Day 04 - April 04, 2024
______________________
I can't remember much.
Nor could I feel what I was supposed to feel. My chest, hollow. My thoughts, murky. A static, dark scene unfolded before me as though I was watching myself in a place I didn't belong. I stood alone. Trees twisted in the distance like broken fingers clawing at the sky. The ground beneath me was mud and ash. The moon had vanished. The stars forgotten.
What... where am I?
I didn't remember walking there. I didn't remember waking. My feet were torn and blistered, bleeding freely like springs opened beneath the skin. Yet I felt no pain. Just the cold. My clothes were shredded, draped from my body like fallen leaves, and cuts laced across my arms, shoulders, and legs—wide, deep, ghastly. I touched them.
Still no pain.
Purgatory?
Hell?
Did I die?
No—how?
As I tried to breathe, my lungs tightened. The air was thick, like smoke and wet stone. The silence, maddening.
Then—
Something. A sound. Not a cry. Not a growl. A voice. Or maybe something in between.
It slithered between the trees. Low, trembling, broken. No—it wasn't an animal. Was it human? A woman? A man? A child? It didn't matter.
Desperation. Raw and choking. Like someone drowning but still screaming beneath the water.
Help…
I stepped forward, instinctively, but my legs refused. Paralyzed. Rooted in that forsaken place. And the voice—
Louder
And louder
Until it became one clear word.
RUN
Bzzzzz. Bzzzz. BZZZZZ.
The alarm shattered everything.
My eyes flung open. My chest burst like something exploded inside. And before I could breathe, my body flew out of bed like a startled deer in a hunter's sight.
Thud.
A loud echo slammed through my small apartment. My forehead kissed the cold, wooden floor. My limbs tangled in the blanket like some tragic burrito. For a second, I just lay there. Breathing. Listening to the silence.
Then… a chuckle. My own. Quiet. Disbelieving.
Was that a dream?
I checked my arms. My legs. My chest. No blood. No wounds. No ashes clinging to my soles. I was warm. Whole. Normal.
Right?
I sat up. Rubbed my forehead. Tried to piece together what I saw, what I felt. It was like a memory that didn't belong to me. It was so vivid, I could taste the metallic sting in the air. So real I could still hear the echo of that word—run.
Then—
Bzzt.
My phone vibrated on the table. The soft hum of life calling me back. My hand reached out on instinct.
A message.
From her.
Fujimoto Airi.
"Wake up, lazy head (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧"
A smile. Not forced. Not faked. Real.
That one line melted the ice inside me. That heavy cloud of confusion—gone, just like that. It was her. It was real. Last night wasn't a dream. I still remember it. Her silhouette beneath the moon. The way her voice danced through the air like a lullaby. The soft laugh. The look in her eyes—not just kind, not just warm—but something beyond explanation.
A fairytale, maybe. One I never wanted to wake from.
I held the phone to my chest for a moment, letting her message sink in. It wasn't just teasing. It had rhythm. Color. Flirtation wrapped in playfulness. My heart pulsed a little faster. My cheeks warm.
Then—
A sizzling crackle.
Pain.
"Ahhh—hot!"
The oil.
In my daydream, I forgot my reality.
Breakfast.
The pan snapped at me like it had a grudge. A splash of hot oil kissed my wrist, and I flinched back, the pain suddenly very real this time. I laughed. Stupid. So stupid. But maybe that's what love does—makes you forget that oil burns and time passes. I shook my hand, still smiling.
Fujimoto Airi.
Her name was a melody in my head. Like a song I never got tired of. I remember her smile now. The way her eyes curved when she laughed. The little tilt in her voice when she said goodnight. The brush of her shoulder against mine as we walked. All of it was burned into my mind, carved into memory.
I didn't know what today would bring. Maybe it would be like yesterday. Or maybe everything would change. But one thing was certain.
She existed. She was real.
And that—was enough to keep me breathing.
For now.
------
Oh no, what happened to you!?
Her voice rang out, laced with worry, echoing lightly in the quiet morning air of the office lobby. Fujimoto Airi stood beside the break room counter, holding a paper cup of coffee that was now forgotten in her hand. Her soft brown hair was slightly tousled, the breeze from the glass entrance doors playing with the ends. She wore her usual smart-casual attire—neatly tucked blouse, fitted slacks, and that signature calm energy that made the office feel less cold.
