How could Haru ever forget how noisy Chie could be? It didn't matter if he wasn't in the mood to chat; Chie would chatter on, filling him in with everything from the latest celebrity gossip to her own life updates. In their quiet little town of Yoshino, having someone as chatty as her was almost comforting, but in Tokyo's busy streets, it was chaotic. Walking with Chie was like strolling alongside a giant parrot.

Haru had learned to adjust himself to Fujiwara's character too. The neighbor was his usual self most of the time, swiftly switching between contemplative thoughts and getting sidetracked by plants, stray animals, or funny-looking clouds. When the gloomy side appeared, Haru stayed calm and continue talking like normal.

They still did their morning walk to campus. It was a quick trip, less than fifteen minutes, but felt like they traversed miles of conversation. On weekends, Fujiwara took him bargain hunting for clothes, showed him the best budget-friendly restaurant (filled with students like himself), and introduced him to hidden gems like cheap bookstores and indie cinemas. Thanks to him, Haru finally understood that Tokyo wasn't really as bad as he thought.

In the evenings, he'd steal glances at Fujiwara through his window as the neighbor sat at his desk. Whether Fujiwara was writing or sketching, he couldn't quite tell. Most of the time, Fujiwara was so captivated in his work that he didn't even notice him watching. There was one time Fujiwara caught him off guard, though. Unfortunately, Haru didn't have a book with him at that time (he usually did), so he just ducked under his desk, ears burning with shame.

This particular Saturday, Haru had been holed up in the library since morning, battling other students for some rare textbooks. Nishii-san had gone out with her friends and would return late. When Haru finally arrived home, the clock had already struck past noon.

In the kitchen, he noticed that the sliding door to the backyard was open. He wondered whether Nishii-san had forgotten to shut it. Or could it be that someone had broken into the house? He snatched his phone and tapped the emergency number. Kunitachi was a safer suburb compared to other parts of Tokyo, the idea of someone breaking in during the daytime seemed outrageous. Still, these were crazy times.

Haru peeked outside and caught a familiar figure. The neighbor, clad entirely in black—black long-sleeved tee, black joggers, even black gloves—was standing at the back yard. Branches were stacked beside him.

"Fujiwara-san?"

"Oh, welcome back." He grinned. "Didn't mean to freak you up. Or did I?"

"I thought you were a burglar!"

"A burglar?" He looked slightly offended. "Because of the all-black outfit?"

"Never mind. What are you doing?"

"Painting the fence. Nishii-san's request," Fujiwara nodded towards the wooden fence, now sporting a neat pale blue with a zigzag pattern so edge-clean like it was printed instead of painted. Not a drop of paint out of place. "Just waiting for it to dry. Figured I'd tidy up the yard in the meantime." He stepped back, inspecting his work. "Do you like the color?"

"It's blue."

"The bucket says teal. Nishii-san's pick. But yeah, it's quite ugly," he admitted.

"I didn't say I hated it."

"But you sound disgusted."

"Nishii-san's into blue."

"You don't know that. You just say that to make me feel better."

The backyard was mainly used for hanging laundry and a few flower beds Nishii-san had planted. It had gotten a bit neglected lately. Haru feld ashamed; he hadn't bothered much about it. Maybe Nishii-san didn't want to disrupt his studies by asking for help. He was often too busy taking care inside of the house, he had forgotten the outside.

"What do you think about the flower beds?" Fujiwara asked.

"It's a complete transformation. Nishii-san would be thrilled."

"Transformation?" Fujiwara's brows curled up, looking astonished. "That's some high praise. Thank you. I like your vocabulary."

Another person would turn down the compliment, but Fujiwara welcomed it. Haru liked that; personally, he never understood why accepting praise was considered snobbish.

"I might sound cheesy, but seriously, you did an amazing job, Fujiwara-san."

"Well, I still have to work on this one," Fujiwara humbly pointed to a patch full of tiny flower buds. "Can use more fertilizer."

