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There are two things in Kusuo’s life he’s absolutely certain of.
One, coffee jelly is one of humanity’s best inventions – the perfect blend of flavours, a mild bitter taste from the coffee and sweetness from the whipped cream. Fortunately, he was there for the day it was introduced to Japan, and he will continue to exist for every iteration of it afterwards.
The other thing he’s certain of is that not even coffee jelly is worth the inconvenience of being immortal. If there’s such a thing as a deity, they must find his life as a psychic oh-so-amusing. But he doubts there is. What kind of higher power would punish one of their subjects to roam the Earth for as long as he has?
Not that he remembers. He stopped trying to remember a long time ago.
Kusuo cleans the rim of a glass, placing it on the top shelf. He works at his parents’ coffee parlour. Of course, they don’t know he’s their son. They’ve been reincarnated, but their faces are exactly the same from when he was born. His father, Saiki Kuniharu, hired him because he thought their names being similar was an “entertaining coincidence”.
It’s nice seeing his parents again, even if they don’t know it’s him.
Of course, he doesn’t love working, what kind of person does, but it’s much more peaceful than toiling away in the belly of a ship. They usually don’t make him work out in the front, but his mother had a meeting with the neighbourhood council. It’s not busy at this time of day, and he hasn’t had to do much talking.
The door opens, sunlight streaming in. Is it always this bright out at this hour?
A blue-haired girl steps inside the quaint building, ironing out her traditional kimono with her palms, stark in comparison to the other female customers in their Western-style clothes. Apparently, it’s a trend to dress as a moga – or, modern girl. Kusuo doesn’t understand mortals. What’s so fun about imitating Westerners? (Though, he does have them to thank for bringing his favourite delicacy into existence.) Despite that, everyone in the store turns their heads at her. He can admit, she’s prettier than any face he’s ever seen in his many years of living. A silver-haired, dignified-looking man follows after her in a suit, striped tie knotted at his throat. The door closes behind him, but the sunlight remains.
Ah. It wasn’t the sun. It was her. The girl in front of him.
Another light glimmers in Kusuo’s eyes, blinding him for a moment. The girl tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, showing off a diamond ring so comically large, he can see it from behind the counter as they take their seats.
Perfect. He’s so very excited to speak to the two people that have come straight out of a romance novel. Let him guess – an arranged marriage where the beautiful woman and the arrogant wealthy man slowly fall in love over time?
He doesn’t even get to leave the counter, never mind approach the table, before the man calls out, “Two coffees and a slice of castella for the lady, peon at the bar!”
It’s not as if Kusuo wanted to speak to him, but that was unnecessary at best, disrespectful at worst.
Either way, he retrieves their coffee and the slice of castella. He’s still a worker, after all.
As Kusuo places their orders – his, more like, – on the table, her thoughts flood his mind. Being married into the Saiko family is only natural for a beautiful woman like me, but would it kill him to be nicer to the unfortunate?! She shakes her head and takes a sip of the coffee. Never mind that, this worker didn’t even gasp at me–Huh, this is really bitter. I guess that’s to be expected.
He takes a jar of sugar cubes from the counter, clinking on the table as Kusuo sets it in front of her. Sure, she’s pretty, but to go so far as to describe herself as perfect and him as “unfortunate”? Maybe their novel is more like the beautiful, arrogant woman and the wealthy man fall in love. If any of the men in here knew what she was really thinking, he wonders if they’d still be drooling at the sight of her.
Was I making a face? How did he know I wanted sugar? If he was watching my face, why has he yet to gasp?!
Oh, right. Mortals can’t read minds. To be fair, if he knew any other immortals, he’s not sure they would be able to as well. And what is with her and this gasping?
He turns away from their table. Maybe he is unfortunate, because plenty of other odd customers come in. One of them is infatuated with comics, another he’s pretty sure belongs in prison, and his most bothersome is just a plain fool. Somehow, they always find him again in their next lives. These two aren’t any different. Another pair of eccentric individuals that will leave, die and return as repeating nuisances in his less than peaceful life.
Hopefully, this will be a one-time occurrence.
“Hey, you peon.”
Surely, he isn’t referring to me.
“Peon from the bar, I’m talking to you.”
He seriously is?
“Don’t flirt with other men’s wives,” Saiko says. “Much less mine. I could demolish this building if I really wanted to.”
