, or Satoru on his own surrounded by supporting characters, or even Satoru at all. In fact, it was himself, Kenya Kobayashi, who dominated the cover with Satoru in the background with other characters he definitely recognized.

Intrigued and a little embarrassed, Kenya turned to the next page, which was full of unordered scenes and character sketches and expressions and lots of hands. A lot of the scenes he only knew from Satoru’s explanation early that day: Kenya rolling over the corpse of his mother, Kenya rescuing a friend from a house fire, Kenya being arrested, seeing the murderer out of the corner of his eye at the last second.

The rest of the sketchbook continued like that, and soon Kenya was dying to know why Satoru had replaced their roles in the story.

“Mom said it would be egotistical of me to create an entire series with myself as the protagonist,” Satoru said, leaning over Kenya’s shoulder. “So when I asked her who on earth the protagonist should be for the story, she gave me a dirty look and said, ‘someone more visually appealing to readers.’” Satoru snickered and went back to cleaning, leaving Kenya to stare at a page with himself covertly watching Yashiro at a hockey game. “You’re more fun to draw anyway!” Satoru added.

Kenya wanted to tell him that the Kenya on the page wasn’t an accurate portrayal—he wasn’t that attractive—but he knew Satoru would think he was fishing for compliments.

“So does this mean that you take my role in what happened?” Kenya called out. “Are you going to be the suave, smart sidekick who really just wants to be the superhero’s best friend?”

Satoru came out from the bedroom and leaned against the doorframe. “Partner. And yes and no. I’ll take your role, but I’ll still be as overzealous and stupid as in real life. You’ll be a much more suave and smart protagonist than I ever tried to be.”

Kenya was quiet. “But why?” he asked. “I’m not protagonist material. I certainly wasn’t the protagonist during everything that happened in fifth grade.”

“Sure you were,” Satoru said. He walked around the table, flipping through the sketchbooks. “Once upon a time, you noticed something was off with the weird guy who always says stuff aloud that he shouldn’t. You confronted him about it and helped him turn into the superhero he always wanted to be, never knowing the extent to which he was most definitely ‘off’. You learned to become a hero yourself, taking risks and protecting friends and putting others first. When the kid you tried to help goes off and gets himself put into a coma, you continue on, trying to figure out the culprit for his sake and yours. You visit him as often as his own mother, and become close with her when she needs a companion. When your friend wakes up 15 years later, he tells you the truth about everything and you believe him when no one else will.” Satoru nods once, and his eyes are everywhere but on Kenya. “So, yeah, I think you make a good protagonist.” Satoru tilted his head. “You know, maybe that’s the story I should write instead.”

“How did you know I got close to your mother?” Kenya asked, trying not to look to stunned by Satoru’s argument.

Satoru laughed. “The way she talks about you now, it reminds me of how she use to talk about Airi.” He smiled to himself and turned back into the bedroom. “She knows me better than I know myself sometimes.”

Kenya stared after him, then looked back down at the pages full of a glamorized protagonist version of himself. A few minutes later, he stood up and walked toward the bedroom. It was dark, but the adjacent bathroom was lit. “I just helped a friend, Satoru,” he said loud enough for Satoru to hear. “You got framed and nearly died and got revived, like, half a dozen times. You have to tell your story, and and I can’t be the protagonist in your place.”

“Says who?” whispered a voice in his ear.

On instinct, Kenya whirled around and slammed his elbow into the person behind him before realizing it was just Satoru.

“What the hell?” Kenya panted. “Why did—Just why?”

“Wow,” Satoru said from the floor, covering half his face with his hands. “Did you take self defense classes while I was asleep?”

“Yeah, actually, for those first three years. My parents made me. The paranoia stuck around even when my technique didn’t.” Kenya heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Do you need an ice pack?”

“Maybe.”

Kenya took one from the fridge and knelt down to set in on Satoru’s blotchy face. “Are you stupid?”

“Why does everybody say that to me?” Satoru muttered.

“Because you make no sense.”

“I’ve been feeling guilty for cheating you out of a real life, so I tricked you into hitting me,” Satoru said.

“Seriously?”

“Or maybe I just wanted to see your badass protagonist skills in action.”

“Ugh,” Kenya groaned. “What happened to being straightforward and honorable?” He sat back down at the kitchen table, facing Satoru. “Please don’t make me the protagonist. I’ll sue you if I have to for using my image against my will.”

