Grey Spring: Ruins of Tokyo Manji and the Love We Left Behind - The Distance Between Fingertips

Four days had passed since Tama Cemetery. Hanagaki Takemichi lay in the morning light, staring at the ceiling of Room 201. The voice he'd spoken there—kneeling on the gravel, saying "I'm still here"—remained lodged in his chest. It hadn't faded. It sank there, undiminished, in the low warmth of his body. His phone vibrated. It was from Mitsuya. ——Talked to Tsurumi. Says I can help out at Fabrica for a few days doing odd jobs. There's pay. You coming? Takemichi stared at the screen for a long moment. Every time he saw Mitsuya's name, the cemetery scene surfaced. The sound of gravel. Mitsuya appearing, standing in front of Ema, then reaching out to pull Takemichi to his feet. In that instant, his hand had overlapped with Hinata's. Mitsuya had said nothing about it. He typed back. ——Got it. 　　　＊ Fabrica, the beauty salon in Shimokitazawa, was a kind of space Takemichi had never entered before. Four minutes on foot from the south exit of the station. White exterior walls, a small sign. When he opened the door, the scent of shampoo came soft against his nose. Nothing like the disinfectant at convenience stores, nothing like the dusty hallway smell of his apartment. Mirrors lined the walls. Indirect lighting glowed low. The music playing had no vocals—just a quiet, instrumental hum. Akira Tsurumi looked up from behind the counter. Forty years old, solidly built. Old scars marked the backs of his hands. Even in the white shirt of a hairdresser, the aura of a former delinquent couldn't be fully hidden. He glanced at Takemichi once and spoke curtly. "Don't lay hands on anything." That was all. No prying. No questions about his past, about Waldstadt, about the SNS incident. Nothing. For Takemichi, that was the greatest help. Mitsuya was already at the chair in the back, working on a regular client. He glanced at Takemichi for only a moment, then returned his gaze to the client in the mirror. It communicated everything. An unspoken agreement: don't bring unnecessary things into this place. Takemichi began cleaning the shampoo stations. He loaded towels into the washing machine, folded the dry ones, restocked them on shelves. Collected trash. Wiped faint dust from the floor with a cloth. Simple work. Simple enough that he could move his body without thinking about anything else. He was grateful for that. While Mitsuya worked, Takemichi occasionally watched his back. The Mitsuya standing as a hairdresser was the same person Takemichi knew. But slightly different. The quality of his voice when speaking to clients differed from the voice he used with Takemichi. It was calm, uniform, a professional mask worn properly. Then Mitsuya's hands stilled mid-treatment. His eyes tracked Takemichi's movement. Just for a moment. A brief instant the client wouldn't notice. Mitsuya's gaze followed Takemichi as he awkwardly cradled a stack of towels toward the shelf, then returned to the mirror. His mouth moved slightly. Not quite a smile. Something close to laughter flickered across his face for an instant, then vanished. Takemichi noticed. He noticed and said nothing. 　　　＊ Lunch break was in the staff room on the second floor. A cramped space, barely two tatami mats. Just a folding pipe chair and an instant coffee maker. Mitsuya poured two cups and handed one to Takemichi. When they both sat, the room became slightly cramped. For a while, there was only the steam from the coffee. Mitsuya spoke. "About Hinata." Takemichi looked up from his cup. "Did it help, having her beside you?" The way he asked was ordinary. Like a report being requested, like a natural question. But Takemichi couldn't quite understand what weight it carried. "……Yeah." He answered honestly. There was no reason to lie. Hinata not leaving his side at the cemetery, holding his hand in the rain, the days continuing with nothing but "see you tomorrow" as they parted—he folded all of it into that single "yeah." Mitsuya's coffee cup was set down on the table. The placement was slightly forceful. A small *clink* echoed louder than it should have in the narrow room. Mitsuya kept his eyes lowered and only replied, "I see." Then came several seconds of silence. Outside, the sound of shampoo water. Someone walking past a mirror. This room alone seemed to exist in a different time. Mitsuya opened his mouth. "If you choose to stand beside someone, I know it won't be me." Takemichi didn't move. "I know that, but hearing it——" The words stopped. Mitsuya swallowed what came next. His hand, which had been resting on the back of the chair, quietly gripped the edge of the table. Then he stood. Without picking up his coffee cup, he opened the door to the break room. "I'm counting on you for the rest." That was all he said before leaving. Takemichi remained. The unfinished words hung in the air of the room. What came after "hearing it——"? Takemichi tried to put it into language and couldn't. Or rather, before he could form the words, his body had already understood. The frame of friendship had visibly wavered in that silence. Takemichi couldn't respond. He still didn't know what he should have said. Not knowing, he stared at the cooling coffee. Only the pain of having said nothing in return remained quietly in his chest. 　　　