“Metori,” she whispers. Does he really have to do this now?! At least one of them has their head intact. Of course the worker would flirt with me. That’s simply the burden one must bear when with me!
Never mind. She doesn’t, either.
And to call me his wife when we aren’t married yet…! The nerve of this man!
If they aren’t married, what’s with the gaudy ring?
“Come, Kokomi, I told you we should have had tea somewhere more befitting someone of my prestige.” He scoffs, standing up.
“You still have to pay for that.” Kusuo points at the untouched castella and barely sipped coffees. As much as he wants them to leave, he won’t let this nuisance steal from his parents.
Saiko announces his departure by fishing through his coat pocket for his wallet, slamming a few bills onto the table, and takes his to-be-wife away by the hand. Kusuo tries to ignore how she looks back at the castella, then his face.
Partially because he’ll have the castella for himself later, but mostly because he dislikes how pitiful she looks.
The passage of time eludes Kusuo entirely, it’s almost laughable to consider. Days feel like seconds and months feel like mere minutes in the eyes of an immortal being. His customers all speak of the seasons going by, but he doesn’t feel much difference other than the winter breeze that nips at his skin.
The door opens, sunlight streaming in. How is it possibly this bright out during this time of year?
Ah. It wasn’t the sun. It’s her – the same beauty from however many minutes ago. She still attracts the attention of the other customers even in a Western-style pink dress with outrageously puffy sleeves. He wants to question her fashion choices, but miraculously, she doesn’t look awful. He supposes with a face like hers, she could make a dress made of seaweed appealing.
This time, the door closes behind her, with no one tagging along. Her husband (he assumes by now they’ve married) is not with her, thankfully. She sits at the counter, right in front of him. You…! I don’t know what kind of person you are, but you’ve put a spell on me!
I’m not that kind of being, he deadpans mentally. What could she possibly be talking about?
I’ve only come by to apologise about Metori! That’s right, she thinks, hands reaching to her flushed cheeks. Even though that was three months ago, he surely can’t forget a face like mine. I’m sure he’s so touched that I’ve returned!
Well, he didn’t forget her face, but not for the reason she’s thinking.
“Um, it’s a nice morning, isn’t it?” she says. “I’ll have–”
He sets a slice of castella and a cup of coffee in front of her.
“And–”
He opens the glass jar of sugar cubes, sliding it across the counter.
How does he know what I want to order?
The sooner she’s out of here, the sooner he can return to his quiet life.
Perhaps he’s been waiting for me to return because he’s fallen deeply in love with me! Why then, isn’t he gasping at me?
Kusuo has to force away an eyeroll. Out of all the characters he’s met, she’s certainly the one he hopes he’ll never meet again. He can handle the others, but she is something else entirely. “Where’s your husband?”
How forward! “Oh, um, he’s at sea,” she replies with a smile.
“During the winter?” he asks. He’s not exactly curious, per se, simply being polite. Making conversation with customers. His mother always reminded him to try.
“Yes, well, that’s why I’ve come to visit,” she says. “Other than the castella I didn’t manage to try before. I wanted to apologise for his behaviour the last time we were here.”
“Rich people like him come in all the time,” he answers honestly. “It’s nothing that you should apologise for.”
After all, it’s not like she’s the one that yelled in his face.
“I suppose you’re right,” she mumbles, having a bite of the cake. A satisfied smile plays on her lips and he can’t help but to admit it’s rather pretty. “But that’s what wives do, is it not?”
“What, take the blame for their impudent husbands?” He snorts. “That’s idiotic.”
“Isn’t it?” Her eyes light up, palms slamming onto the counter as the fork clangs against her plate. She straightens up. “I’m sorry!” Ah, Kokomi! What’s with you? The perfect wife shouldn’t speak that way of her husband!
No, go on. It’s the first thing she’s said that they might agree on. As much as Kusuo wants her to leave, even he can admit that she’s entertaining. That doesn’t matter, though, since once this second ends, it will most probably be the last time he sees her. She’s better suited living in a palace, somewhere far away. If he’s unlucky, they’ll meet in her next life too.
“Well, I can’t complain too much,” she says. “He’s well-off.”
Is that her only standard?
“But I guess it does get a little lonely waiting for him,” she continues, sighing. “He didn’t even show up to the wedding, if you can believe me.”
