Life Afterlife: The Sequel

Dead Mail

SIX MONTHS AFTER the incident, Akaashi moves out. The parting is uneventful. His parents don’t question the reason behind his sudden decision. Only a quiet understanding exists that it was inevitable.

His new apartment is situated on the fifth floor of a high-rise in the suburbs of Tokyo. It cost him a fortune. For the past few months he saved a portion earned from his internships to finally go through with the plan.

The ‘plan.’

It’s simple.

Keep living.

A simple and difficult plan.

He lights up a cigarette and takes a drag. The sun is setting. It sets as it always has, as if the only one left permanently changed is him.

The balcony is the only part of the apartment that doesn’t remind Akaashi of a prison. He’s never been inside a prison and his place doesn’t look anything like the prisons depicted in movies, but resemblance hardly matters, does it? Anywhere you can’t breathe is a prison. And for Akaashi, that is now most of the places in his life.

An abridged list of the places in his life:

1. The apartment. He calls it Box. Box is usually a pretty clean guy, the kind with paperbacks arranged in alphabetical order and no strewn clothes on the floor. Some would say he is too clean. Akaashi likes him quite a bit if he were being honest. The kind of reluctant liking you develop towards a particularly grumpy cat.

2. Old house. Akaashi may have moved to his own place, but that in no way implies his parents won’t expect him to pay them a visit once or twice a week. He doesn’t mind; it’s only a train ride away. And this is the most he can do for them, anyway. They’re being surprisingly considerate of his entire ‘situation,’ so to speak. Although they’re none the wiser about what the situation is than they were six months ago. Still, they give him space and time. Perhaps, even the densest creatures can recognise the signals of grief.

3. Kuroo’s apartment. Which can also be passed off as Kenma’s apartment. It’s a bit farther, only a stop away from Shinjuku. The commute takes over 45 minutes. To compensate, the duo usually make plans ahead to meet up with Akaashi somewhere in the middle. They spend the evenings together, then travel back to their place. Sometimes they head over to a karaoke bar. Sometimes they wander aimlessly down the streets until they’re lost. Kenma doesn’t follow them on these midnight adventures.

4. Hospital. An actual job. Finally. The internships on his resume may or may not have made an impression. It pays well, so Akaashi doesn’t complain. The stink of medicines that once repulsed him has now become a part of him. Sometimes he’ll be lying in bed at night and smell it on his palms. Deep in his cells. Disinfectants and sanitisers. Home.

Akaashi flicks his cigarette and a long chain of ash drops in the empty beer can. The view from the balcony leaves him conflicted. It’s the cheap seat of stadiums: You get the gist of the game, but that’s about it. Akaashi can understand the sun is setting, but the sun itself is hidden behind the high-rise in front. He watches the gold melt down the glass windows, then vanish abruptly, swallowed by concrete.

A light flicks on in an opposite window. A steady yellow gaze. Twilight descends and more lights follow. A few minutes pass, then it’s dark outside. Hundreds of yellow eyes glowing in the night. They stare at him and he stares back.

Akaashi takes a deep breath and allows himself to think of the name.

Bokuto.

He waits. The bedside clock ticks the time. Five seconds, then ten.