＊ Just before closing in the evening, the door chime rang. Takemichi turned around. Hinata was standing there. She wore a thin beige coat. Her hair was slightly disheveled. Whether she'd run or hurried onto the train, her cheeks were flushed. Takemichi hadn't told her the location. It was immediately clear this was the result of worry—that he'd been away from the apartment for too long. Mitsuya looked at Hinata across the counter. Since the cemetery exit at Tama, this was the first time the two had exchanged words face-to-face. "Are you Takemichi's childhood friend?" "Yes, I am." A short answer. But an honest one. Mitsuya paused for a moment. Then he spoke quietly. "He looked at ease because of you." It wasn't praise. It wasn't sarcasm either. Mitsuya's voice held almost no emotional inflection, but within that flatness lay only honesty. He attributed Takemichi's change to Hinata's existence while speaking his own feelings plainly. Nothing more, nothing less. Hinata received that weight. One second. Two seconds. Hinata looked at Mitsuya's face, then answered quietly. "You've always been beside him too, haven't you?" Mitsuya didn't answer. He didn't open his mouth. He turned his gaze from Hinata toward the curtain in back. "I'll get Takemichi." That was all he said before disappearing into the back. Hinata watched where Mitsuya had gone for a while. In this brief exchange, neither had stated anything explicitly. But Hinata understood. She understood that Mitsuya's feelings for Takemichi didn't take the shape of the word "friendship." And Mitsuya knew that Hinata understood this. A silent accord, unspoken between them, quietly took hold in the narrow space of Fabrica. 　　　＊ From Shimokitazawa to Sasazuka, they walked side by side, taking the train. The air of evening's beginning. When they exited the Shimokitazawa ticket gate, the lights of vintage clothing stores dyed the street orange. Music leaked from a live house. Young people walked past laughing. Through it all, Takemichi and Hinata walked together. There was no conversation. But it wasn't heavy. Takemichi noticed this. It was different from the suffocating silence that had continued since the first episode. This silence simply existed, blaming neither of them. The resistance to having Hinata beside him had transformed into a weightlessness without resistance. He didn't know when that had happened. But tonight, swaying together on the train, he became clearly aware of the change for the first time. He didn't tell Hinata about Mitsuya's unfinished words. Hinata didn't ask why he couldn't. There was an air that said: that's fine. They left Sasazuka Station and passed in front of Sakura Park. The park bench held the memory of rain from three days ago. But tonight there was no rain. The dry night air passed between them. They arrived in front of Corpo Minase. The vending machine's light thinly illuminated the building's entrance. Mixed with the white light of the streetlamp, their shadows fell on the asphalt. Hinata moved toward the door. "See you tomorrow." The usual words. The nightly parting phrase. That's what Hinata had been doing these past few days—saying it and returning to Room 202. Hinata's hand reached for the doorknob. In that instant. "Hinata." The voice came out. Takemichi himself was most surprised. He hadn't meant to call out. But he had. The name emerged before words could. Hinata turned around. Takemichi stood still, searching for what came next. It wasn't thanks. It wasn't an apology. It wasn't a confession. He hadn't meant to convey anything. He'd simply called. That was all. But nothing came. Hinata waited. She didn't rush him. She looked at Takemichi's face and asked for nothing. She simply stood there and smiled. A smile without pain. A quiet smile. Neither moved. Beneath the streetlights of Sasazuka's night, seconds flowed. It was the first time in two years that Takemichi had called out to stop someone by name. Even if the words didn't come, that alone meant something had taken a step outward. From the place he'd sealed shut, in a form before language, just barely. 　　　＊ He closed the door to Room 201 and removed his coat. He sat on the bed. The room was dark. Before turning on the light, his phone vibrated. It was from Ema. ——A girl was approached by Waldstadt at Chofu Station. I heard her story. I thought you should know. Can we meet? Takemichi stared at those characters for a long time. Chofu. Fifteen minutes by train from Tama Cemetery. The city where Ema lived. He'd thought Waldstadt operated mainly around Shibuya and Ikebukuro. But their reach extended into Ema's neighborhood. The words Ema had asked at the cemetery surfaced. "Why did Draken die and you get to live?" Takemichi still hadn't answered that question. Why was he alive? What was he living for? But now, reading Ema's message, something small moved within him. For two years, the act of moving for someone else had terrified him. Moving meant hurting. Moving meant losing. So he hadn't moved. He'd kept only his body in motion through late-night convenience stores, freezing his emotions to survive. But Waldstadt had already reached the place where Ema was. Takemichi began typing a response. He deleted it once. Typed again. ——Please tell me tomorrow. I want to hear. He sent it. He placed his phone on the bed and looked up at the ceiling without turning on the light. The same room as the first episode. The same ceiling. But the meaning of a sleepless night had shifted, just slightly. It wasn't fear keeping him awake. There was simply more to think about now. What that meant, Takemichi still didn't know. Only the finger that had pressed send trembled just a little less than it had the night before.

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Episode 7

Name: Grey Spring: Ruins of Tokyo Manji and the Love We Left Behind
Author: Novelia

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