Someone like Saiko? It doesn’t take much for Kusuo to believe her.
“My mother said that I’ll grow accustomed to the feeling, but I’m not so sure.” Her teaspoon clinks against the edges of her coffee cup as she stirs. “Ah, what am I doing speaking ill of my husband to a stranger?” He’s put a spell on me, I’m certain!
Again, he’s not that kind of being.
But he’s a rather good listener…
No, he’s simply quiet.
Perhaps I’ll come back soon?
Please don’t.
She does. Snow still blankets the neighbourhood, so he knows it hasn’t been that long. Today, thankfully, his father is the one working the counter. But Kusuo knows she arrives when sunlight streams in through the front door and a collective gasp fills the parlour. Oh, it’s the owner today… I suppose I’ll have a cup of coffee and leave. It’s not like I was here for that worker, anyway! He hears her thoughts through the walls, happily eating coffee jelly he made for himself.
His father lets out a groan as he trudges into the kitchen, hanging his apron on the wall. “Kusuo, could you take care of the shop? I’ve got a stomach ache all of a sudden…”
She was right, he really is unfortunate.
She blinks when she sees him. “What happened to Mr. Saiki?”
You cast a spell on him, he thinks. “Stomach ache.”
“Oh, I hope he feels better,” she says. “But I can’t say I’m not glad to see you again. Your coffee tastes the best, but don’t tell Mr. Saiki.”
His coffee jelly tastes great, too, but because of her, he can’t enjoy it in peace. He doesn’t bother telling her that all he does is pour the hand-dripped coffee his father makes into cups. It looks like his father just topped the pot up with a fresh batch.
“That reminds me, we don’t know each other’s names.”
“I know your name.” And he doesn’t think it’s necessary for her to know his. “Saiko Kokomi.”
Her eyes widen, revealing azure irises. “Um, you can refer to me with my maiden name, Teruhashi.”
It doesn’t matter to him, so he simply nods.
“I heard Mr. Saiki call you by your first name. Is he your father?”
Something like that. “My last name is Saiki as well. It’s less confusing to let him call me my first name.”
He plates a slice of castella for Teruhashi as well as pouring her a cup of coffee, tossing in two sugar cubes. “I see.” She takes a sip of the piping hot coffee. Her eyes scrunch closed. I burnt my tongue! Couldn’t God take pity on me?
Kusuo almost snickers, but holds it off.
“Were you on a break?” she asks, pointing at him. “You aren’t wearing the apron.”
“I was,” he answers. She’s surprisingly observant. “Eating, actually.”
Teruhashi hums. “I know. Something with whipped cream, evidently.”
His brows furrow, wiping his thumb across his lips. “You couldn’t have told me that earlier?”
“I didn’t think to,” she replies. She’s telling the truth, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. Teruhashi offers a pink handkerchief, to which he shakes his head. He’d rather live another thousand years than use something of hers. “Is the coffee jelly here good?”
“Decent. I’ve had better.”
She hums again, a smile dancing on her lips. “One coffee jelly, please.”
“I don’t want your pity,” he says, as tempting as it is. If he accepts the dessert, she’ll win, he reminds himself. Even if in exchange for her win is his favourite bittersweet delicacy.
How did he know I was going to offer it to him? She lets out a giggle. “It’s like you can see right through me.”
That’s because he can. “Wouldn’t your husband be upset that you’re visiting this shop every day for another man?” he asks. It isn’t very perfect of her.
“I doubt he cares much about me, anyway.”
Kusuo lacks much emotion. It wasn’t always this way, but after how long he’s lived, it’s hard to feel much for anything. Yet, when she says this, when her eyes glint like they might spill over with tears, he almost feels something. As if the useless object in his chest that has lay dormant up until now finally reawakened.
Kokomi, you’re doing it again. Perfect women–wives, don’t spill their marital problems to the first man that shows interest. He’s right! Metori would be upset. He would…
He sighs. “If there’s something on your mind, you can talk.” When she tilts her head, he continues, “You’re still a customer. Talk before I change my mind.”
“I was never planning on marrying for love,” she begins. It’s strange, given he knows what a lot of women think about, but he knows the time they live in. If there’s one thing he hopes for, it’s that he can watch that change. Humanity has disappointed him far too long. “So when my parents arranged this marriage with the Saiko family, I wasn’t against it.” Who could say no to his riches? “But I suppose I didn’t realise I was going to feel so much like an accessory.”
