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“How long has it been?”
“One hundred and thirty-three days,” Akira answers automatically. “Are you hungry?”
The sinking feeling that used to accompany his reply every time Goro asked the question is long gone. It’s been years, the ones that he didn’t count and never considered he could since he was able to feel anything even remotely related to his own body. For the same reason, he never noticed when his arms grew stronger until Ann had pointed it out when he was helping her move to her new apartment.
“It comes with carrying the weight of the world”, he joked back then and watched as Ann’s face twisted in pain that he should be feeling himself. Compassionate hearts never had it easy. Akira used to have one, so he could at least understand the sentiment. He ended up comforting her. Then he came back home and carried some more weight.
He barely sees his friends these days, because sometimes even his arms are not strong enough to fit all their worlds and galaxies within a single embrace.
“I see,” Goro’s calm voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He never broke a hundred days before. If the new record shocks him, he doesn’t let it show. “Help me up? We can eat after I bathe.”
His bone-like fingers freeze in the air.
Goro’s hand rushes nervously to the nightstand and Akira can’t help but watch as his shoulders grow from tense to relaxed as his fingers clench around the small glimmering object.
The wedding ring is still there. Akira never dares to touch it, and he never parts with his.
Goro closes his eyes, in relief or regret, Akira can no longer tell, but he puts it on wordlessly and watches his hand for a moment with a conflicted expression on his face. It’s the same look he used to give his legs as if they could fix themselves just from one piercing glance.
Five years. Those he did count. Five years ago Goro told him for the very first time, “If you’re going to wipe my ass, you might as well marry me.”
It’s not romantic as far as engagements go but somehow fits them just right. Akira agrees, the way he agrees to anything else—with a small nod and a proposal of his own, always happy to provide a plan. It would be impractical to get Goro out of the house and to the city hall just to sign a couple of documents, and it’s unlikely they’ll find an official willing to come to them. He’ll get the wedding rings, and in the meantime, he’ll keep looking for a way to have a wedding here.
He never actually looks into it. He gets them the wedding rings, as promised, but the last thing he wants is for Goro to marry him to keep him at his side.
That was five years ago. They celebrate the day as their anniversary when Goro is awake—as they came to call his lucid state—and if he’s not, they just celebrate it at the next given occasion. It’s the only day when they actually act like newlyweds, barely able to separate themselves from each other’s bodies. It’s also the only day when Goro asks Akira to make love to him, and Akira does what he does best—provides. Goro mutters small unimportant words Akira wants to hear. It’s a fair exchange.
It’s ugly the way he looks forward to that one day. It’s ugly the way he feels like the remaining three hundred and sixty-four days don’t even matter. He wants to love the person Goro is on all these other days. He wants more than to run his life according to a tight schedule.
All in all, Akira considers himself a terrible husband. He said this to Ryuji, as the only person he still can face, and it’s the first time he saw him direct his anger at Akira, rather than Goro.
“What the hell,” he spat, his voice so loud that Akira had to remind him Goro was still sleeping in the other room. “So what, man?! Let him hear me! You wipe his ass, you bathe him, you feed him! You gave up everything for that guy! You cared for him when no one else would! What the fuck do you think marriage is? Do you honestly need this charade? I’ve never seen anyone love someone the way you love him, even if he doesn’t appreciate it! How can you even think you don’t love him?!”
“Caring for him is easier than giving up,” Akira said, by that time already tired of everyone treating him like a hero for doing the decent thing. “Caring for him isn’t the same as loving him.”
To Akira, building something has always been easier than falling apart. So he builds and tends to Goro, the way he tends to the little garden he set up on the balcony of their shitty rundown apartment, as one of the many attempts to keep himself sane.
Today is a good day for both of them. His chest feels light and loving Goro comes easy.
“I’ll run the bath for you then,” Akira can’t help but run his fingers through Goro’s hair in affection. Goro won’t remember it, but he cut his hair yesterday. He’s gotten better with scissors, so maybe this time Goro won’t curse him for it. Even surrounded by pillows and medicine bottles, his husband is as beautiful as the first day they met. Akira bites his tongue. It’s not something Goro wants to hear.
