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❝ sweet kisses give toothaches❞
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The boxes are mostly a bore.

A sigh tumbling out his throat, Kaede pushes the current one aside and drags another one towards him. He rips away the tape and checks its contents.

Back at the old house, Edith and he had packed all their belongings rather hurriedly, with his therapist voluntarily assisting them at some point, a thought to be thanked for. The man had helped store a part of his stuff, which are the less personal ones, of course. Hence, he hasn't seen all he owned, and despite them being his, it does, however, appear that he doesn't actually recall ever having them.

The stuff in this box is one example.

Strangely to him, it's packed with books, the sight shed with only traces of familiarity. And not just any books, but storybooks.

Fairytales.

Hans Christian Andersen and Grimms Brothers the like are kept in here, wrapped carefully in plastic—the layer but a sheen of light—and stacked. He hadn't a bookshelf back in his old room, so that must explain why these are here. Retrieving one, he examines the cover and title—The Ugly Duckling.

His lips quirk into a smile.

Putting it back, it really feels odd for him to see these. He's never struck himself as someone who read and still harbours these sort of books, knowing that bedtime stories lacked a major part of his childhood.

For things so clearly taken care of, it's a curious question as to why they are hidden away in a rotting, old box in the first place.

Setting the box back against the wall, he grasps the next one. It's wrapped in plastic, the letters 'FRAGILE' plastered on it. He gets up and finds a box cutter, before coming back and promptly slicing the wrappings away. Putting the tool down, he leans over and opens it, then curiously looks down.

The first thing Kaede recognises is the ebony cover of a notebook.

A book he first saw being four years ago.

When Rain had given it to him.

Tentatively, he reaches down and picks it up. The feeling of cardboard against his palm resonates with so many things. Something about it feels very familiar—and right. For some reason, there's something about the book that comforts him to hold it, his thumb pad brushing across the capital font of his name. He flips it open, memories returning of him by having read all this before, once upon a time in a hospital.

Kaede snaps it closed after some time.

Four years, Kaede. It's been four years.

Yes, he knows, that there are some things that should never be forgotten, and also some things that are of his best interest to move on from.

I'm going to school tomorrow. Starting anew, Kaede reminds himself, placing the book onto the nightstand. He sighs. I need to move on.

He's not coming back. And neither are his memories, it seems, as he stares blankly at the diary. He quickly looks away.

Accept and move on.

Going back to the box, Kaede decides to rummage through it more. He twists around and glances down, only to still as he notices something. From where he'd retrieved the book just now, he sticks his hand further down and pulls out a wooden object that has shown itself. Upon noticing the crank handle at the side, he realises that it's a music box, with a padlock-locked latch above a small keyhole on the drawer. Popping the lid open, it creaks as a ballerina figurine unfolds from within.

Promptly, he twists the handle, the movement followed by the sound of a piano playing. It's a lovely tune, evoking faded memories and strange emotions. He listens to it, relaxing up until the song ends.

All of a sudden, the silence feels louder than before.

He quickly plays it again, wishing to hear the tune once more. Disappointment sheds his little frown once it ends, and with a sigh, he tucks the music box away into one of the drawers in the nightstand. As he does so, he feels a weight on his eyelids, a faint, burning sensation in the eyes beneath them. He yawns and blinks slowly.

Time to stop exploring.

Closing the box and putting it aside, Kaede crawls back onto the bed. He sinks down into the mattress, arms wrapped around his bolster, smiling happily and relishing in the feeling. Rolling to the side, he reaches over to switch off the lamp, only to halt abruptly. Instead, he leans down, peeking into the space inside the spine of the diary.

There's something there.

But just as he's about to grab the book, a sudden chime from his phone startles him. He flinches violently, thinking for a moment that the door had opened and it's his grandmother who walked in, discovering him still awake at this hour, especially knowing that she'll scold him if she finds out. The shock wears off once he realises it's not her and he glances to the side, where his phone lays on the bed next to him. The screen is lit up, nearly blinding him considering the room is only illuminated by a dim orange glow.

Putting the thought of the odd object aside for a moment, Kaede retrieves the device and unlocks it. He's blinded by a wave of brightness then. Squinting, he quickly lowers both that and the sound, making sure that the phone is silenced to avoid any more scares. Once he does so, it becomes apparent to him that it's a message he'd received, and so he opens it.

He stiffens, his heart plummeting once he realises it's from the stranger a few days before.

| This is a late reply, and I'm sorry.

| I was thinking of what to say.

| t's Sam Park.

Sam? The name causes his head to twist, a tension in his stomach to arise. But before he can think further, the messages continue.

| I had to get a new phone because I lost the old one. Although, my profile picture is still the same as you remember.

His eyes drift to the corner of the screen, where he sees a bush of small flowers grouped together, dressed with shades of dark mauve and pale violet. It's a beautiful set of lilacs.

But it tells him nothing.

Sam, Sam, does he know a Sam? His heart beats anxiously as he looks through his mind for any memory of Sam Park. Who is Sam Park? Is this a wrong number? Maybe it's a wrong number. For he can't remember anyone personal of that name. But even so, he can't just dismiss these messages as just that.

He's the one with a gaping memory loss, after all.

Thinking of the right reply, Kaede drafts up a message the same time he reaches to the side and drags over the book.

| i'm sorry but i may have forgotten you

| are you sure this is even the right number?

There's a long pause after that, and he starts to wonder if he said the correct thing. Just as he's about to burst from worry, he finally relaxes as he sees the 'typing' at the top of the screen, then stiffens.

| This is Kaede Akagawa, right?

His fingers are frozen, hovering just above the screen.

They know my name.