“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure if he’s ever meant those words as strongly as right now. “That sounds difficult.”
An unbecoming sigh escapes her, heavy with the weight of her next words. “Do you believe in second lives?”
What? How did they get here?
“I know it sounds silly for me to believe in that sort of thing, but I always found it so interesting,” she says. “If I am to be reincarnated, I hope the next me speaks her mind more than I do.”
That might be the second thing they agree on. It would be a far stretch to say Kusuo is enjoying this conversation, but he likes her a lot more when she isn’t internally praising herself. Though it feels a little odd that she isn’t. By no means does he like that aspect of her, or any aspect of her, but a sad smile feels wrong on her face.
She shakes her head. Or perhaps it would be easier to not be reborn?
It certainly would make it easier for him.
“My offer still stands.” She places her now empty cup on its saucer. “The coffee jelly, I mean. Something better than decent works too.”
In another life where he’s a truly average man, he might’ve taken up that offer. This is not that life.
The door opens and without missing a beat, Kusuo says, “We’re closed.”
When sunlight streams into the parlour, he dreads looking up.
What he doesn’t expect is to find Teruhashi, puffy eyes glittering with tears, and yet somehow still as beautiful as the day she walked in with her husband. He hadn’t seen her in quite some time. Cherry blossoms had bloomed and cascaded from the trees since her last visit – it was quiet without her. He should have been thankful for the deity being kind to him, but for some reason, quiet felt empty. Maybe he had gotten too used to her thoughts taking up room in his mind. Maybe she cast a spell on him.
“I’m sorry, I’ll come back another time.” I shouldn’t have come in the first place!
He wants to say yes, that she should return in a timely manner, that they aren’t friends and he’s simply a barista. But his hand, the traitor that it is, stops wiping down the countertop. “Come in.”
Her thoughts darting around makes it hard for even him to figure out what the issue is. While she collects herself, he searches around for the jar of coffee grounds. His father left him to do the cleaning up – typical of him – and there’s no coffee left. He hasn’t a clue how to make it, but it surely can’t be that difficult. He listens to her sniffles as he pours hot water over the grounds. Once he’s finished, she lifts her handkerchief from her flushed face and takes a tentative sip.
“This is awful.” She laughs. The thought is unfiltered, much like the coffee he’d made. He couldn’t find the filter papers. His mild humiliation is washed away by the sound of her laughter. Somehow, that too, is perfect in the way that she is when she’s not trying to be.
“My fa–Mr. Saiki is the one that makes the coffee. I just pour it out.”
“Oh,” she says. “I should apologise to him for assuming you made the better coffee.”
“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
She inhales deeply. “My husband has been… unfaithful.”
Ah.
What is he going to think? The husband of the perfect woman would never even consider another! Saiki is going to think I was a mediocre–no, an inadequate wife.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you. This was a mistake.”
“Have you ever considered that maybe he is the issue?” he asks. “There are no customers, so you’re not disturbing me. If anything, you might be helpful.”
Kusuo pulls out the platter of castella from the display case. A few slices have been cut off, but the cake is mostly untouched. “As it turns out, you’re our castella’s largest consumer.” He gives her the pre-cut slice, and cuts one for himself. What? He wouldn’t want to waste it. And ever since he started saving her a slice every day, then having to eat it when she never showed up, he’s realised his mother makes some delicious castella.
As she forks a bite into her mouth, a familiar pleased smile dances on her lips. It’s almost relieving to see it again, but he catches himself in time. “Thank you, Saiki,” she says. “It’s as if you know exactly what I’m thinking.”
That’s because he does.
“I overheard him talking with his friends about inviting his favourite ‘S’ and wasn’t sure what that meant.”
Ah. “Right.”
“And I’m aware having regular geishas isn’t out of the ordinary for a married man but–” She breaks out into sobs once more and his heart clenches. But if I’m not ready, shouldn’t he wait until I am? I wait for him every time he leaves – aren’t I deserving of the same?
Every day, humanity disappoints him further. He’s never felt that desire, but he doesn’t believe it to be so all-consuming that it should cause infidelity. Kusuo will never understand mortals.