Goro catches his wrist, “Wait.”
He lets Goro manhandle his hand until it’s resting on his cheek instead. He flinches and Akira manages a fond smile. Akira’s hands are always cold. Goro’s skin is always warm, like he’s running a fever.
“I want you to kiss me,” Goro says, not meeting his eyes.
His tone doesn’t differ from the usual commands—change the channel, clean me up, play my favorite album, read this book to me, make me some coffee, stay. He keeps his commands simple, as if the shorter they are, the less humiliating it is for him to ask. But it’s rare for Goro to actually want something. Rarer still, to want to be kissed by Akira.
“If my husband wants a kiss, then I’m happy to oblige,” Akira says with a grin that doesn’t feel like it belongs on his face. Goro seems to think the same thing because he twists his hands in Akira’s shirt to pull him closer and closes his eyes just to avoid looking at him. Akira kisses him like he loves him. Goro kisses him like he loves him back.
If Goro thinks Akira stays by his side out of pity, he never says it out loud. Perhaps, he’s anxious he might actually hear the truth. Perhaps, he’s afraid that Akira would actually up and leave when presented with a choice.
He made his choice almost a decade ago.
It was his first year back in Tokyo. January was particularly cold and unpleasant, and Akira was freezing but he patiently waited for the familiar car to approach. Sae told him to wait outside the main university gate, and her tone told him who it was about even if Goro’s name never made it to the conversation. She later told him that she knew about his survival, but couldn’t find the heart to tell him, and decided to wait until Goro woke up from the coma. His state was kept under the strict surveillance of the government, but it soon turned out that Goro would never be able to cause trouble again.
The words such as irreversible brain damage, spinal cord injury all went over Akira’s head. He barely listened to the doctor with eyes fixed on the small figure on the hospital bed. He couldn’t help but think that Goro finally looks peaceful. The disgusting part of him thought it might be for the better.
Better. That’s when it dawned on him.
Goro Akechi would never get better. Goro Akechi would spend the rest of his days confined to a hospital bed.
Akira cleared his throat to ask if Goro’s family knows, and only then bit his tongue. Sae placed a hand firmly on his shoulder in a weak attempt to lighten the burden of his next realization.
Other than Akira and Sae, Goro Akechi had no one to take care of him. No one else wanted him to live.
Sae said she would pay the hospital bills. She said she would find a good facility and the best doctors to give Goro a semblance of comfort. Akira of now knows Sae would never marry and have kids on her own. Akira of now knows that Sae came to think of Goro as her son, her responsibility. Akira of then wanted the world to burn, including Sae, the hospital staff, and the limp sleeping figure on the hospital bed.
The doctor said that with the right treatment, Goro might relearn how to walk. It would prove to be untrue, and perhaps she knew it at the time, but something about Akira’s face made her lie despite her better judgment. He was only eighteen then, and yet everyone in that building was afraid of him, and no one would ever dare to question his judgment.
“I’ll take him home,” said someone much stronger than himself, a being that used his voice and body to make a promise he would never be ready for. It was just another mask he picked up without thinking. “I’ll leave an address. Take him there as soon as it’s safe for him to be transported.”
Sae was the only one who tried to stop him. He told her to go to hell.
He dropped out the same day. He later helped Goro finish high school from home, and even managed to help him through some online university classes when Goro was still able to keep himself awake more often than not, but Akira never felt tempted to go back.
The first years were difficult. Saving Goro from suicide attempts became part of his daily responsibilities, along with changing Goro’s bedsheets, cooking the meals, keeping him clean, and helping him exercise his muscles. They’ve tried many experimental treatments, but in the end, Goro wasn’t able to do more than three hesitant steps before giving up completely.
Even now, he insists on doing these three steps and Akira lets him even if he’s never able to surpass himself.
