When Saku wakes in a hospital bed with no memory of the past three years, the world feels like a stranger's—except for the row of cherry trees along the Meguro River, which stir something deep in his chest. He doesn't know why the falling petals feel like a promise. He doesn't know why the kind colleague who visits him with a bouquet of cherry branches seems to be holding back tears behind his smile.
Minato has spent three years loving Saku in secret. Now, standing at the edge of a spring that
Don't Forget, the Continuation of Spring - The last page of the diary—happy to be worried about
When he got home, the house was cold and silent.
The December air had seeped into every corner of the hallway. As Saku took off his shoes in the entryway, the familiar smell of his family home—one he hadn't breathed in for so long—made the tension in his shoulders ease, just a little. Old wood, tatami, and the scent of his mother's dashi, all soaked into the walls.
"I'm home,"
He called out, but no one answered. His mother must have gone out shopping. His older brother Souichirou would be at the construction company at this hour.
Saku headed for his room.
The stairs creaked softly with each step as he climbed to the second floor. Listening to the sound, he thought:
(How long has it been since I came back here?)
After the accident, he'd lived in his own apartment ever since leaving the hospital. The last time he'd stayed overnight at his parents' house might have been New Year's. No—maybe even longer. His memory was hazy, and he couldn't quite grasp the sense of time.
He opened the door to his room.
A soft click, and a wave of nostalgic air drifted out.
A Western-style room of about six tatami mats. A bed, a desk, a bookshelf. On the wall, architectural sketches he'd drawn as a student still hung there, faded. Through the window, the weak winter sunlight cast a pale rectangle of light on the floor.
Saku sat down on the bed.
The springs groaned.
(This feels right.)
He thought so. It had been days since he'd fled Minato's apartment. Since that rainy night, Saku's heart had been restless. The fact that Minato was hiding something. Those two keys. The viewing application form. The document with his and Minato's names side by side.
(What was that about?)
Saku tried to stop thinking about it. But he couldn't. Somewhere in his mind, the sound of that rain and Minato's troubled face kept flickering.
"...Maybe I'll do some cleaning,"
He said it aloud and stood up.
If he didn't keep busy, he'd sink into his thoughts. Moving his body might distract him, at least a little.
Saku stood in front of the closet.
He slid open the fusuma.
Old garment cases, futons no longer in use, and several cardboard boxes. In the back, textbooks and notebooks from his student days were piled carelessly.
Saku picked one up.
An architecture textbook. Thick, with a slightly torn cover. Flipping through it, he found sticky notes here and there, with fine handwriting scribbled in the margins.
(Ah, this is the one I used in class.)
Memories surfaced, vague and dim. The university lecture hall. The drafting board. Staying late into the night to finish assignments.
Saku put the book back in the box.
Next, he picked up a box of old photographs. Opening it, several family photos spilled out. Himself and Souichirou as children. A photo of the two of them fishing. A sports day photo. All of them nostalgic.
Saku looked through them slowly, one by one.
(Souichirou looks so young.)
In the photos, his brother's expression was much softer than it was now. The Souichirou of today was always quiet, impossible to read. But the brother in these photos was smiling innocently.
Saku put the photos back and reached deeper into the closet.
That was when his fingertips touched something hard.
What's this?
He pulled it out.
It was a notebook.
A deep navy cover. Cloth-bound, with frayed corners. It looked very old. But what caught Saku's eye wasn't its age—it was the small sticker on the cover.
A pink sticker shaped like a cherry blossom petal.
(Where did I buy this?)
Saku held the notebook and thought for a while.
He couldn't remember.
But somehow, it felt incredibly important.
Saku returned to the bed and opened the notebook.
The first page.
There, in his own handwriting, was written:
"April 3rd. Had lunch alone with Minato-san for the first time."
Saku's fingers stopped.
Minato-san.
Minato's name was there.
Saku held his breath.
(This is a diary.)
(My diary.)
(From three years ago.)
His heart thumped.
Saku turned to the next page.
"April 10th. Minato-san helped me with a design question. He explained everything so clearly—I really respect him. His smile was dazzling."
His smile was dazzling.
Saku read the sentence over and over.
It was his handwriting. Without a doubt, his own. But the content didn't exist anywhere in Saku's memory.
(I... had feelings for Minato-san...)
He felt his hand beginning to tremble as he turned the pages.
His fingertips twitched, faintly, as if convulsing.
"April 20th. Walked along the Meguro River with Minato-san. The cherry blossoms had already started to fall. Petals floated on the water—it was beautiful. Minato-san said, 'I want to see them with you again next year.' I was so happy."
The Meguro River. Cherry blossoms.
With Minato.
Saku turned the page.
