I have my words, and time is ticking

Summary

Time flies and the sky remains indifferent while a life built on shared smoke begins to shatter. In the space between a ticking heart and a blank question, the labels of the world fall away. Arita stands at the edge of a finality he cannot name, waiting for a result that feels like a bird in the path of a roaring night. The answer is not found in words but in the endurance of a feeling that has no choice but to exist.

Notes

The way the momentum builds toward Chapter 31 is truly striking, and I have spent a great deal of time reflecting on the unexplainable weight that stays with me after reading those early chapters. It is a complicated struggle when we talk about the nature of labels and relationships, mostly because these rigid definitions often act as barriers that prevent us from understanding who we are meant to be in this world. I have decided to write this story was not just an exercise in thought, but a way to give my feelings a heart and a voice, expressing the depths of what I have carried inside.

This is just a more detailed version of Chapter 31 that I thought for a while now.

You can read my thoughts about Chapter 2 and 3, which is the foundation for me to write this: My thoughts about Kemutai Hanashi - Chapter 2 and 3: Relationships and labels

Today is a really different day, and he feels something is about to come, to resolve in his messy, bottled-up mind. The morning train station is not quite as busy as other days, filled with people heading in different directions on their own. Some go to work, some go home, and others go to enjoy their day. Each person surely has a different path they can take.

Staring at the drink machine while choosing a beverage, he realizes even the drinks have their own labels. Bitter like tea, sweet like soft drinks, bland like water. Everything has a label of its own. Everything in this life is defined by some word, some term, but there are some things that cannot be easily defined, even by the people involved. Sometimes, feelings are hard to explain, painfully so, because it is empty and scary to find that there is no term to describe them.

"If it is a test of a person's bravery, maybe I have lost myself along the way," Arita mumbled. The question about the relationship between the teacher and his wife from the test that he and Takeda discussed this morning still occupies his thoughts. He does not really care about choices, anyway.

Making choices and writing things down from one's own perspective, though seemingly easy, makes a person feel like they are drowning in their own mind. Because what is truly right or wrong in reality? A person understands the characters in their own story best, not the outsiders. Sometimes we only care about the result, about what will happen the next day. We tend to hold onto the past so tightly. It hurts in some ways, but it is the least we can do.

Reality shifts with the sudden rush of a train pulling into the station. The questioning of himself begins. The baseball is about to be thrown for a result. The bird is flying.

Time flew after meeting his mates. The conversation felt indifferent, but it struck a nerve. It was difficult when he mentioned he was living with his friend, Takeda. It is nothing special, but for two different men, two polar opposites, two distinct individuals to live in the same apartment is strange to others. People their age usually have their own lovers, their own homes, their own goals and passions. To live the way they do feels somehow weird.

Kabashima struck upon that feeling of weirdness after hearing it, admitting that even when things feel right, they can still crumble. His relationship with Kana had become blurry over the days, unpredictable but somehow striking. The relationship had ignited because he wanted it to, because of the role he wanted to play, and his desires. Everything influences us in the slightest ways; expectation is strange. But if things change and a relationship breaks, returning to square one is funny, madly funny, and elicits a cry for help.

Arita had heard enough of the conversation, and things were already beginning to shift in his mind. Leaving early was a conscious choice before his thoughts could take a darker turn.

The ball is flying through the sky; the bird is flying toward the city. People are watching them, but only a few.

Standing on the train platform, stepping into the carriage, and heading home. The neon lights from city signs, billboards, and advertisements are glowing. Blended with the movement of the train, they create a dancing rhythm for anyone watching. Strangely, these things become more noticeable when we start to realize a problem, when we are driven to do something seriously. The world is moving in front of his eyes. People are living at their own pace, busy, relaxed, where anything can happen. Endless rivers of commuters, blurry, unclear announcements from speakers echoing destinations back and forth. Yet, these things only make the loneliness and dissonance feel heavier.

He feels it, and he feels terrible about it. He is standing still, suffocating at a single point in the timeline. Life truly begins to crumble when we slowly realize things need to be addressed quickly, yet carefully. The air feels heavy, dense with an impending finality.

He rewinds his thoughts back to those days, or at least, back to sitting at that table with that unknown question.

"When will I finally have my answer?" Arita wondered. His reflection in the passing train window looks like the ghost of a man, blurry and tired.

Living in silence for so long makes it feel like preparing for the darkest day to come. Months of a comfortable, peaceful haze with Takeda. It is a life defined by shared quiet hours on the balcony, the quiet clatter of dishes in the sink, and the unspoken routines that weave their lives together. Bound tightly inward, completely invisible outward. But the ultimate test of oneself can start at any point in life, arriving without warning. Like a baseball launched into the sky that needs to be caught instantly, a sudden trajectory demanding a reaction before you are even ready to raise your glove.

Dissonance rings in his mind as time passes, ticking away second by second. The sound is not from the station clocks, but rather the violent beating of his own heart. The train sways, making him stumble slightly as he remembers that the catalyst for this unraveling had been so painfully ordinary. A drinking party with the izakaya lights too bright, the laughter too loud, and the alcohol leaving a bitter trail down his throat.