Akira works from home, per Haru’s generous offer, and even if he’s quite sure he could do absolutely nothing and still get his paycheck, he glues his eyes to the numbers and spreadsheets just to keep himself occupied. It’s just enough money to make them both comfortable. Sae still pays for Goro’s medication and treatment but she’s too afraid to see him face to face. Goro doesn’t allow anyone near him anyway, accepting Akira’s presence as something unavoidable, akin to punishment. It takes him years to admit he actually wants him near.
On good days, they watch films and play chess. Most of the time, Akira has to let Goro win. He’s still terrible at chess but he tells Goro he’s simply gotten better over time. Goro hates him for lying, and eventually, they drop the chess altogether.
On bad days, Akira mops the floor to clear Goro’s puke, spit, and blood until he can’t tell one from the other. He doesn’t bother to hide the sharp objects. Some stupid part of him thinks Goro should at least have a choice in this. He still saves him every time, because that’s his choice that Goro eventually grows to accept. It’s a duel between life and death, not so different from playing chess, only this time Akira’s not so eager to let Goro win.
On some days, Goro’s body shuts down. He can neither call these days good or bad. As far as his scale goes, they’re neutral at best.
It takes years to get used to the empty look in Goro’s eyes, but at that point, Akira is fully confident there isn’t anything he can’t get used to it. It’s not all bad, he tells himself. Goro eats when presented with food. He sleeps when he’s tired. He reacts when Akira snaps his fingers, but doesn’t react to his own name.
At first, Akira thought it was a form of punishment. Goro has always been a good actor, and the half-catatonic state would be an easy thing to pull off. And yet, the longer it lasted, the more it became clear that even Goro wouldn’t be able to pull it off. He can never recall anything that happened prior to his ‘awakening’, only able to recall the times when he was actually lucid. It’s like there’s an on and off switch somewhere inside his head that none of them can really reach.
The terrifying question, ‘How long has it been?’, becomes part of their routine. Goro asks Akira for a journal to keep track of his state, but Akira’s never seen him actually writing anything down.
Takemi comes by every now and then to check on them, and Akira is grateful knowing how busy her schedule is. To his disappointment, she’s just as clueless as they are, even if the prescribed medication he gets for Goro at least manages to keep him awake longer.
“There is just so much we don’t know about the human brain,” she tells Akira when they’re alone. “Whether his symptoms are caused by a physical injury or mental trauma...I honestly can’t tell you.”
She gives him a long searching look. He can tell she’s one of the few people that’s never been afraid of him. “Now let me tell you something not as a doctor, but as a friend. You will listen to me and I know you’re a stubborn little shit, but you have to hear it anyway.”
He gestures for her to continue. He already knows what she’s going to say.
“I don’t think he’s willing to get better.”
“He is,” Akira says despite himself. “You should have seen him those first few years. He made tremendous progress and despite it all, he wants to live.”
“So he made progress,” Takemi repeats. “What about you?”
Akira vaguely recalls a quiet conversation between Futaba and Sojiro back when he and Goro still lived in Leblanc. ‘He’s wasting his life by staying by his side’. It's what made him start looking for a new place for just the two of them.
“You need someone to take care of,” Takemi continues. “And he needs someone to take care of him. In that, you’re a perfect match. But using each other isn’t love. You won’t find what you’re looking for by staying at his side.”
"He will get better eventually,” Akira repeats the very words he tells himself every morning. “I believe in him, even if no one else does.”
“You’re young,” her lips form a thin line. “That’s all I’m saying. As a friend.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says because he’s young and stubborn, just like she said.
In the meantime, the days Goro manages to stay awake grow shorter and shorter. At that point, Akira is sure that it’s Goro who doesn’t want to see him, even if it’s something he does unconsciously. Some days, Akira doesn’t want to see himself either.
“I know you’re only wearing it for my sake,” Goro says on a Sunday morning.
They’re unwilling to leave the bed, the one they only started sharing a few years ago. It’s big enough not to cause any discomfort to Goro even with Akira sleeping next to him. It’s big enough to make it easy for them not to brush against each other’s skin when Goro doesn’t want to be touched.
Akira’s fingers involuntarily wander to the wedding ring. With a heavy heart, he shakes his head. He’s not so young anymore, but he’s still just as stubborn. “What do you mean?”