Satoru sat up. “Come on, I think writing things from your point of view is a great idea.”

“It’s not.”

“But I’m sick of thinking about my own story.”

Kenya narrowed his eyes. “Then why even consider doing this project in the first place?”

Satoru didn’t respond immediately. “Because…Well, I just feel like…” Satoru stood up and joined Kenya at the table. “I feel like what happened is all I have. It’s what connects everyone in my life. But all those people are slowly moving apart now, and soon my memories will fade to nothing and…” Satoru trailed off.

Kenya let out a breath when he understood. “You lost 15 years.”

Satoru looked up.

“Where everyone else has 15 years of experiences and stories and adventures to remember, you have nothing,” Kenya said. When he saw the dismay in Satoru’s eyes, he added, “It makes sense that you want to hold onto what connects you with them.”

Satoru needlessly fiddled with his glasses, clearly failing to come up with something to say. Kenya reached out and pulled pulled the glasses off his face. Satoru just stared at him.

“Without any memories to make sense of everything, the world is blurry, unrecognizable. Like yours is right now, more than everyone else’s,” Kenya said softly. “15 years asleep will do that to you.”

Satoru blinked. “I guess.”

“Dwelling on the past won’t make life any clearer,” Kenya continued. “And reliving it won’t make it real again.”

Satoru’s expression broke slightly before he recovered. “I feel like everything is falling apart,” he muttered. “My job isn’t everything I hoped it would be. My friends feel like acquaintances now. Knowing someone when they’re 11 isn’t the same as knowing them when they’re 26, you know.”

“I know,” Kenya said.

“I feel like…I’m lost in time,” Satoru continued. “I’m technically 26, but mentally I’m 30, yet in revived years I must be at least 45. I don’t belong with Airi or anyone from my old life anymore and my coma’s permanently broken part of the connection I had with everyone from school. I’ve spent time with everyone since waking up, but I still feel alone.”

Kenya saw tears well up in Satoru’s eyes before he blinked them back again.

“That’s because no one knew what really happened. No one’s been able to follow you through the revivals.” Kenya said. “But now I know, and I believe you, and we’re on the same page again.”

“But—”

“We are, because I made a point of staying on the same page as you for 15 years. I stuck by you because I missed you, because I wanted to, because I knew you and your mother needed an unconditional ally whether either of you knew it or not. We both love you in ways no one else can, because we understand you. We refused to move on so we could watch you sleep instead, and remember the most brilliant and stupid things you did, and help you stretch, and read you violent murder mysteries, and imagine what you and I would have been like as superheroes, conquering evil together.”

Kenya set the glasses down and reached for Satoru’s hand, holding it in his just as Sachiko had once done for him. “Satoru, you were never alone. You never will be.”

After a long moment, Satoru held onto Kenya’s hand with both of his own and let his tears far in silence.

Kenya was certain now. He wasn’t the protagonist. He was just someone who helped a friend and then fell in love with him.

•

"He's awake," said Sachiko.

•

Kenya sat on the edge of Satoru’s bed working on his laptop while Satoru lay sprawled out, sketching again. They’d fallen into a habit over the past couple weeks, hanging out at Satoru’s apartment, working and cleaning and cooking. Kenya tried to appreciate the time they spent together. He tried not to get jealous when Satoru befriended Airi again. He tried not to get so lovesick he couldn’t leave his own apartment. He did a fairly good job at doing all these things.

If he saw Satoru sneaking glances at him, he wrote it off as wishful thinking. If Satoru wanted to do more things with him, Kenya reminded himself that friendship was great. Even if Satoru fell asleep again him while they watched movies in the living room, Kenya counted it as building trust.

It was much more difficult for Kenya to dismiss how Airi, kind and enjoyable and pretty, came over more and more often. Airi gave Satoru a sketchbook that he immediately started sketching in when he thought Kenya wasn’t around. He and Airi started going out together, always under some pretense, and Kenya became certain that they were dating behind his back. His only theory about the secrecy was that Satoru suspected Kenya’s feelings for him and didn’t want to reject him outright.

It was one of his ‘sicker’ days when Satoru called him asking when he was going to come over. Kenya declined.

“Why? I thought you didn’t work late on Friday nights.”

“I don’t feel well.”

A pause. Talking in the background. “Airi and I don’t believe you,” Satoru said.

“I really think I’m sick,” Kenya insisted. He tried to fake a cough. “Sorry.”