"Need any help?"

"You into gardening?"

"Not as skilled as you, but..."

"Thanks for the offer. I think I'll handle this myself."

Fujiwara squatted down, his face looked determined to finish the work.

Haru headed back to the kitchen, thinking of lunch. A peek into the fridge showed fresh nanohana and some frozen spring rolls. He imagined enjoying the bitter nanohana with a bit of soy sauce and mustard, alongside those tasty fried spring rolls.

He started with making tea before preparing the dish. Then, he rinsed the nanohana, boiling them until they reached the desired softness, be extra careful not to let them turn mushy. After draining them, he sprinkled a pinch of salt and added chopped garlic for an extra burst of flavor. On the other burner, he stirred the sauces over medium heat until their enticing aroma filled the kitchen. Now all he needed to do was frying the spring rolls.

"Someone's a good cook."

Fujiwara entered the kitchen.

"I made lunch. Here, have some tea first..."

Ouch. A striking pain suddenly hit Haru.

Fujiwara inched in. "What happened?"

"My waist. Sprained muscles. Sat for hours in the library this morning."

"Ah. Are you sure you're eighteen, not ninety?"

"Excuse me?"

"Bad joke. Sorry." The neighbor stretched out his hands. "Here, let me help you."

"Thank you but..." Haru said, limping over to a chair. "I can manage."

"Not the wooden chair," Fujiwara took him to the living room. "The pain will get worse. Here, lay down on the floor."

"I usually put on a pain relief patch."

"Okay, but first, your back needs to be straightened," Fujiwara said, signaling him to lay down. "I know what I'm doing. Sprained my muscles almost every week playing hockey."

The pain was killing him. Haru surrendered and laid down. Fujiwara put his hands to support his back and guided him to the floor.

"Can you do the cobra pose?" He laid down next to him, demonstrating. "It's useful for backache. I'll show you. Follow me slowly..."

That pose seemed to make the pain worse, but Haru trusted him. He closed his eyes and follow along, expecting more pain. Surprisingly, it felt comforting.

They held that pose for a few seconds before Fujiwara showed him another one. This one looked like they were paying homage to the emperor: knees bent, hands stretched out, and faces pressed flat against the floor. They did the poses for a few sets.

"Well?" Fujiwara asked when they were done.

"Much better. Thank you. I must memorize these poses."

"Good. Now it's time for the patches. Stay here, I'll get them for you."

Fujiwara got up and looked for Nishii-san's medicine kit next to the TV. Knowing exactly where it was told Haru that Fujiwara had been cared for by Nishii-san before. As a nurse, Nishii-san's medicine kit resembled a mini pharmacy.

Fujiwara opened the box, passing him a pack of pain relief patches.

"The food..." Haru suddenly remembered. "I made nanohana, but the spring rolls..."

"Relax. I got it."

...

https://youtu.be/M4g3O9I04UY

君と僕のうた (Kimi to Boku no Uta: Our Song) - The Charm Park

"Sorry," Haru sighed and stretched his legs. They were dining in the living room, perched on the cozy sofa. "I didn't mean to trouble you with the cooking."

"Nah, I just fried the rolls. This nanohana sauce is so good. What did you put in?"

"Mirin, soy sauce, rice vinegar, and sesame oil. We're out of sake, unfortunately."

Fujiwara smacked his lips. "Just take it easy with the study now, would you? University can be tough for an eighty-year-old—"

"Enough with the age joke."

"You must have misheard me. I said eighteen."

Haru clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "I appreciate your concern."

"Here, have some more spring rolls."

"Thank you. I'm full."

"You want me to spoon-feed you, don't you? You just got a sprained muscle, not hit by a truck."

"What? I never ask—"

"Kidding!"

Fujiwara burst into laugh and disappeared into the kitchen, taking the dirty dishes.

"Just leave everything at the sink," Haru shouted. "I'll wash them later."