“You had to know that I fell in love with you,” Goro’s voice is filled with anger and resentment, directed at no one in particular. “But it’s difficult to break a cripple’s heart. Is that it?”
Akira doesn’t answer because he did know. And he can’t in good conscience tell Goro he loves him back.
It’s probably why Goro refused to keep himself awake. He’s given up because Akira gave him so little to fight for. And the guilt of it is the very reason why Akira never ended up making their marriage official, and why his feelings can never grow beyond what they already are. Much like Goro, he can never surpass himself.
It’s almost impossible to become someone’s reason to live. And Goro needs so desperately for Akira to love him back.
It’s the one sacrifice Akira can’t make. “I did love you,” he hears himself saying.
When Goro doesn’t stop him, he continues, “I loved you, I trusted you. You were my first love, my first kiss, my first everything. And then you killed us. You did everything to bury what we had with you. You almost died and you only grew to care about me, because I was the only one at your side. And you need love, don’t you? It’s why you needed your fans. It’s why you needed Shido. It’s why you needed your dead mother, but they all left you. I’m supposed to believe you love me just because you physically can’t walk away to find someone else? Don’t be pathetic.”
A decade of thoughts. A decade of feelings he refused to let himself feel.
Years later, he’s still just a stupid brat with fragile arms too weak to carry the weight of the world.
He feels disgusting. He wants to leave and never come back. For the very first time, he thinks that maybe he’s the one who should kill himself. It’s not like Goro can stop him. He could easily win, just like a game of chess.
“I can’t undo what I’ve done,” Goro says after what feels like an eternity.
It’s not an excuse. It’s just an emotionless statement and Akira knows it to be true.
“I can’t love you just because we’re stuck with each other,” Akira says, hoping that every last word will end up being the nail to the coffin. “And what you’re feeling most likely isn’t love either. It’s guilt, it’s pity, maybe a mix of both. We can’t love each other, Goro. Not like this.”
Goro doesn’t reply. It seems like he’s run out of anger. Akira thinks that maybe out of the two of them, Goro’s the only one who’s grown both older and mature. “I want to write something in my journal,” he says. “I would like you to leave. Feel free to take a look at it if you want, but I don’t want you here when I’m writing.”
Akira obliges without a word.
In the meantime, he tends to the garden. Everything he planted is mostly dead and he should have gotten rid of it a long time ago. For the first time, he finds the strength to actually do it. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but by the time he’s finished, his heart calms down enough to face Goro again.
When he comes back, Goro’s gaze is empty. He refuses to let Akira take off his wedding ring, so he just leaves it be.
Goro doesn’t wake up again for half a year. It takes time to heal a broken heart after all.
Three months later, Akira gives in and opens the drawer of Goro’s nightstand.
Goro Akechi keeps a journal, after all. Just like he said, he most likely wrote down his thoughts when Akira wasn’t there, but he didn’t particularly mind him seeing the outcome. Just from one look, he can tell they’re all messages meant for both of them anyway.
Goro is extremely meticulous in the way he keeps his notes. As far as Akira can tell, they all follow the same patterns: date, time, current mental state. Most of them are reports of what they’ve done on a given day, as if he was afraid of forgetting that too.
Some notes are clear reminders, meant for Goro’s eyes alone.
One date shows up frequently and Akira’s fingers brush over the letters involuntarily. It’s been underlined, written more carefully than the others. The pen pierced through the page every time.
Akira’s birthday. Don’t forget this time.
Akira wants to laugh. In all their years together, Goro hasn’t wished him a happy birthday once. He was never awake for any of them. Akira never cared much about it and tended to Goro the way he did every other day. Sometimes his friends would come over, and just that one day Akira was always happy to see them.
The reminders continue. Akira realizes some of them are meant to be read as challenges.
Work on your handwriting. Sit up without Akira’s help. Call the doctor in Osaka to ask about the new treatment. Send flowers to Akira’s mother for her birthday. Thank Takemi for all her help. Make yourself eat Akira’s porridge without puking.
