The Fatum’s Theory

At the age of 22, I had weathered numerous unfortunate events, including the fact that the only man I had ever loved had returned to my life hand in hand with another person, his “real destiny.”

There was also a lingering memory of hundreds of rejections from men and women in suits who promised me great opportunities without results. No, I was never good at punk, even though it was what I loved the most, which along with Makoto had always been with me.

My life felt like a repetitive song with no clear ending in sight.

Perhaps I had always known what my destiny was, my true goal after all those years: to live a mundane life devoid of drum solos, bass pulses, or weeping guitar riffs.

Falling in love wasn't everything, and neither was work. He had never been everything.

☻☻☻

In front of me, a tall man, with short, dark hair, shaved on the sides, with pierced ears adorned with a bunch of earrings, and only covered by a towel tied to his hip, was staring at me, arching one of his eyebrows. 

I heard the water running in the background again. Paralyzed by fear and uncertainty, I looked around the room once again. Then, I analyzed it: the smell of men's cologne along with the aroma of testosterone melted in my nostrils. I could feel the heat caress and pinch my skin.

There were garments all over the room, feminine and masculine. That man was not alone.

"Could you tell me who you are?"

Amidst hundreds of questions, his voice brought me back to reality. Finally, I realized that I was still holding the suitcase in one hand and my bag in the other. I cleared my throat, "the owner of this house". 

"Impossible," he murmured, "I know the owner, Sumire". 

I sighed, dazed, annoyed by the fact that the individual was still half naked in front of my eyes, and laughed, leaving my luggage on the floor. I crossed my arms, "Kougami Sumire is my aunt, one owner, and I am her niece, the other co-owner". 

Irritated, he clicked his tongue and turned around. He stopped, looked at the clothes on the floor, and ran one of his hands over the back of his neck. I could tell my mere presence made him uncomfortable.

"Yuka, get dressed quickly, you have to go!" he shouted into the hallway.

Suddenly, the sound of running water stopped, one of the doors in the hallway, the one at the back, the bathroom, opened and I saw the figure of a woman covered only by a tiny towel coming out amid steam. "What? " she asked, approaching us. 

I tapped myself on the forehead "You, naked man, get dressed". 

All I was willing for was for the ground to eat away at my conscience.

☻☻☻

Finally, the woman ended up evicting my home and the man got dressed. We both sat on the couch in my apartment with a cup of tea that he insisted on serving, and pulled out our respective contracts.

Peeking at his paper I read his name and remembered my time in the big city.

"Miyazaki Kazuhiro, aren't you the one on the posters at Shinjuku Station?" I asked.

"That 's right". 

So he's a musician I thought while subtly biting my lip, flipping through the pages. Fear ran to my fingertips.

According to those papers, the tenant would be my aunt, but she did not clarify her role as co-owner. It was nonsense. That was my flat.

My whole life had lived within those walls and, in the blink of an eye, disappeared. 

"I am a co-owner" I handed him one of the documents in which my name and my signature were clearly visible next to my aunt's.

"I see..." he whispered, taking his contract, “but according to this paper, the apartment is mine until December of next year. You can't kick me out, can you?

I leaned against the back of the couch and, defeated, nodded. "In fact, I could do it, but kicking you out would also mean troubling my aunt and she already has enough problems with the bar to worry about this old apartment. 

"Sumire is a basket case" he chuckled.

Tired, I sighed. Surely, my aunt believed thatI would never return and that's why she decided to rent it and earn some money. "Maybe this is just fine, this apartment holds too many painful memories," I said in a low murmur.

22 years of my life had resided in that place. My first steps, blurry smiles, my first love and my first heartbreak. All that in that same place. I scanned the room once more, although he had painted the walls pure white, I remembered the soft gray of yesteryear.

Even if the furniture was different, before my eyes the table in the back, next to the balcony door, was the same one where I, Makoto and aunt Sumire, played cards. The sofa was still the kotatsu of the winter days in which we ate tangerines. The photos would always be there, the only thing that had changed was its people's faces.

There was nothing to do there, I had already lost everything. "Sorry for the intrusion, I'll look for a hotel," I said, picking up my folder.

"May I ask you something?"

Intrigued, I looked at him and nodded.

"Why are your eyes so void? That way of looking at everything with such indifference is repulsive".

Perplexed, I blinked several times, "pardon?" I felt insulted, obviously, but also, for some reason, hurt. After so long, someone was poking at the wound.

"Your eyes. They are so empty that they are disgusting". 

I remembered Makoto's grimace when I extended my letter to him. The letter from the annoying friend that was trying to date him. It was indeed repulsive.

"Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?!" I shouted, annoyed, grabbing my bag from the floor and standing up.

"No one," he chuckled, crossing his arms. "I'm nobody, that's why I'm telling you. That gaze shows that you are resentful, something is bothering you, you keep looking everywhere with indifferent eyes, you are not clear. That's disgusting."

His smile, shameless, vile, was horrible, and his eyes, so judicious, looked at me so direct that the shame was impossible to hide on my cheeks, "mind your own business" angry, I extended the handle of the suitcase and got up in order to leave.

But his voice stopped me, "if there is something you want to say, say it, face it. I hate people like you".

His words were clumsy, he spoke of clarity but he was not clear at all. And it was still painful to hear. No one had ever said anything like that to me, so cold, so frank. I didn't speak, I just walked towards the hall and left.

My routine was broken as soon as I turned my back on him.

☻☻☻

At the end of my talk, nay, HORRIBLE talk, with the individual who resided in my beloved and longed-for home,I wandered around the city looking for hotels until I finally gave up and ended up at my aunt's bar.

I didn't want to rest, I didn't feel like going into a hotel room and overthinking. Deep down, I knew that what I really needed was to see a familiar face and drink.

When I arrived at the entrance of my aunt's bar, the Music Island, before going in, I mentally prepared myself, took a deep breath, let out a big sigh, pushed the door and entered smiling,

"I'm back!" I exclaimed, drawing the attention of the only three customers who were next to my aunt, who was cleaning glasses behind the bar.

"Ayumi!" greeted me my aunt Sumire, surprised but cheerful.

And, even though it took them a while to realize it, those three clients, my friends, finally recognized me. 

"Ayumi, what are you doing here?!" Miyoko asked, running to hug me with Minato and Reina.

"Guys, you're hurting me," I stammered, in pain, but they didn't separate.

While my lungs tried to keep working, my aunt laughed from behind.