She looked at my hand and frowned instantly, as if the sight physically hurt her.
"Well… I kinda accidentally burnt myself," I muttered, scratching the back of my neck and turning away from her concerned gaze.
"You clumsy, clumsy man…" she sighed, walking toward me with that half-serious pout she always wore when pretending to be mad. It was her trademark—equal parts warmth and mock frustration.
I chuckled awkwardly, my ears heating up. I couldn't tell if it was from the injury or from the way she looked at me like I had done something tragic.
"Come with me," she said, setting her coffee down. "Let me take care of that."
Her voice had shifted. It was no longer teasing. It was firm. Gentle. Protective.
Airi, whom I always thought of as just a kind co-worker, suddenly radiated something else—something personal. As if my pain was hers to handle.
And so I followed her.
Not because of the burn. It had dulled to nothing but a tingle. But because her expression carried something deeper—a concern too intense to ignore.
She led me into the small nurse's station tucked behind HR—normally used for fainting interns and minor paper cuts. It was empty, silent, the hum of the air-conditioning the only sound.
"Sit," she said, pulling out the drawer to find the first-aid kit. I obeyed, perching on the small bench by the window.
She knelt slightly, resting my hand on her lap without hesitation. Her movements were precise, practiced. She didn't ask questions. She just worked. Cleaned the wound. Dabbed ointment. Wrapped the bandage with gentle pressure.
Her fingers were soft. Warm. Every touch was careful, like she feared doing more harm.
I stared at her, watching her furrow her brows with quiet focus. There was something in her face—a fragile intensity that made my chest ache.
I could hear it all.
The soft tap of disinfectant bottle against plastic. The flutter of paper packaging. The way her breath hitched ever so slightly when she noticed the deeper part of the burn.
And my heart.
Beating.
Fast. Loud. Impossible to ignore.
Her touch wasn't just healing—it was magic. I didn't want her to let go.
"All done," she whispered, smoothing down the tape on the bandage.
I looked up at her.
Big mistake.
Our eyes met.
Time stopped.
I saw her. All of her. The warmth. The subtle worry. The lavender scent of her hair drifting toward me.
My chest tightened. My throat dried.
She was so close.
"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, brushing my forehead with the back of her hand.
I nodded slowly.
Lied.
No, I wasn't okay.
I was falling. Melting. Drowning in her nearness.
My hand trembled.
I reached up—barely thinking.
My fingers touched her cheek.
She didn't move.
Her eyes didn't widen in surprise.
She… knew.
Our foreheads met.
Softly. Silently.
And then—
Our lips met.
Gentle.
Electric.
Not rushed. Not forced. Just right.
Her lips moved with mine like they were meant to—like they had been waiting for this moment quietly for months. There was no chaos. No wild hunger. Just warmth. Understanding. A soft, sacred exchange.
It felt like a secret shared between souls.
A breath passed between us.
Then—
"Haruki-kun?"
I blinked.
Airi stood before me, waving her hand gently.
"You okay?" she smiled, teasing now. "You spaced out again."
I looked around.
I was still in the nurse's station. Still sitting on the bench. My hand was bandaged.
But the kiss?
It never happened.
It was all in my head.
I laughed nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. "Sorry… just zoned out. Thanks for treating me."
She giggled—that light, teasing laugh that always made everything feel okay again.
"Let's get back before they start thinking we're skipping morning briefing," she said with a playful smirk.
We walked side by side down the hallway. Her shoulder almost brushed mine. The hum of printers and tapping keyboards echoed ahead of us. Morning sun poured in from the office windows, casting soft gold across the floor.
When we reached our department, she gave me a little wave before heading to her desk.
I turned back once.
She was already looking at me.
She smiled.
I smiled back.
What a day that was.
But the kiss?
It never left my mind.
Not even for a second.
_____________________
I was in my station, frozen.
The constant loud noises of the office whirled around me, a chaotic harmony of workday routine. The taps on tablets. The subtle scratch of pencil lead dragging across paper. The hum and flicker of monitors reflecting pale blue light on weary faces. The rhythmic clatter of keyboards like rain falling in bursts. All of it. Yet none of it reached me.