The following sentences are underlined:
Tell Akira you’ve been talking to his friends behind his back.
Tell Akira you don’t like his porridge.
Tell Akira you’re grateful.
Tell Akira you’re sorry.
Tell him about the new treatment.
Ask him to marry you properly.
Akira moves to the last page, the one he was working on when he asked Akira to leave that day:
Tell Akira to give up on the garden. Call Sae. Move out.
“Move out,” Akira repeats. Goro follows him with an empty gaze. He smiles. It’s the first smile he’s given Akira in years.
“You can’t,” Akira says weakly. “Not with you...not like this. Don't be ridiculous. I still need you.”
He clenches his hands on the notebook and he doesn’t realize he’s shivering until it drops on the ground.
The tears stain the paper, the way the rain starts falling on an autumn day—slowly and then unstoppably. Even with his cheeks still wet, the person crying feels completely foreign. Akira hears his own voice. He’s openly sobbing, the weight of the ring around his finger heavier than ever. If he could, he would escape his own body to comfort himself. “It can’t be helped”, he would have said. “Sometimes loving someone isn’t enough. But you did the best you could. You both did.”
It’s only after he calms down that he remembers to feed Goro. His body turns back to autopilot, and Goro’s eyes seem less empty as he watches carefully Akira’s tear-stained face. It takes longer than usual to get him to sleep.
“It’s okay,” Akira entwines their fingers, the pair of wedding rings brushing against each other for a moment. “I’ll be fine on my own. Get some rest.”
Goro closes his eyes obediently. Akira waits for him his breath to even out and he lifts the journal off the floor.
A piece of paper falls into his hand.
The characters are awkward and rushed as if the person’s hand wasn’t too used to the flow of Japanese handwriting. It’s probably one of Goro’s first attempts to write something down. It’s a child’s handwriting and Akira’s chest hurts as he imagines the way Goro’s hand struggled to follow the familiar patterns. The text reads:
Whatever you do, don’t forget you’re a being born of sadness.
Akira folds the paper carefully and puts it back between the pages. You’re a being born of sadness, and for that reason, you can never love, he finishes the thought in his head.
He knows the words well. The last thing Goro’s mother has ever said to him. One of the last things he remembers Goro saying to him on a rainy evening when they were both teenagers, and when jazz music could still sink into their souls as an extension of something they wouldn’t dare to name. It was a night of confessions, foolish kisses, and things Akira would be better off forgetting.
He thinks about all the things Goro told him about his mother.
He thinks about how he and Goro only got into this mess because Goro almost died. How nothing in their lives could ever grow from a healthy foundation. They’re flowers that can only bloom under the worst possible conditions. They’re a garden that was always meant to be destroyed.
Finally, he thinks about his parents and how unhappy they were in their marriage. He searches deep within his heart but finds no misery akin to what he’s witnessed for almost seventeen years of his life. In that sentiment, he finally finds peace.
He opens the notebook on a random page and he adds in his own handwriting:
Some flowers need time to bloom.
And then as an afterthought:
There is a great sadness in me that only you can understand.
Akira falls in love with Goro Akechi for the second time in his life.
Goro’s new treatment doesn’t work miracles. But a year later, with Akira’s help, he’s able to walk from their bedroom to the bathroom, finally surpassing everyone’s expectations of him. He’s awake more often than not. He agrees not to move out, but he tells Akira to call the nurse, ‘the only one he didn’t feel like murdering on the spot’, and Akira finally gets to leave the house.
It’s the most terrifying thing he’s ever done. But if there’s one thing he’s ever been, it’s stubborn.
He gives up on the garden, but with Haru’s help, he secretly starts looking for a house where he could actually make something grow. Haru offers him another job. He would have to leave the house every now and then, but some things could be done remotely. He’s scared shitless. Goro calls him an idiot. He just managed to beat Akira in chess and grew unbelievably smug. Akira wants to kiss him.
He doesn’t tell Goro about his change of heart.
