Chapter 1: 01. Departure
The night was cold and quiet, outside, there was little to be seen as even the night-est of owls had gone back home to sleep.
The height of winter was no joking matter, after all, the blistering cold was without mercy, making the dead of the night even dead-er, both metaphorically and literally.
Under that purple skyline, a man opened his heavy eyes, cringing with difficulty, the wrinkles between his eyebrows were ever more evident even with his age. The man breathed a deep breath, the smell of cleaning detergent and disinfectants invaded his nose.
The room he was in was white, not the pristine whiteness of a wedding dress or the pure whiteness of snow and ice scream, white floor tiles, white wall, white bed sheet, white blanket. God forbid there was a tinge of green on the ceiling, but that was it, everything else was lifeless, boring, and depressing.
It was evident that the room wasn't meant to be a living space as everything was so disgustingly clean that the ceramic floor tiles even managed to reflect the only light source at that moment, the moon, enough to illuminate the space with a soft blue-ish glow. Such cleanliness gave no indication that a person had ever stepped foot inside, much less slept in it like the man had.
It was almost as if. '..yes…' - The man thought briefly after glancing around the room. He was in the hospital, the VIP room even, and he has been in here for a while now. '3 months now, to be exact'.
He was adorned in a hospital robe, his body was too thin to be called 'living', tubes were attached to his nose, his stomach, and even his 'private'.
'How shameful' - he thought, but it was needed as he couldn't eat or drink much less excrete, and 3 months was enough time for him to not get bothered by this.
Even so, those 3 months felt like a lifetime, he had lived too fast, too hastily, too wasteful, his success came too early and the moment that everything crumbled down still haunted him till this very day.
His career, his passion, his 'crown', all came to an end when it hit, the news of an illness, too late to be treated. It was like clinging to a rope yet, unbeknownst to him, that rope had become a thread, ready to snap at any moment.
And perhaps, that moment was now.
The man remembered the reason why he was awake in the first place. The discomfort and tightness of his chest had disturbed the man's already uncomfortable slumber.
Lying there, he recalled the way many authors described 'death' for dying people, 'It was chilling, suffocating even, like the body was on the ocean floor, bearing the weight of the world, breathing was difficult if not impossible. There was a sense of dread and anxiety pouring out of every pore along with cold sweat. The body had enabled its fight-or-flight instinct, causing nerves to fire on and off. The eyes were getting hazy, unfocused, and hallucinating the blurry figure of Death itself'.
The man panicked, the cold came crawling down his spine, it was as if a centipede had found its way under his loose skin and blindly crawled along his fragile bones.
He gathered all his remaining will to his trembling finger, ready to press the call-nurse button. It was painful, he hadn't moved this much ever since he was bedridden, tears were beginning to form in the corners of his eyes, not from pain this time but from desperation.
He was desperate to live, there was so much to live for, and so many awaited him outside this prison.
Yet, for a second, he began to reminiscence the past 3 months, there was nothing, no one to remember, no one to even see, no friends, relatives, or even co-workers, he was alone with himself. His will faltered bit by bit, it started to crumble.
There were so many regrets, yet even if he were to correct them, would there be anyone by his side willing to witness it at all?
It wasn't like there was any expectation left for him anyway, in other's eyes, he was without salvation, hopeless, abandoned to his own demise. He had failed to meet the expectations of others times and times again, failing even himself.
'yes, that's right' he had blamed the illness for the failure, but all this time, he was self-aware that he had killed his career with his bare hands before the news even came about, he was only running away from reality, hoping that the day he pull through will be his rise again.
The moon was still high in the sky, but the light in the room had dimmed a lot. And along with that was the cracking resounding within the man's own mind.
After several seconds of holding his figure over the button, he instead moved his entire arm over to the heart monitor to turn it off, but this time it was almost effortless. His arm was weightless, his joint was no longer stiff, everything was slow but smooth.
The constant beeping suddenly went quiet, the man then put his arm back to his body, pulling the messy blanket to his chest again.
The chilling cold went away, he was no longer shivering, instead, he felt as though someone was hugging him. How long ago was the last time the man had felt warmth from a hug, no one, not even his own mother had hugged him with genuine feeling of love.
His body relaxed, straightened out from a curling position, hands on his chest. The tears fell from his eyes onto the damp pillow, releasing every last bit of fear he had left, his mouth curled into a small wry smile, not from joy but contentment, the regrets were still there but he was willing to leave with them.
The quiet room was then resounded with a long sign from the man, perhaps his last, leaving behind whatever was left of a dying person, then there was only silence. The moonlight outside couldn't penetrate the window anymore, depriving the little light there was inside, plunging the room into darkness, at least until dawn came.
At the same time, in an ordinary house in Chiba, Japan, an equally ordinary boy named Hikigaya Hachiman, suddenly sat up from his bed, gasping for air, his chest expanded and collapsed with each hurried breath. Shock was written across his face as if he just had a nightmare, then came confusion and bewilderment, yet he was unaware that tears were streaming down his face.
The boy's face contorted even though there was no pain anywhere on him, his chest tightened, his body curled up, and he couldn't help but wept like a child, something unimaginable to him on account of his self-acclaimed early maturity.
Yet all was seemingly forgotten during his emotional outburst, the only thought that went through his mind at that moment was 'I'm so glad I have my own bedroom'.
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