"May 2nd. Held hands with Minato-san for the first time. His hand was warm. My heart was so loud—I worried he might hear it."
Held hands.
With Minato.
Deep in Saku's chest, something began to swirl.
(I was Minato-san's lover.)
(That's what this means.)
(We were lovers.)
Some part of his mind had already known. Since that rainy night, when he'd found the two keys and the viewing application in Minato's apartment, he'd felt it faintly.
But seeing his own feelings written so clearly in his own handwriting—it was no longer a guess. It stood before him as fact.
"June 15th. I fought with Minato-san. He said, 'Don't push yourself too hard.' I know he was worried about me. But the way he said it—it made me so frustrated. I'm not such a weak person that I need Minato-san to worry about me."
Saku's hand stopped turning the page.
Don't push yourself too hard.
Minato had said that.
To the version of himself from three years ago.
And Saku had gotten angry at those words.
(Why did I get angry?)
Saku kept reading.
"June 15th, night. I said something terrible to Minato-san after all. I told him, 'It's none of your business.' He looked so hurt. I'm sorry. That's not what I really meant. What I really—"
Saku's breathing grew shallow.
He turned the page.
"What I really felt was happy. That he worried about me. But I couldn't say it honestly, so I pretended to be angry. I'm sorry, Minato-san. So—"
So—.
Saku tried to read what came next.
But there was nothing after that.
The writing stopped in the middle of the page.
"So—"
Only that word remained, alone in the white space.
Saku stared at the notebook.
(So what?)
(What did I want to tell Minato-san?)
It wasn't written.
Left unfinished, abandoned.
Saku traced the word "So—" with his fingertip.
The ink had left a slight indentation.
(What was I trying to write that day?)
(What did I want to tell Minato-san?)
Saku closed the diary.
His chest ached.
He couldn't breathe properly.
(Minato-san knew about this for three years.)
(That I pretended to be angry with him.)
(That I was actually happy.)
(That I couldn't say what came after "So—")
Saku closed his eyes.
Behind his eyelids, Minato's face appeared.
That rainy night, Minato had tried to say something to Saku.
He'd started to speak, then stopped.
"There's something I want to tell you, Saku."
He'd said that, and then said nothing more.
(What was Minato-san trying to tell me?)
(Was it about this diary?)
(Or something else entirely?)
Saku held the notebook to his chest.
He smelled old paper.
The scent of himself from three years ago.
His feelings for Minato from three years ago.
(I loved Minato-san.)
(I still love him.)
(Even without my memories, that much is certain.)
Saku slowly opened his eyes.
Outside the window, it was already beginning to grow dark.
Winter days are short.
A blue darkness spread quietly through the room.
Saku slipped the notebook into the inner pocket of his coat.
His heart was pounding.
The blood in his body was rushing, making noise.
(I want to see Minato-san.)
(I want to see him right now.)
(I want to see him and talk.)
(My memories might never come back.)
(But what's written in this diary is how I really feel.)
(I was happy that Minato-san worried about me.)
(When he said "Don't push yourself too hard," I was actually so happy.)
Saku stood up.
He threw open the door.
He ran down the stairs.
He put on his shoes in the entryway.
"Oh, Saku. Where are you going?"
His mother, who had just come home, looked at him in surprise.
"I'm going out for a bit!"
That was all he said before he bolted out of the house.
Outside, it was cold.
The December night air stung Saku's cheeks like a blade.
Saku started running.
Toward the Meguro River.
Toward Minato's apartment.
The city glittered with Christmas illuminations.
Red and gold lights floated in the darkness.
But to Saku's eyes, the scene felt like something from a distant world.
There was only one thing in his mind.
He wanted to see Minato.
He wanted to tell him.
(I love Minato-san.)
(Even without my memories, my heart remembers him.)
(Just like it says in this diary—I was happy that Minato-san worried about me.)
(So this time, I'm going to tell him properly.)
Saku ran.
He drew the cold air deep into his lungs.
His breath streamed behind him, white as mist.
Only his footsteps echoed in the silence of the night.
(Minato-san, wait for me.)
(I'm coming now.)
(I'm coming to tell you how I really feel.)
Saku reached the road along the Meguro River.
The city lights reflected on the water's surface, swaying.
In spring, this path would be bursting with cherry blossoms—but now, the bare trees cast only black shadows.
Still, Saku didn't stop running.
Minato's apartment was close now.
Just a little farther, and he'd see Minato.
Saku pressed a hand to the diary in his inner pocket.
Through the fabric, the hard feel of the notebook matched the beating of his heart.
(This diary connects me to Minato-san.)
(The me from three years ago taught the me of now.)
(My true feelings.)
Saku quickened his pace.
He cut through the night city, running through the wind.
Just a little farther, until Minato's light came into view.
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