It didn't bother me. Not even a bit.
I was caught in the middle of my thoughts. My fingers stroked gently across the fabric covering my bandaged wound, almost without realizing it. The pain was dull now, faded into something deeper, something that didn't throb against skin but nestled in the heart.
I can't. I can't concentrate anymore.
What's wrong with me?
It's just a girl. A woman. A cute, beautiful, caring person with a heart too good for this world.
Yes. Fujimoto Airi.
Just thinking her name sent a warm ache through my chest. The kind that wraps around your ribs and squeezes until you can't breathe right.
I tried to shake it off. I can't help myself. I blushed, red-hot embarrassment flooding my cheeks. Flustered. Caught in the act of romance… Why now? Why in the middle of work? Seriously?
I couldn't stop this feeling. Even if I tried, I was afraid it would burst—spill out like a dam finally giving way.
Okay. Calm down.
Calm. Down.
You want her, right? Then you need to impress her.
Focus on your goal. Focus.
Yeah. I need to be the first rookie in this hellhole to land a project. The first.
And maybe—just maybe—one day she'll see me. Not as some hopeless, pathetic guy who can't even manage to keep himself out of trouble. Not as someone she always has to check in on, make sure he's eating, sleeping, not overworking.
No. This time, it'll be different.
She'll see me as me. The hardworking son of a bitch who always dreamed of making it. The idiot who keeps pushing, keeps getting up no matter how many times he gets knocked down.
And when that day finally comes…
I'll kneel. Right there in front of her. In front of everyone. The entire office. Hell, the whole world if I could.
And I'll say it.
I love you.
And maybe—just maybe—she'll love me back.
A sudden breath on my shoulder broke the haze.
I was still caught in the moment, swimming in fantasies, when I realized someone had been standing beside me. No, watching me. Judging.
Or worse… teasing.
Tanaka Hiroshi.
My so-called friend. Or maybe a demon disguised in a workmate's skin.
He leaned in, smug smirk on his face, his voice a quiet sting.
"Are you done daydreaming again, rook?"
I jerked upright, a small gasp caught in my throat. Almost screamed, but swallowed it down with all the dignity I had left.
He looked like he was about to burst out laughing. His eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of someone who'd caught a mouse nibbling at cheese.
"You should see your face," he said, barely containing a snicker.
It was like being caught red-handed.
Not in a real crime. But a hilariously embarrassing one.
I cleared my throat, trying to regain composure.
"Yeah. Sorry," I muttered, forcing a laugh.
He nudged me with his elbow, grinning.
"C'mon, rook. Work now. Daydream later. Maybe during lunch when she's not around to catch you staring."
I could feel my ears heat up. Damn him.
I smiled, defeated. A little grateful, even.
"Yeah… yeah."
I sat straighter. Fingers hovered over the keyboard. My monitor still glowed with the half-finished report. Numbers blurred into meaninglessness. But I blinked, shook it off.
So back to work, I guess.
Time to prove myself.
Not just for me.
But for her.
Fujimoto Airi.
Her name lived in the spaces between each breath.
I typed the first line, then the next. Words forming, building like bricks in a foundation I hoped would one day reach her.
The lights above flickered slightly. Somewhere across the room, someone laughed. Phones rang. Printers churned. A coffee mug clinked softly against a desk.
But all I could hear was the quiet thud of my heart, beating faster than it should, fueled not by fear, but by something that felt dangerously close to hope.
She didn't even have to be there.
She was everywhere in my thoughts. Her voice echoing in memory. Her smile ghosting across my vision. Her warmth, still somehow lingering on the sleeves of my shirt from when she patched me up.
It was ridiculous.
And yet.
Beautiful.
I kept typing. Focused. Determined.
The words came smoother now. Faster. I didn't care if my hands ached or if my eyes strained. I had a goal.
I wanted to be seen.
Not pitied.
Not babied.
Seen.
And loved.
Even if just a sliver of her heart was offered to me, I'd take it. Treasure it. Protect it like something sacred.
I would climb every goddamn mountain this career threw at me if it meant I'd someday be worthy.
The daydreams would come again, I knew it. They always did. In the quiet moments. In the rush of deadlines. In the echo of her laughter in the hallway.
But for now.
Back to work.
For her.