“Not convinced.”

Kenya sighed. “Have fun with Airi, alright? I’m sure you guys want time alone.”

Another pause. “We have a surprise.”

“Oh,” Kenya muttered, his stomach dropping.

“Yeah, so get over here already!” Airi’s distant voice said through his cell.

The line went dead. Kenya closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and dropped his head. “Fine.”

When he arrived at Satoru’s apartment, Airi answered the door. She looked too excited for her own good. “Okay, okay, come on!”

“Kenya didn’t get a chance to ask why, because Airi’s grip on his arm was dragging him forward, then down into one of the kitchen chairs. Satoru sat across from him and pushed Airi’s sketchbook across the table. Kenya looked from the book to Satoru to the book again. He opened it.

Another manga cover, but not of just Kenya or just Satoru. They were posed side by side, 11 years old again, wearing ridiculous American detective outfits. This time the cover was illustrated in color, and when Kenya turned the page, he saw that the quality sketches and coloring continued, page after page. There were speech bubbles that weren’t filled in, notes in the margins, dumb doodles in the corners.

“What’s this?” Kenya asked.

“A completely made up story, except we’re both protagonists. There’s lots of playing detective and violent murder mystery. I don’t know why I felt like running with that genre, but I do. The names are changed, but pretty much anyone would recognize it as us. Please don’t sue me.”

Kenya felt exhausted with relief and gratitude. “Of course not,” he said weakly. “This is really great.” He looked at Airi.

“I helped color and stuff,” she said. “And helped him with plot holes. I tried to talk him out of the whole butterfly thing,” she flipped the pages a few times and pointed to the glowing greenish-blue butterfly flitting across the city sky. “But he was stubborn about it. Also, I helped him with the whole romance subplot since he didn’t have a clue where to begin.”

Kenya’s eyes went wide as Satoru made a strangled sound and jabbed Airi in the side.

“Ow!” Airi glared. “It was your idea, jerk! You know what? Just for that…” She turned to Kenya and leaned forward. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, because it wouldn’t come until later volume, but Takeru, aka Satoru, falls hopelessly in love with Shuji, aka you.”

Satoru dropped his head into his hands while Airi just laughed. Kenya stared at both of them, waiting for the joke to end.

Satoru took back the notebook and let out a noise of frustration. “Thanks a lot, Airi,” he muttered under his breath. He stood. “Sorry. Do you want anything? To drink? I don’t know what there is but…”

Airi laughed harder. “Oh my god, you’re so pathetic!” she rasped. She kept laughing when Satoru glared at her. “I’m gonna go. Sorry to ruin your surprise, but seriously. I told you I was a horrible confidant! I warned you like ten times.”

She left with a wave and slammed the door behind her. For a few long moments, the silence was deafening.

“I wanted to create a story you would be proud of,” Satoru said.

“Okay,” Kenya answered instantly. Then added, “I mean, uh, thanks.”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Kenya couldn’t help himself. “The whole subplot thing?”

Satoru shrugged. “It was mom’s idea.”

“Your mom was in on this, too? I don’t get the joke.”

Satoru’s eyes when wide as he took an involuntary step forward. “A joke? It’s not—I mean…” His expression suddenly became very uncertain. “It’s entirely optional, I can take it out if you want. I don’t mean to offend you or anything.”

Kenya just stared at him. “I don’t underst—”

There was a loud crash outside, then yelling and screaming. Kenya and Satoru ran to the window and opened it.

“Someone call an ambulance!” “Help!” “Lady, are you alright?” Down below, a girl lay bloody on the pavement with a wrecked motorcycle and stumbling man nearby.

“Airi,” Kenya said. He turned around, ready to book it downstairs, but Satoru let out a second, belated gasp of surprise.

“Kenya, there! The butterfly, there!”

Kenya was torn, but his curiosity won out. He looked in the direction Satoru was pointing, but saw nothing. “Where?”

“There!” Satoru grabbed his arm and tugged him forward. He forced Kenya’s hand to point in the direction he wanted. “Right there!”

Kenya blinked, and there it was. The butterfly Satoru had described in detail, the one drawn in the comic. Right in front of his eyes.

Then ground seemed to move out from under his feet as the colors of everything inverted around him for a single instant. Then Kenya was sitting at the table again, staring at Satoru, who was staring back at him, standing where he was less than a minute ago. “Was that…?” Kenya began.