He gives them room to grow. He goes out to meet up with his friends, visits Sojiro and Sae, he even calls his parents for the first time in years. From Goro’s journal, he found out that Goro already informed them about their marriage. He told them back then their son was happy. His mother asks if Goro was telling the truth. Akira says yes. Maybe this time he actually means it.
On Akira’s birthday, Goro manages to walk to the living room. He keeps his hands pressed against the wall and still falls twice. He curses a lot. Akira laughs as he helps him up every time. He presses Goro against his chest, and Goro mutters a happy birthday against the fabric of his shirt. Akira knows he can feel his hammering heartbeat but can’t find it in himself to be ashamed.
He makes sure their new house is equipped to make it easier for Goro to walk. He’s already bought the house, but he decides to wait until Goro’s birthday to take him there. The renovation should be finished by then. Sojiro, as it turns out, is as efficient at house repairs as he is at running a café, which means not at all. But as they struggle with all the things their fathers never taught them about house renovations, it helps them rebuild something else that Akira thought was long lost. It seems even without the Metaverse, a person’s heart can change if you give it enough time to heal.
He wonders if Goro’s feelings have changed.
The topic doesn’t come up until their next anniversary. For the first time, they don’t have sex and instead watch crappy TV until Goro falls asleep pressed against his shoulder. The next morning, Akira ends up sleeping in. In his dream, Goro holds him in his arms, and even if it’s just a dream, Akira feels foolish and young, even if he no longer has the right to call himself any of these things.
He opens his eyes to find Goro watching him intently.
“I want a wheelchair,” Goro says suddenly.
Akira shakes the rest of his sleep immediately. “Are you sure?” Goro’s never wanted one, and he’d throw fits at the mere suggestion. “You’ve been making progress. Why now?”
“I want to be able to go out and not worry about falling face first the moment I’m out the door,” Goro says and Akira can tell he’s been rehearsing this. “Besides, I need to conserve my strength.”
“Do you want to get a job?”
Goro pulls him into a kiss. It’s open and hungry, and Akira goes willingly until he forgets that he still needs to breathe, he still needs to brush his teeth, get dressed, and go to work, and Goro’s nurse will be here any second. His lips hurt but he still refuses to part, too scared of the world he will find the moment Goro pulls away.
And yet when he does, the world doesn’t end. Instead, Goro asks. “How long has it been?”
“Two hundred and fifty-six days since your last episode,” Akira says automatically. “But it’s not what you’re asking.”
Goro’s still not good at expressing things he wants, and neither is Akira. So for the sake of both of them, Goro decides to keep it short, to save himself further embarrassment. “Marry me. Properly this time.”
Akira is speechless and perhaps, it’s for the better, because Goro isn’t done, “I want to stand as your equal when I sign the documents,” Goro says. “So I will use that stupid wheelchair and save my strength. I’ll work harder. I’ll do anything.”
“For me,” Akira says childishly. “Because you love me.”
“For you,” Goro repeats dutifully. “Because I know your sadness. And I accept it.”
Akira bites his lip. “I’ve been seeing a therapist.”
He hasn’t told anyone. Not even Takemi or Sojiro. It takes him some time to gather his thoughts, and Goro doesn’t interrupt him. The last few years taught them patience. “It might take longer than your recovery. It might take the rest of our lives,” Akira continues. “I might get worse. And then better again. You can finally walk out on me. I need you more than you need me. You beat me at chess. I will say horrible things, and we’ll hurt each other more than we can possibly imagine. But I...I want you to stay. Please, won’t you stay?”
He never asked anyone for anything. He was always taught to do the selfless thing. He feels small and stupid, and he knows Goro can break him with a single word.
And yet, he’s no longer scared. Because whatever happens, they both learned how to rebuild. They can grow with or without each other. Some gardens were always meant to bloom.
Goro doesn’t reply. Instead, he nods. In that single nod, he contains their entire universe—yes, I will stay. Yes, I love you. Yes, I accept your everything.
With their fingers entwined, Akira realizes that his arms were never meant to carry the weight of the world. But maybe in their joined hands, he can find the strength to make flowers bloom.