“Is it so hard to wait?” she asks. She stares up at him from the barstool, eyes peering into his. As an immortal being, there is very little he might describe as breathtaking. But just then, her gaze opened up his chest and revealed that useless object again, its incessant beating refusing to start up – and his breath had halted, as he wished it did many, many times before.
“No, I don’t think so.”
A helpless sigh escapes her as she wipes her tears away. “You’re a very patient man,” she says.
“Am I?”
“You could have ignored me all those times,” she replies. “You could have turned me away tonight.”
Kusuo regards himself as an all-knowing psychic, and yet he isn’t sure why — why did he let her in? He’d never felt pity for anyone but himself before. He’d never even bothered with mortal relations. Why hadn’t he ignored her like he would’ve anyone else?
“I could’ve.” And he should’ve. This is only a problem because he idiotically found something to like about her presence in their time together – which in itself is stupid, because it had barely been any time at all. But maybe in a world that he is forced to watch change before his very eyes, he finds comfort in the unchanging. Maybe that is why he still serves those three morons every time they visit, and maybe that is why seeing her this way feels incorrect.
“But you didn’t.”
“I… did not.”
“I take it you regret that.”
Yes, he regrets listening to her thoughts. He regrets ever replying to her when she visits, and he regrets hoping the sunlight streaming into the shop might not be the sun at all — that it might be her.
He should regret letting her in. He should regret not turning her away.
“I… do not.”
Her gaze leaves his (and as it does, he stupidly hopes it may return) and finds home inside her coffee cup, grounds sunken at the bottom. “You should learn how to make coffee.”
He has plenty of time to do so, Kusuo thinks. Either way, he dumps the failed coffee into the sink behind him as he listens to her mind race despite her silence.
“It’s not your fault,” he says. “His infidelity does not amount to your inadequacy. And you are worth the wait.”
He despises how honest the words taste on his tongue. How he feels his own compassion pouring from him, how ‘human’ is woven into every breath he takes. How afraid he is to turn around and see her expression.
“I wish my husband thought the same.”
There are now three things in Kusuo’s life he’s absolutely certain of.
One, coffee jelly is still the revolutionary innovation that it was one hundred years ago.
Two, it is still not worth the loneliness of being immortal.
And three, he is much older than one hundred years.
But he’s not sure if he was alive all those years before he’d met her.
It’s been one hundred years since he’d last seen Teruhashi Kokomi. Out of respect for her, he refers to her with her maiden name – although, it’s not as though there are people he talks to about her. Her presence is sacred to him. If he were stronger, he might want those around him to know her name, like that might speak her into existence. He is not that strong.
Kusuo, at this point, is almost sure there is no higher power than him – if there were, then they must truly take pleasure in watching his misery. If there were, then why hasn’t he met her again? He’s met the other of his nuisances – hell, he’s met her sore excuse of a husband. Still the same, arrogant man that he was a hundred years ago. Still the man that wouldn’t deserve Teruhashi Kokomi even with all the money in the world.
When will he see her again? When will she be reborn? How long more does he have to wait?
He started working at a twenty-first century cafe in hopes that sunlight might stream through the door. That he might look up and find that it was still just her.
They don’t serve castella, instead her favourite delicacy has been replaced with more Western-style desserts. Still, he cuts himself a slice of sponge cake from the display. Stares at the plate for too long. Maybe she’d like it, like she did that pink dress, puffy sleeves and all. Did she even like it, or was it something that awful man wanted her to wear?
That is what irritates him most. What did he know about her aside from who she was unfortunately married to? Aside from how many sugar cubes she liked in her coffee?
(He knows that she was too harsh on herself. That despite her own ego, she was still capable of insecurity. And he knows that what irritates him most is not that he doesn’t know anything about her, but that he never bothered to learn about her when he had the chance.)
He wants to see her again. He wants to hear her vain thoughts, her laughter, wants to see the pleased smile on her face – he’d taught himself how to make coffee without the new-fangled technology so when she returns, he might impress her.
Kusuo tosses two sugar cubes into a cup of coffee, watching the steam drift towards the slice of cake. The barstool in front of him is empty.
He wants to move on. He wants to stop waiting for her.
But he does not, as waiting for her has become a part of his life he wishes not to change. Because waiting is easy. Because she deserves it.
Because he is good at it – at waiting.