“A revival,” Satoru finished. “But it happened to you, too.” He leaned on the counter, as if completely overwhelmed. “How—maybe when I touched you—”

“Airi!” Kenya exclaimed. Satoru’s eyes focused and in the next moment he was sprinting out the door. Kenya lurched out of his seat to follow him, but he realized there wasn’t time. Instead, he ran to the window and wrenched it open. “Airi!” he yelled as loudly as he could. “Airi!”

A brunette girl looked around.

“Watch out!”

Airi looked behind her and saw the motorcycle racing toward her, out of control. She ran away just in time, and the motorcycle skidded until it lost it’s tread and fell on its side, its owner rolling to a stop just before slamming into the lamppost ahead.

Kenya breathed, realizing he’d forgotten to, and tried to slow his racing heartbeat. He glanced again at Airi down below to make sure she wasn’t bleeding on the ground, then let himself sink down against the wall. Minutes later, Airi and Satoru reentered the apartment, both looking thoroughly shaken.

“That was so close,” Airi said, running to Kenya and falling on her knees to wrap him in a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

Kenya looked up at Satoru, who was looking at Kenya with an ineffable expression. He seemed to be speechless. Kenya felt that way, too.

“I should really help that guy down there,” Airi said, jumping up quickly. “The police will need witnesses, probably. I’ll be right back.” She left Kenya and Satoru in another stunned silence.

“You can do it with me,” Satoru mumbled to himself. “That was incredible,” Kenya whispered at the same time.

“You saved her life,” Satoru said, nodding at Kenya. “I wouldn’t have made it.”

Kenya could only manage a shrug. Satoru came over and collapsed next to him, resting his forehead on Kenya’s shoulder. “It wasn’t just me,” he kept mumbling. “It wasn’t just me.”

“No,” Kenya said. “Definitely not that time.”

“Thank you for saving her. Thank you for everything. I’m so happy it wasn’t just me.”

“I’m glad I believed you,” Kenya said.

“Thank you,” Satoru said again. Then, more softly, he added, “I love you, Kenya.”

Kenya jerked away in surprise and Satoru’s face immediately when white. “Did I say that out loud? That’s so embarrassing.” His eyes grew even wider. “Did I say that out loud, too? ”

Kenya just grinned. “You and you sappy lines.” He shook his head slightly and had to slow his heart again. “Want me to make it even?”

“Can you?” Satoru asked, his pale face coloring to a bright pink. “It’ll be hard to top that.”

Kenya smirked. “No, I definitely can. Ready?” He cleared his throat. “You’re my hero, Fujinuma Satoru.”

Satoru’s mouth fell open a little, and he gazed at Kenya with a sudden look of intense longing. Now his face was bright red. “That’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah,” Kenya said, smirk breaking into a wide smile. “Wanted to say it for 15 years, though.”

Time froze between them for a moment, and Kenya leaned in to kiss Satoru the way he imagined a thousand times before. Satoru returned it eagerly, but they both found it difficult to stop smiling.

“And I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Satoru said after they broke apart, breathing heavy.

“Not as long as me.”

Satoru shoved him lightly. “That’s not fair.” He kissed Kenya again before pulling away abruptly. “You didn’t kiss me when I was asleep, did you?”

Kenya laughed. “Your mom joked that I should, after she watched that American princess movie where the girl wakes up after her true love kisses her.”

“But did you?”

Kenya shook his head. “Too much pressure. What if you didn’t wake up afterward?”

“Well maybe I would’ve,” Satoru said, his eyes gleaming.

“Why, because you’re my true love?”

Satoru grinned. “I wish I figured it out sooner. But Takeru will, at least.” They both laughed, then kissed again for a while before they were sobered by the wailing of an ambulance outside.

As they stood and got themselves together, Satoru asked, “So did you really not like my first idea about a manga series? I thought you looked so cool in all the brainstorming sketches.”

Kenya let out an exasperated sigh as he opened the front door for Satoru. “It wasn’t an accurate portrayal.”

“Well—”

“You clearly had unrealistic expectations about what I would look like at 29,” Kenya interrupted.

Satoru stood inside the doorway, one eyebrow raised. Then he left down the hall saying, “Stop fishing for compliments.”

“I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are,” Satoru said. Then he added, “We both know you’re hot, and you want me to acknowledge it out loud, but I won’t.”

Satoru stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Did I say that out loud?”