"So, Arita, you're still living with Takeda?" one of them had asked. "It’s been months, right? What's the plan there? Settling down? You can't just be roommates forever."

Those casual words were a mere observation, but to Arita, they peeled his skin back. He had forced a polite smile, but beneath the table, his hands trembled. Roommates. Is that all they are? Friends. Is that the boundary? The world demands categories, neat little boxes to file people into, but looking inward, searching for the box that contained him and Takeda, he found nothing but an agonizing void.

The question had been delivered, and now it was time for him to find the true answer.

Sitting on the late-night train heading home, the clacking of the wheels mimics the ticking in his head. Questions and answers are hard to define since each of us experiences a different inner world. Despair festers in his mind, his sanity crumbling just trying to find it. The train car is mostly empty, its overhead fluorescent lights flickering and casting long, wavering shadows that distort the space. Everything blurs as the boundaries between his thoughts and reality dissolve. In his mind's eye, he sees a piece of paper, a test, a multiple-choice question presented by the universe itself.

But there are no choices. No A, no B, and no labels of friend, family, lover, or stranger. There is just a blank box, an empty, mocking square waiting to be filled.

"Takeda. How do you fit into this blank?" Arita whispered into the hollow train car.

He closed his eyes, and Takeda’s scent filled his senses, a phantom smell clinging to his clothes, his hair, his soul. He pictured Takeda’s unkempt hair, the lazy slope of his shoulders leaning against the balcony railing, gazing out into the quiet night. He felt the phantom warmth of Takeda’s presence across the small living room, the gravity keeping Arita from floating away into the abyss.

"Takeda. When will I finally be able to tell you my true feelings?"

The train sways and rattles, forcing him to clutch his briefcase until his knuckles turn white. The pressure in his chest is absolute, enduring a tidal wave of emotions bottled up for so long that it has become entirely too hard for a single person to handle.

"Takeda. What is your answer to this question?"

Would Takeda even understand, or would he just blink, scratch the back of his neck, and offer a slow, confused smile? The terror of ruining their delicate ecosystem paralyzes Arita. They are walking on a tightrope of smoke, where one wrong breath, one heavy word, and it could all dissipate into nothingness.

"And to myself... what would my words even be?"

The train plunges into a dark tunnel, the roaring wind rushing past its metal shell deafeningly loud. Yet, all Arita can hear is the ticking, growing faster and louder as the countdown to turning the key in their apartment door approaches, the moment he will see Takeda again. There is no question at all, he realizes with a sharp gasp, just the endurance of this agony. The blank box is not asking him to define their relationship; it is challenging his courage to exist in the terrifying reality of his own heart.

The intensity spikes with a mix of psychological dread and longing as the station announcement chimes for the next stop. The climax of his endurance is hurtling toward him, and the baseball play returns vividly to his vision. The pitcher wound up, the throw was made, and now the ball is spinning violently closer. The red stitches blur into a single, terrifying line. The leather glove is waiting, trembling. Gravity is entirely suspended. The outcome of the entire game rests on a millimeter of distance between the hand and the ball. If he misses, it strikes the ground and the game shatters.

And the bird is flying. It flies straight toward the city, freely and beautifully in the cold night, but it is about to be struck by a truck. The headlights glare directly into its eyes, leaving it frozen. Its wings are spread wide but completely useless against the roaring, unavoidable mass of reality bearing down on it. The impact is inevitable, and the result is coming.

"I cannot bear this feeling of my mind," Arita whispered, his voice cracking under the pressure of his spiraling thoughts. The runaway momentum of his anxiety was tearing him apart, his own brain acting as the roaring truck. Yet, as his thoughts shifted to the sliver of light he knew was waiting under their apartment door, the blinding headlights paralyzed him further. "I cannot bear this feeling from you." Takeda's casual, unconditional kindness was too bright, too profound, and Arita was terrified of being fundamentally unworthy of it.

Arita cannot breathe as the blurriness turns into hot, unshed tears. He does not want to lose Takeda. He does not want to be just roommates, nor does he want to be left behind while the world goes on its way. He wants the smoke to settle. He wants the ticking to stop.

The train screeches to a heavy halt as the mechanical doors slide open to reveal the outside world. He steps out into the cool night air, letting his legs move mechanically down the familiar streets, past the humming vending machines and the dim streetlamps. Every step expands the blank box in his mind, its white emptiness glowing with a blinding intensity, demanding an answer and a choice where there are none.

He reaches the front door of their apartment, noticing a thin sliver of light spilling from beneath it. Takeda is in there. Takeda is waiting.

With a trembling hand raised to the doorknob, the ticking reaches a deafening limit, turning into a roaring wave of absolute despair and infinite love. He stares at the imaginary blank box, the ultimate test of his existence—the space to define what he wants from the man on the other side. He does not need a label, and he does not need a multiple-choice option. The dam breaks, his endurance shatters, and his soul bleeds onto the empty space.

I mark my words, and the world shall see.

He grips the handle, his heart breaking and healing all at once. And in the center of that terrifying, beautiful blank box, Arita violently scrawls his final answer:

Anything.