Fujiwara didn't answer but Haru could hear water running from the sink. Suddenly it dawned on him: the neighbor just played jokes on him. Was this the joker side that Nishii-san told him about? Was this a sign that Fujiwara started to trust him a bit more?

The guy returned a couple of minutes later, his hands wet. He studied Haru for a while. "Are you comfortable? Do you want me to put some pillow on your back?"

"I'm good. Thanks."

"Alright then."

Fujiwara plopped down beside him. Haru felt an awkward sensation creep up, like he'd just swallowed a live goldfish—or maybe a butterfly?—fluttering around inside him, a mix of excitement and nerves. In the distance, the cawing of crows filled the air as the sun dipped below the horizon. Everything around him seemed draped in a strange calmness, except for his own inner turmoil. He felt the urge to dig deep and banish that metaphorical creature stirring inside him, yet a small voice from the depths of his heart urged him to just stay put and go with the flow...

"What do you study at the uni anyway?" Fujiwara broke the silence.

"Business administration."

"Is that a major for smart folks?"

"Not really. There's calculus, statistics, and some algebra, of course, but other than that, it's pretty... standard."

"Why did you choose that major? Do you want to be a banker?"

"I want to work for a good company. An international one, if possible."

"You into traveling?"

Haru hesitated first before confessing, "I've always wanted to live abroad."

"Big dream. You should go for it."

"And what about you, Fujiwara-san? What's your big dream?"

"Definitely not a banker."

"Come on. I'm curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat, remember? Some smart guy from Austria said that. And if you haven't noticed, I have a special connection with cats."

"Schrödinger. It's just a parable. No real cat was harmed."

Fujiwara forced a laugh, then fell silent. Haru waited anxiously for his answer.

"My dream is ordinary," the neighbor finally said, avoiding his gaze. "I just want to be happy."

Haru thought about it for a second. Be happy. A dream so simple yet so elusive. He knew only a few people in his life who could claimed that they were truly happy.

"I guess that's my dream too," he concluded. "What's the point of working for a big company if you're not happy?"

"You know most of the salary-men aren't happy."

"I didn't say I want to be a salary-man."

"So you want to work in an international company, live abroad, and find happiness," Fujiwara mused, squinting at him. "Sounds like you're trying to escape Japan."

Fujiwara didn't know, but Haru actually did try, but failed. Multiple times, back in Yoshino. Haru rubbed his arms, nervously calculating whether it was wise to tell Fujiwara about what happened at school. He wouldn't enjoy telling it, that's for sure.

But the neighbor's silence encouraged him, as if he was waiting.

"I was bullied."

Fujiwara turned to him, his eyes widened. "You were?"

Haru started to tell the story; how he was tormented by his friends because of his skin color. He hadn't meant to share it all, but the words couldn't seemed to stop, rushing out like a stream.

"Sorry you went through that," Fujiwara gave him a friendly nudge on his ribs. "What made you survive?"

"I stopped hating myself. I just had to. Self-loathing wasn't getting me anywhere in a small town like Yoshino."

"Do you hate yourself less now?"

"It's a constant battle. But I'm in Tokyo now, and people couldn't care less about how I look," Haru sighed, he felt as if he had aged a decade after sharing such painful stories. "What about you? Did you leave Misawa and come to Tokyo to find happiness?"

Fujiwara averted his eyes and fell into his usual silence. After a few moments, he got up, clasped his hands in front of his chest, and bowed courteously.

"It's getting dark and cold. I'd better get home soon."

Haru checked outside; the sky was in dark orange hue, persimmon-like. "Wait, it's not fair. I'm always the one who tells you—"

"Thank you for the food. I hope you get better."

Fujiwara made a swift exit without adding anything more. As the door closed behind him, he understood that Fujiwara was deliberately steering clear of conversations about himself, as he always did. And he hated him for doing that.

In the backyard, the teal fence looked quite fine under the orange sky. Somehow, the colors harmonized.